Saturday, 3 November 2012

I Don't Know About This, But I'd Like To: Day III NHBPM


Well after staring hopelessly at the potential topics for today Mr Grumpy piped up with his usually witty suggestion. I knew I shouldn't have lamented my braindeadedness (Yes that's a word. Okay so it's a very new word. That I only just made up about 10 seconds ago because of said braindededness, but a word all the same, or at least for the purpose of the post).  Note: Mr Grumpy just pointed out I should at least be consistent with the spelling of my new word. But I say bite me fat boy. I'm living on the word-creation edge. (Okay I may be a bit tired and stroppy, and on the verge of insanity at this point. A combination of 3 Posts in 3 days and an uncooperative body (leg coordination is over-rated, right?) is a recipe for much in the way of pouting and exhaustion).

Mr Grumpy: "Well, you don't have to write a 1,000 word post every time"

Me: "But that's the way I roll, baby"

So his choice,

“I don’t know about this, but I’d like to.”

Why? Because I don't know how to write a short but still interesting and read-worthy blog post, but I (or so he tells me) would like to learn how.

Pithy really isn't my style. I don't really see the world in black and white. And tend to be one of those annoying people who gets stuck on tangents hence the prominent use of the phrase "but I digress" throughout this blog.

I blame the brain fog. I know I had a brain that was capable of short succinct writing at one point. I've tried to read my thesis and old reports and the patient information sheets I wrote up for work and they were smooth, short and to the point. But now? Now I have a bad case of the verbal diarrhoea.

Maybe if I had time, like a week or six, I could cut back on what I write. Edit it within an inch of it's life until I have the perfectly formed 600 words of witty, educational and entertaining prose. But the pea-souper that currently resides in the space formally occupied by my brain, is not that accommodating.

I am distracted by bright shiny objects on a regular basis. My thinking is more of the tortoise, than the hare variety. My memory more akin to Guy Pearce's in MementoThat damn pesky need for blood to flow to the blob of grey matter slopping around in my skull, causes all sorts of problems. And don't get me started on those unpredictable adrenaline surges that leave you feeling like you must move or you'll go insane from the internal twitchiness, even though you are beyond exhausted, and fracture your thought processes beyond repair.

What's a girl to do. Personally, I'm thinking eat way too much chocolate and tap away at the keyboard until my fingers are naught but bloody stumps. Surely somewhere between the first 500 words and the last 500, some form of coherent thought will emerge. Plus, those of us with the old hypoxic brain seem to develop an amazing skill: the ability to read each others words and find the sum of all the disparate parts, and understand exactly what each of us are saying.

Okay I'm going to stop now before Mr Grumpy looks over and makes some more sarcastic comments like,

"You're still typing?"

Yes dear I'm still typing, you are soooo observant!

Okay so after that great mix of randomness I will now head off and stick my feet up a wall and wait for my limited blood supply to glug back down to my brain. But at least I managed three days of blog posts in a row. I'll put that one in the win column for today.

Have I learnt to write a shorter post? Probably not. Maybe I can start a new meditation mantra. Good bye "So Hum". Hello "Short Post".

Damn, now all I can think of is Short Round, from Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom. There really is no hope.
Cheers
Michelle :)

PS Now Mr Grumpy says "Just what your readers want. A for-the-sake-of-it post with no entertainment value whatsoever". Bwahahahahahaha he's such a funny man.

PPS As I go to put the laptop aside to eat dinner, "Have you pressed save yet? You don't want to lose that literary masterpiece. It's definitely Pulitzer Prize worthy". The man is on fire tonight.

Earlier Instalments of NHBPM
Day I: Why do I write about my health.
Day II: Find a quote and use it as inspiration.

Friday, 2 November 2012

Be the change



Day II: Find a quote and use it as inspiration
(originally part of National Health Blog Post Month, 2012) 

Well I didn't exactly find this quote. I mean I know I did years ago, but I can't for the life of me recall the circumstances that surrounded it's discovery. But it is the one quote that has resonated with me since back in the days when I still had perky boobs and a bum that was closer to my lower back than the back of my knees. 


"You must be the change 
you wish to see in the world" 
Mahatma Ghandi


12 words that changed my perspective on the world. 12 words spoken by one man on the otherside of the world, living a life far removed from anything within my limited experience growing up in rural Australia. Yet without fail it's the first quote that comes to mind when I think in terms of inspiration. And it is the one quote that has had a central place in my life even when I wasn't consciously aware of it's influence.

I wrote these words on the mirror in my boys' bathroom when they were little. I wanted them to see it morning and night as they brushed their teeth. A subliminal message that would become part of their internal dialogue long after they left the nest. A way of being in the world. Of interacting with others. Of letting them know that whatever is going on around them, they still have the power of choice. The power to effect meaningful change on the world around them. In a world of disconnection and world issues that often seem insurmountable, this is an important message.

It makes change accessible. 

It makes change possible. 

It gives each of us back a level of control that life circumstances can sometimes seem to take away.

Being ill and increasingly homebound I know that for a long time I felt that I had no power. Despite having written this quote on my sons' mirror and having seen it every time I cleaned their bathroom or wiped the flicked toothpaste and general mouth gunge, from around the letters, I forgot the message. I became lost in my own misery as my life slowly imploded. I began to believe the crappy voices in my head that made me feel helpless.

I'm not quite sure when or even why that feeling started to dissipate. But slowly and surely over time it did. Something inside me said enough and the unconscious effect of Ghandi's words began to influence me once more.

For me his message is not about trying to effect change in others, instead that in taking responsibility for the way you interact with world, you can effect change around you. Be it in how you think, feel or act. The power is back in the hands of each individual and one person can make a difference. What I have learnt over the last six years is that change doesn't always look like what you thought it would. That you need to open yourself up to a world of possibilities, many of which may be a little left of centre.

Before I became ill I always thought about Ghandi's change in the form of big gestures. I had dreams of doing a year of volunteering overseas, complete with my family. Having travelled throughout Vietnam I always wanted to go back and work with one of the many aid projects that were running. I wanted to go to the third world, especially countries that had been war zones and start neuropsychological and TBI rehabilitation programs, which are sorely lacking. Closer to home, I wanted to change how dementia was assessed and treated in our health system. To develop holistic treatment plans and make behaviour management and long term rehabilitation a true funded reality of the care model. And then I became ill and all those dreams slipped away.

These days I can no longer travel, even to head into the city, a 45 minute trip, for a medical appointment is a logistical and physical nightmare. I don't have the health, energy or cognitive wherewithall to manage such extensive programs as I once envisioned. I've had to re-evaluate what I think of as change.

What I have learned is that change can take many forms and sometimes the small things are the most meaningful. Whilst a cure or even adequate management would be nice, it's not actually at the top of my list. What I want now is peace and joy. I want kindness and grace. I want to enjoy the world and my life no matter what my body is doing and I want that for others in the same boat. And what Ghandi's words tell me is that I can be that change. That change is a choice we are all responsible to make. And it is a change I can share with others. I can go through the world with an open heart or close myself off. I can find joy in the small things or lament all that has been lost or changed. I can see a world full of enemies or believe that there is more good in the world than bad. I can sit back and blame my behaviour on others, or take responsibility for what I say and do.

It's not about being always perfect or running around in permanent perky mode. We all mess up, we all have bad times or make mistakes. But it is about lifting yourself up and trying again. In many ways I know I have internalised Ghandi's message over the years, it simply got misplaced for a while when my health and world began to de-stabalise.

Now I face my illness and breaking body by embracing the good parts of life. By having a laugh when I least feel like it. By embracing the freedom that being ill has given me (I know that sounds crazy, but it's true). I can wallow and make myself and everyone around me miserable or share the laughs and the crazy with others that they too may get a laugh and some relief, even for a minute. Through this blog or through a quick message on a FB page or through my daily interactions I can raise awareness, or make someone laugh, or simply listen so someone else feels heard. I can give to others what helps me, not in expectation of any return but because it's how I want to be in the world. Those small changes, making someone smile or laugh are just as important as the big statement changes I had hoped to make in my pre-ill life.

Raising awareness about Dysautonomia is one of the changes I'd like to make. I'd love to have the term become as well known as 'cancer' which carries it's own extensive information package about things like seriousness and even treatment, with that single word. To not have to explain it every day. To not have patients fall between the cracks as doctors don't know how to recognize or diagnose the disorders. But my big drive is to help others dealing with the condition. To make things more bearable  To normalise experiences and take away some of the fear. In any holistic treatment model, issues relating to the psychological, emotional and social changes, are just as important as the physical treatments. And those changes can be made with every smile or laugh or ability to sit back and breathe. And each of those people can pay it forward, one smile or one laugh at a time. Until one become two becomes four.......becomes thousands. What starts with one person can change the world.

The jaded part of me thinks my own idea is all very Pollyanna, but the other and these days louder part of me thinks about the possibilities in Ghandi's words. I can sit back and wait for change or I can live how I want that change to be. And you never know it just may start something great.

Cheers
Michelle :)


Thursday, 1 November 2012

National Health Blog Post Month: It begins.


In a moment of madness I have decided to sign up to WegoHealth's National Health Blog Post Month (I blame you, brain fog!), whereby I blog about my health every day for the month of November. As I sit here in a mild panic I wonder how I'll manage a blog a day. Given that I am lucky if I have the strength to brush my hair 30 days in a row it could be a slight challenge. But hey, I'm sure if I play Eye of the Tiger on loop and watch enough Rocky montages I'll be psyched up and ready to tap away at the keyboard day after day. If you happen to log in one day and are faced with a page of crazy in the form of line after line of "Adrian!", at least you'll know why.

Should I add that today started with me opening my laptop, spilling coffee down my top, whacking my leg on the coffee table as I jumped/flailed from the hot coffee running down my front, whilst simultaneously watching my laptop go flying and landing on two startled, and now hysterical, Great Danes? I'm sure this bodes well for the next 29 days.

Day 1 “Why I write about my health”

I have been sitting here for a while trying to clarify why I write about my health. A fellow blogger on another blogging forum asked me if I had an "elevator pitch". Essentially this is a tag line that sums up the blog quickly; my style, my topic, my reason for blogging, in 30 seconds or less. I am yet to  work that one out. Every time I try to sort through my reasons for blogging, I realise my thoughts on the matter are as disorganised as my bedroom closet, complete with dust bunnies and piles of clothes that I might just fit into again one day (plus my 1980's pastel tapestry vest which I'm sure will come back in fashion soon. Shut up. Yes it will!).

It's not an easy concept to articulate as it really isn't a static or one dimensional motivation. Why I started blogging about my health back in 2009 and why I blog now are very different. Although my earlier reasons still influence why I blog today. In reality why I blog about my health today may be very different to why I blog about it tomorrow. My reasons are influenced by my experiences with the medical field, how my symptoms present on any particular day, how they in turn influence my day, and how I react to these experiences at an emotional level. Add in that as my audience has grown, readers comments and the themes within them, also influence why I write, and its all clear as mud, right?
(I swear my brain may now resembles the chaos that is my teenage sons' bedrooms. 
Be thankful you can't appreciate the teenage boy funk that accompanies this Petri dish/bedroom)

I want to say I started blogging about my health for some altruistic, awareness-raising reason, but the truth is I was scared, alone and dealing with an illness I had never heard of and couldn't find much in the way of information about. I needed a challenge. A way of regaining control, and in turn regaining me. Writing had always been something I loved, so it seemed the logical choice.

Blogging about my health in those early days was about rediscovering and taking ownership, of my voice and my experience. When it comes down to it, if you don't write your story no one else will. And there is no one who knows your story as well as you. Being a patient and being ill can be very disempowering. A paternalistic medical system and a body that seems out of control can rob you of your sense of self. Sometimes, it can be down right scary. But every word I wrote in those early days was another step back on the road to reclaiming me. The very act of sharing my voice with the world was equal parts empowering and pee-in-your-pants scary. Some of those thoughts that go through your mind when you are alone in the dark at 3 am, make you feel like a crazy person. But when you share them you suddenly find that there are others out there having the exact same thoughts and they become far less scary. It's then that you realise that you are in fact a rather normal person living a rather abnormal life.

Blogging for me is a means of exorcising the crazy and the stress of living with a challenging chronic illness. When it all gets too much I start typing. I bang away at the keyboard for an hour or so to get it all out. At this point it's more akin to word salad than any recognisable form of prose. But as I sit down, scull a mug or three of coffee, and edit what I have written, I am also working through whatever the issue is. I collate my thoughts, give them order, and it all begins to make sense. By the time I finally push publish I am usually in a much better place than I was when I began. Whether it's deciphering a cryptic or frustrating medical appointment, dealing with bad news or wrapping my head around having to wear granny stockings when I am not yet 40, the blogging process works much in the way of a therapist, complete with me sitting on a couch.

I know now that in many ways my blog can be a voice for others. Discussing life with Dysautonomia with honesty and candour takes away the veil that makes us all feel alone, and often scared. To admit fears, discuss the emotional consequences of living with chronic illness, or simply talk about the less savoury aspects of the disorder, takes away the fear element and normalises the experience. Loneliness and isolation are common when dealing with chronic illness. Really they are common in a society that dictates always being positive and never admitting fear or hardship. The saying that a problem shared is a problem halved, is so true. Sometimes to hear that even one person somewhere in the world feels the same way as you can remove a huge weight off your shoulders. For this reason sharing my health with others helps to chip away at the stigma and the fear associated with a Dysautonomia diagnosis.

I have always had a weird sense of humour and I know this influences how I write about and deal with Dysautonomia. Sarcasm works well for me and I can usually find a way to laugh no matter how bad things get. If there is a chance to make fun of the absurd world I now inhabit, I take it. I am sad and even angry at times, but for the most part I poke fun at my life and my continually breaking body. Sharing that with others and letting them know it's okay to laugh (or get photographed as a zombie or dress up your puke bags with pink feather boas or make impractical sparkly red heels), again takes away some of the stress. So often people tell us how we should react to being ill. Or we become overwhelmed with the very real doom and gloom of our situation. A little crazy and a good laugh can be priceless. Sometimes knowing that someone else is laughing gives you the permission to also have a laugh.

Over time the blog has allowed me to raise awareness and advocate for others with Dysautonomia. This is a really rewarding and unexpected outcome. When I started I never conceived that I could have that role again. In my working days I would advocate for individual patients, be it in medicolegal arenas or simply ensuring they could access the post hospital care they needed. Now I can advocate for a whole disorder and with that, not just individual patients but their families and whole patient communities around the world. This is the true power of social media and blogging. This inspires me to continue blogging about not only my personal health, but the disorders I live with and the challenges we face at both a personal, organisational and societal level.

So there you go. That's just a few of the reasons why I blog about my health. Be it, raising awareness, the cathartic and personally empowering effect, or helping others on the journey, these are just some of the many reasons I choose to share my experiences.
Okay, I may need your spare spoons and/or a kick up the arse to keep me blogging each day. I'm already ready for a week long nanna nap after just one post! Time to start singing...

Risin' up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance
Now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive....


Cheers
Michelle :)

Tuesday, 30 October 2012

Golden Girls for the Win!

I grew up watching the Golden Girls in the 80's and was always drawn to the sharp and dry sense of humour, of Dorothy, played by Bea Arthur. So it seems rather apt that the character of Dorothy should should have a story line that would mimic my life nearly 20 years later.

This video has been making the rounds again on the chronic illness boards and with good reason. Although this episode of the Golden Girls screened way back in 1987, it continues to be relevant and representation of what many of us go through in the search for answers today*. Whilst Dorothy is eventually diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, this video is for anyone with a complex and poorly understood disorder.



I think that last cathartic scene in particular, is what many of us want to have. Maybe I should send this to Dr Arsehole who first told me it was all in my head? Dorothy is far more articulate, and uses less expletives than I probably would in the same circumstances.

Cheers
Michelle :)

*Susan Harris the creator of The Golden Girls, was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome whilst writing the series. That personal experience definitely shines through in this episode and explains the authenticity and timelessness of this piece. Something which is often missing in other depictions of illnesses on the big and small screen.

Sunday, 28 October 2012

Dysautonomia: What do you need to know in five minutes or less?


Like a lot of other patients I spend most of my life explaining Dysautonomia and correcting inaccuracies. It seems like an endless chore. From how to spell it, to what the hell is it, I have explained it more times than I can count. After a particularly whingey, "why don't people understand?" type of day, Mr Grumpy pointed out that I should simply do a Dysautonomia for Dummies post that clarifies some of the major points in less that five minutes. So here goes:

What is Dysautonomia?

Dysautonomia is an umbrella term for a collection of disorders that affect the Autonomic Nervous System (ANS). The term 'Dysautonomia' is akin to the word 'Cancer'. There are many forms of cancer eg breast, brain, ovarian. Similarly there are a many forms of Dysautonomia, for example:

Neurocardiogenic Syncope/Neurally Mediated Hypotension (NCS/NMH)
Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS)
Orthostatic Intolerance (OI)
Orthostatic Hypotension (OH)
Pure Autonomic Failure (PAF)
Multiple Systems Atrophy (MSA)
Baroreflex Failure (BF)
Then there are those like myself with clear autonomic dysfunction who don't quite fit into any single subgroup.

Terms and diagnostic criteria change as knowledge evolves. The latest criteria for POTS, IST and VVS (2015 Expert Consensus Statement by the Heart Rhythm Society) can be downloaded from here.

Familial Dysautonomia (FD): this is the only form of Dysautonomia with a clear genetic origin and is almost exclusively seen within the Ashkinazi Jewish populations.

There are also many other disorders that may have autonomic involvement eg Parkinson's disease.

Dysautonomia can also develop following traumatic brain injury.

The two words that may best describe Dysautonomia would be variable and unpredictable.

What is the Autonomic Nervous System (ANS)?

The ANS is the body's autopilot and is responsible for maintaining homeostasis, or simply put, keeping our body stable. It controls all the unconscious bodily functions such as, heart rate, blood pressure, breathing, digestion, temperature regulation and even how our pupils react to light. When this system malfunctions or fails you develop Dysautonomia. It is further separated into the Sympathetic (excitory) and Parasympathetic (inhibitory) Nervous Systems, which at their simplest work in opposition to each other to maintain homeostasis, although there are times that they work together. The Enteric (gastric) Nervous System is also sometimes included as part of the ANS. For a more in-depth explanation of the ANS, click here.



No two patients experience Dysautonomia the same. 

Even when two patients have the same diagnosis eg POTS, their experiences may differ greatly. Some patients have very mild symptoms and can continue their daily life as normal. Yet others may be totally housebound and reliant on others for aide with daily tasks eg showering.

The combination of symptoms a patient experiences can also differ. The ANS controls a wide variety of bodily functions. As a result one patient may have issues with heart rate and temperature regulation, another may have additional issues with blood pressure and digestion. Depending on what areas are affected and to what degree, this will influence the symptoms that a patient presents with.

What medications work well for one patient may do nothing, or cause horrendous side-effects for another. There are a core group of medications that are commonly used in Dysautonomia patients, however it is often a case of trial and error to see what works for each patient. Not only with type of medication, but also dosage.

What causes Dysatuonomia?

Causes are varied and include: viral, mitochodrial diseases, connective tissue disorders, neuropathies, autoimmune disorders, genetic disorders, neurotransmitter dysfunction. It is important for patients to attempt to uncover their underlying disorder as if treated they may reverse, slow, or control the autonomic symptoms. In many cases an underlying aetiology may remain elusive despite extensive testing.

Many patients also have a variety of comorbid medical conditions eg diabetes or thyroid issues which complicate both diagnosis and treatment. These may be pre-existing or develop over time.

Treatment.

There is no single treatment that will work for every patient. In general, treatment involves an individually tailored program which may include variations of medications, lifestyle changes and diet, and a graduated exercise program.

This program will generally be dictated by the symptoms a patient experiences. For example, if a patient has tachycardia (fast heart rate) they may be prescribed a beta-blocker, which slows down the heart rate. If a patient has low blood pressure they may be prescribed fludrocortisone, which increases blood volume.

In general, patients require an increase in both their salt and water intake. A change to eating patterns in the form of small, frequent meals, are also recommended to prevent blood pooling in the gut. Patient's may also require aides such as medical compression stockings to prevent blood pooling in their legs, and items such as shower chairs to help prevent fainting in the shower. Graduated exercise, particularly reclining exercises and lower limb strengthening, are also necessary as deconditioning can occur rapidly in most patients.

Prognosis.

Like symptoms and causes, long term outcomes vary. Some patients will recover, especially if younger and if their symptoms began after a virus. Some patients, will have a stable but chronic pattern. Some will have a relapsing remitting profile similar to MS. And yet others will progress over time.

There is currently no cure for Dysautonomia, although in some cases if the underlying cause is discovered, treatment of that condition may alleviate the autonomic symptoms.

It is important for family members and friends to understand that a patient's symptoms may vary day-to-day and hour-to-hour. As such, what they may be able to do one day, is impossible the next. For example, going to a cafe with friends may be possible for a couple of hours one day, but the patient may be unable to do it another, or have to cancel at the last minute. Additionally, that simple outing may place some patients in bed for the next week.

Patients aren't crazy or lazy (just two of the terms that are frequently thrown at patients), they are just dealing with a complex, often scary, and frequently unpredictable illness that most people, both in the medical field and wider community, have little to no knowledge.

What's it like to live with day-to-day?

This blog is a history of my experience with Dysautonomia over the past ten years. From diagnosis to treatment, coping with change and the medical system, you can get an idea of the day-to-day by clicking any of the tabs above. But for a short glimpse into life with this illness you can check out

Dysautonomia. Invisible Illness My Arse!

Links for more information.

DINET (US site)

Vanderbilt Autonomic Dysfunction Centre (US Site)

Syncope Trust And Reflex Anoxic Seizures (STARS: UK site)

Dysautonomia International (US site)

Dysautonomia Information Network (DINET: US site)

Dysautonomia Advocacy Foundation (US site)

The Dysautonomia Project (US site)

General Information on Orthostatic Intolerance

Cheers
Michelle :)

You'll find most patients develop a rather warped sense of humour as it's far better to laugh than dwell on the difficulties we face. In that vein, I give you my life motto as sung by Monty Python.

Thursday, 25 October 2012

I don't 'heart' my body, but I do 'heart' me.

My body sucks. It really does and I don't see anything wrong in saying that. It's broken and it continues to break. It has very few redeeming qualities, and really needs either a good kick up the arse or to be put out of it's misery. But I'm pretty okay with that. It is what it is, and nothing I do is going to change it. My body will continue to be an arse, because really it is the one thing it does well. But I'll be buggered if I am going to love it.

I am over being told I must 'heart' my body. That I must focus all my energy on this lump of flesh, that has arisen thanks to the crap shoot that is genetics and life. Of being told how I must relate to it. Of how I must embrace my wrinkles, my love handles, my saggy boobs etc. I am over being told what a real woman is. Real women have curves? Well shit, I'm obviously not a real woman with my minuscule mammaries and underweight body. Big boobs are in. Big boobs are out. It's about the bum, legs, ears, eyelashes, blah blah blah blah. Accept your body and all it's flaws. Love those flaws. Be a 'real' woman. Love your body, Dammnit! Love it NOW.

Bite Me! 

I don't love my body, but that's quite okay as I am not my body. 

I am not what you can see, or with the joy of chronic illness, what you can't see. My worth doesn't come from this broken lump of flesh. I don't care whether anyone thinks I'm sexy or hot. Whether I meet some continually changing ideal of a perfect or imperfect aesthetic. I don't care how you think I should feel about my body. My physical body doesn't rate highly on my personal schema. It is part of me, but it is not all of me, and it sure as hell doesn't define me.

This body of mine, healthy or not, is going to change with time. 

It will never look like what is shown in the magazines. 

It will never look like The Real Women campaigns.

It will just be.

And that is okay.

I reserve the right to hate my continually breaking body and the real world consequences of what happens each time it breaks in a new and frequently, disturbing way.

Because my value is not defined by this corporeal form.

I quite like the 'Me' that exists within this dodgy packaging.

Not despite of it. And not because of it.

What matters is how I treat others and how I interact in the world. My body has nothing to do with that.

What matters is whether or not I leave this world a better place when this dysfunctional lump of muscle and bone finally expires.

What matters is whether I can find joy and laughs no matter what this arse of a body throws my way.

What matters is compassion and tolerance and being in the world in a way that brings even a moment of light to others.

What matters is my spirit, or my soul, or whatever you want to call those intangible bits that make up the true essence of you.

What matters is being a decent human being. And that sure as hell is not dependent on whether I love or don't love my body.

I am not my body.

I will not limit myself and my possibilities, by focusing on a lump of flesh and bone.

I am me, and I heart me. 

My body on the otherhand can go self-fornicate.

Michelle 

I may or may have not been a little inspired just a tad by the fabulous and straight talking, Kelley of Magnetoboldtoo.

Friday, 12 October 2012

Everybody Needs A Team.


Like most patients it took me a long time to get from my first symptoms to a diagnosis. I saw multiple doctors, had multiple delightful tests, and gave my body weight many times over in blood and pee samples. I thought once I found the right doctor and had a diagnosis, I would find a quick treatment and be back to normal. Oh to be that naive again. Even after diagnosis the increasing complexity and changing nature of my symptoms has made my treatment difficult. A quick review of any patient forum shows I am not alone. We are a complex bunch and for many, effective treatment remains elusive.

The Autonomic Nervous System is spread out throughout the body from head to toe. It innervates multiple body systems and multiple organs, which in turn means we can have many and varied complex symptoms, which can change on a daily basis. Add in that many patients are contending with multiple other illnesses on top of Dysautonomia and we are one complex and puzzling mess to manage.

Five minutes in any Dysautonomia support group and you'll find clusters of illnesses and disorders: Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, Mast Cell Activation Disorder, Degenerative Disc Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Endometriosis, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, variations of neuropathy, diabetes, thyroid issues, migraines, the list goes on and on.

Between the diagnoses directly related to autonomic dysfunction and the many comorbid conditions that seem to cluster with Dysautonomia, diagnosis and treatment can be confusing. As patients we need to move from the idea of a single doctor to treat us, and each develop our own team of doctors and other health professionals, specific to our individual needs.

Often we hope that once we find a Dysautonomia specialist we will find someone who can treat all our various issues. The reality is that one doctor, whatever their speciality, is highly unlikely to be able to deal with all our complex and confusing symptoms. Specialisation means that doctors are experts in discreet fields with only a cursory or general knowledge of other specializations. Even within speciality, most will specialise in specific diagnoses or areas of treatment. Eg one neurologist may specialise in movement disorders, another in stroke, yet another in epilepsy. As such, unless your presentation is simple or symptoms mild, a single doctor is unlikely to be able to cover all your care needs. Instead you need to turn your mind to developing your own specific team to manage your care.

As patient's we need to advocate for ourselves and assemble a team of health professionals to meet our specific and often changing needs. This is not always an easy process and can take months or even years, before you finally create a team with which you are happy. There may be team members who are only needed on a one off, or infrequent basis, and others that are more central to your team who you will see on a regular basis. You may also need to introduce new team members as new symptoms appear, or remove members as symptoms stabailise, or resolve.

Finding that one doctor who not only believes you, but understands the condition, can be the hardest step. I saw a large number of doctors before finding my current Cardiologist, who is both my primary specialist and coordinator of my care. I had many disappointing appointments and wasted much in the way of time, money and sanity, in dealing with a system that failed to recognise my symptoms or place them in the correct diagnostic category.  However, I was lucky that I had a fantastic General Practitioner (GP) at the time and she not only believed me, but was willing to work with me to find out what was going wrong with my body.

I cannot stress enough the need to find a GP that you can work with and trust. In many ways this one doctor will be central to your ongoing care and well being. Your GP will be your first point of call for many aspects of your day-to-day healthcare. They can coordinate referrals and help manage your medications, blood tests and investigations as well as regular health needs. When you have a complex condition it is important to have a regular GP who is familiar with your condition and all it's quirks. When you have Dysautonomia, your normal is quite abnormal to that of regular patients eg I frequently have no discernible peripheral pulse. Concerning in a normal patient, but a cause for a shared laugh with me. Having to explain this to multiple doctors unfamiliar with your condition can be exhausting and distressing. For example, a regular cold can exacerbate autonomic symptoms, and a reduced immune system can lead to secondary opportunistic bacterial infections developing rapidly. Without fail my simple cold will turn to a chest infection, my GP knows this and a quick antibiotics prescription, rather than a wait and see approach, has avoided much in the way of hospital visits. A GP unfamiliar with my history would be unlikely to be so proactive, something I have discovered in the past and led to a worse infection and longer recovery.

The likelihood of finding a GP who is familiar with any forms of Dysautonomia is highly unlikely. However, if you find a GP who you are comfortable with and with whom you have rapport, you can provide them with information on Dysautonomia. Create a package of the key articles from reputable journals, that you can give to your GP to update them on the latest research and treatment options. A good GP will be willing to learn about Dysautonomia, your medications (eg Midodrine is not a regularly prescribed medication and few GPs are familiar with it's uses) and keep up to date with all your specialist letters. They will also liase with your various specialists at need, and take direction on your care. They will be willing to work with you on your care and know that in many ways you, the patient, are the expert. When you find that GP hold on and don't let go. They are like gold. I would also suggest finding a back up GP at the same practice for the times when your regular GP is away or unavailable.

Once you have a GP you need to find a Dysautonomia specialist. Depending on where you live this can be difficult. There are listings of specialists available on some websites, but these are not always comprehensive or up to date. Often it is easiest to go onto one of the many patient forums and ask if anyone knows of a good specialist in your area or country. Depending on your presentation and issues such as rapport, you may need to see a number of specialists until you find one you are comfortable to work with. Specialists also differ in their approach to treatment and theories of causality and the types of investigations they will do. It is okay to say it's not working and ask for a second or even third opinion until you find the specialist that is right for you.

Most commonly your primary treating specialist will be from one of two specialities, Neurology or Cardiology. Often the choice of primary specialist will be determined by your main presenting symptom. Eg if your primary symptom is tachycardia or bradycardia, then you will likely be sent to a Cardiologist. If you primarily have migraines, cognitive issues or changes in sensation you may be sent to a Neurologist. Whichever speciality becomes your primary, this person will coordinate the majority of your care, including testing, treatments, and referrals to other specialists.

However, the complexity of Dysautonomia and the involvement of many body systems means you may need multiple specialists. For example, if you have gastric symptoms such as gastroparesis or IBS you will need a Gastroenterologist, if you have insomnia or hypersomnia you will need a Sleep Specialist. As such every patient's team will vary according to the type of symptoms they are experiencing. Most doctors specialising in Dysautonomia will develop a team of fellow doctors from varying specialities who also have knowledge of autonomic conditions, and to whom they can refer their patients for other specialist care.

The other issue to remember is that it is easy to attribute all our weird symptoms to Dysautonomia. However, new symptoms should always be checked out as they may be unrelated to your autonomic issues and more importantly may be treatable and in turn improve your autonomic symptoms. Appropriate treatment of issues such as hay fever or even pain, are known to help manage autonomic symptoms. Appropriate management of other comorbid conditions may also lower overall disability and improve health and functioning. All of which leads to a better quality of life.

To give you an idea of what your eventual team may look like, this is my current team:
  • A regular GP 
  • A Primary Cardiologist who is a specialist in Dysautonomia and coordinates the majority of my care. We've been together since 2007.
  • A Primary Neurologist who is a specialist in neuromuscular neurology and electromyography
  • A Gastroenterologist with knowledge of autonomic conditions.
  • A Dietician to direct my diet and manage my complex food allergies and intolerances and gastric issues.
  • A continence nurse
  • A continence physiotherapist
  • Urologist
  • Neurogeneticist
(At times it has also included a back up GP (still searching for that one at the moment) a sleep specialist, a physiotherapist, an allergist, a dermatologist, physiotherapist, social worker, occupational therapist, a variety of neurologists and neurophysiologists.)

I see some members of my team regularly. Others I see on an at need basis. But I now have a group of health professionals who can manage my symptoms and address my health care needs. And most importantly I have a group of health professionals who I trust and who know my case.

Your team may look very different to mine, as it will reflect your specific health needs, but it gives you a general idea of how it may eventually look. It takes work to develop a good team, but it is worth the effort.

Cheers
Michelle :)

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

Recycling, Re-purposing, Reviving.

After a particularly delightful pain menage a trois, involving a three day migraine, popped jaw and zapping foot, I have been having a little trouble finding my happy place. Even I was beginning to be annoyed by my pathetic moaning and mopey self. So today I decided to say "No more!", and force myself to snap out of it.

And what do you do to snap out of a pain-filled funk? Why you finally get around to the craft project you've had in mind for months but somehow haven't managed to pull your finger out and complete.

I have a bit of an addiction to tins. I know, I know. Mr Grumpy thinks I'm nuts too, but I can't resist a cute tin. I have even been known to buy a product simply because the tin is pretty. Sometimes even when I didn't want the product inside.
Okay so these have chocolate inside, so maybe, I kinda, sorta, wanted what was in these ones.

Some tins don't need to be altered as they are already decorative.
Two of the many tins I have plans for. The red Carbonell will remain unchanged. These make perfect and lovely plant pots. Whip off the top with a can opener, hammer in a few holes in the bottom and voila! you have a decorative pot. I have a number of these on my front steps and they look fab. Bonus is they cost me $0. I buy them for the olive oil anyway. The free pot is simply a bonus.
Some like the green Bertolli tin, get the same treatment but end up painted like my red tins above. A can or two of red spray paint. Some home made stencils (I draw them on book contact, cut them out and stick them on the tin). A contrast tin of spray paint. And lo and behold, four unique and very hardy plant tins.

But today's project was much less involved and more in line with my exhausted patheticness.

My love of coffee is no secret. I start every morning with two double espressos to get my bp and hr up. This has lead to quite a collection of coffee tins, much to Mr Grumpy's annoyance. What he, my children and probably even my dogs, don't understand is that as soon as I saw these tins I had a plan. It only took me a year to get around to it.

These glossy black Vittoria tins have been sitting in the top of my pantry gathering dust, waiting for me to pull my finger out.  And finally, today, I did.

Mr Grumpy and the youngest hammered the holes and added little wire handles for me (with minimal eyerolls at my insanity), as my Muppet arms aren't quite up to that.
I have had this sad, broken, grass-infested, plastic pot of succulents sitting waiting for some TLC for some time. The succulents inside were a gift from a lovely family friend, June, who has now passed away, and I have wanted to re-plant them for ages. June had the greenest thumb of anyone I have ever known. There was nothing she couldn't grow and her garden was always glorious. She also made lovely cakes and biscuits. I'll always remember sitting as a child in her loungeroom, eating fresh ginger snap biscuits and sipping tea from proper china cups. She was a lovely lady and my mum's best friend. Miss you. June.

What started as one small plant in a little plastic dish has ended up spawning dozen of pots overflowing with tight green rosettes. These look spectacular when the tall flower stalks spring up with their handful of little orange and yellow bells.

This is an old dip tin from a farm in the area where I grew up. I have a few of these recycled around the yard and they make fabulous pots when lined with some old fly wire (we have a lot of this thanks to the dogs ripping our fly wire doors to shreds to get back into the house).
 One piece of this succulent will give me a dozen new plants.
 So pretty.
And 20 minutes later I have four new plants in black shiny tins. Recycled and re-purposed tins. Cuttings from a plant I already own. Even the potting mix is from my compost. $0 spent, apart from the tins which we would have purchased anyway for the coffee inside.
 One on the door of my famous fashion shed door.
Another three in a line down the side of the shed.

Not bad for about 30mins work. The glossy black tins look quite good against the greens and greys in the garden. And despite aggravating the migraine that I had only just managed to beat into submission, and feeling absolutely knackered, and in need of a nanna nap, I'm pretty damn happy right about now.

Cheers
Michelle :)

Monday, 8 October 2012

Person First. Patient Second: An Open Letter to Health Professionals

Dear Health Professional,


I am a person.

I know it's shocking to some of you, but it's true.

I was even one of you, before illness came knocking at my door.

But,

I am not a body part.

I am not a set of test results.

I am not patient number five for the day.


I am a living breathing human being.

I have a life.

I have hopes and dreams.

I have fears.

I have a family who are equally affected by my illness.

I cannot turn it off.

I must live with the impact of illness every hour of every day.

When I step out of your office my life continues.

My piss poor health continues.

I cannot detach.

No matter how much I may wish it otherwise.



I am an informed patient.

This is my body and my life.

I am invested in finding a solution.

I am invested in understanding my body and why it is breaking.

This doesn't mean I don't value your opinion. That's why I'm here after all.

My knowledge and investment are not a threat.

They are a tool you can use.

If you are open.


I am not two and you do not need to speak to me like I am incapable of understanding what you are saying.

If it is complex, take the time to explain it in lay language. Use pictures, or at the very least give me a handout.


I know your job is difficult.

I know that some patients are complete douche bags. Being sick doesn't instantly make you Mother Teresa.

But don't treat all patients as if they are the enemy.

Douche bags, although difficult and memorable, are a minority not the majority.


I understand that you need a certain level of detachment or the sheer weight of human misery you see each day would crush you.

But please look me in the eye.

Please listen to what I say.

I came to you with hope.

I came to you with the knowledge that you are an expert in your field.

I came to you to help me.


I will respect you more if you treat me like a person.

I will be more compliant if you treat me like a person.


Be honest.

Say you don't know.

Refer me on.

Such honesty makes it highly likely that I will trust you.

Such honesty makes it highly likely I will come back to you again.



I don't want platitudes.

I don't want disdain or sarcasm.

I don't want to feel like I am an inconvenience.

That I need to be rushed out your door.

Show me that I have value.

That my health is important to you.


See me the person, and I will see you as a person too.

Respect is a two way street.

I want this to work.

I want to feel better.

Together we can do this.

I'm willing.

Are you?


Yours sincerely,

Michelle the person, who just happens to also be a patient.

Wednesday, 3 October 2012

5 Tips for the Newly Diagnosed Dysautonomia Patient.


Dysautonomia has been a major part of my life for the last eight years. What I have recently realised is now the majority of my 30's (yes, I'm slow on the uptake). Those early days were scary. Even as a well educated woman, working in health care at the time, I felt alone and overwhelmed  Not a experience I would wish to repeat or wish on anyone else.

Whilst, it is now easier to get clinical information about the various subtypes, diagnostic testing and treatments, it is still the information about what actually living with Dysautonomia is like, that is still lacking. And a quick scan around the forums tells me that many of my early experiences are still being repeated with patients all around the world.

So what do I wish someone had told me right back at the beginning? So many things come to mind, but these are my top 5.
  1. You're not crazy.
If I had a dollar coin for every time a fellow patients said, "my doctor told me I was just anxious", well I'd have a really large pile of sparkly coins which are too heavy for my arms of patheticness to carry. Intellectually I knew that I wasn't imagining my symptoms, and I knew I didn't have a mood or anxiety disorder. Yet, the words "it's all in your head" said by one callous doctor, sat in the back of my mind long after I had my diagnosis. Damaging words, and it took a long time to work past that self doubt, even when I had clear test results that confirmed my diagnosis. It's hard to admit that, but it's the truth and it's taken a long time to take my power back from that one cold medico.  I've written about the conundrum that is the ANS and psychiatric diagnoses before so I wont rehash it here. But I want you to know that YOU'RE NOT CRAZY.

Dysautonomia is a difficult collection of illnesses to understand. It is unpredictable and frequently undetectable, by the standard battery of investigations. Symptoms wax and wane. We have a good day followed by a bad. What we could do one day we can't do the next. The permanent Fight or Flight response we live with, leaves our body on permanent high alert. We startle easily and over-react to any stimuli, be it anything from sound to fragrance. And the ultimate joke, is that the brain fog that plagues us thanks to poor cerebral profusion, means we are often unable to articulate exactly what we are experiencing. Search for a doctor who understands Dysautonomia and is willing to work with you, even a single doctor who is willing to learn will make all the difference. Just because a disorder isn't well know, or easy to identify, doesn't mean that you have a psychiatric or psychological problem.  Dysautonomia is a physiological malfunction through and through. I've been there, and so have the majority of patients. Trust yourself and what you are experiencing. You know the truth of your experience better than anyone.

    2.  You're not alone.

When I was first diagnosed I knew of no other patients. Even having worked in neurology I'd never really  heard of Dysautonomia or the majority of it's subtypes. Eventually, the Yellow Wiggle, Greg Page, came out to say he had Orthostatic Intolerance and bringing some awareness to the disorders, but still I had no contact with other patients. Then I discovered a support group, and with it came relief. I wasn't alone. There were other people all over the world who were going through the same issues, and they understood. They understood the stress of the diagnostic process, the absurdity of lying down in the middle of a shopping centre, or planning trips by public toilet availability. They understood the tears and the laughter and the weird thoughts you have that you could share with no one else. Accurate statistics on Dysautonomia are poor at best. It is likely there are millions of people world wide who experience some form of Dysautonomia, especially when you consider that in the USA alone it is thought that over 500,000 people have, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), just one of the many subtypes. We are far from alone in this struggle. Whilst social media, such as FaceBook, Twitter and blogging has shown just how many of us there are, the medical fraternity and statisticians have yet to catch up. As my friend Claire says "Dysautonomia isn't rare, it's just rarely diagnosed". There is a whole community out there to stand by you through this, come and meet us. 

   3.  It can be scary at times.

Dysautonomia can be damn scary. I don't care who you are and how stoic you may generally be, crushing chest pain beyond anything you have ever experienced can give you pee-in-your-pants levels of fear. "Am I dying?" "Is this a heart attack?" "Oh God, I'm going to die and leave my kids and husband".  I've had that conversation in my head on more than one occasion. These days I know my normal, which is highly abnormal to regular folk, but in those early days I really didn't know what to expect. Back in 2006/2007 I was nearly blacking out when I was driving, my doctor started mentioning more serious and life threatening diagnoses I needed to rule out, more and more symptoms started developing. Fear of death was pretty high on my radar. These days it takes a hell of a lot more to worry me. Crushing chest pain? Meh. Pain radiating down my left arm? Just another day at Chateau Rusty. I still have fear at times, it's a natural reaction to living with a stressful and unpredictable illness. Most importantly, if you are feeling scared see Point 2, you're not alone, and there are many safe places to discuss your fears and understanding ears to listen.

   4. It's okay to say it sucks.

Being ill sucks. Being chronically ill sucks donkey balls. It's hard. It's unglamourous. It stops you from doing all you want to do and changes who you are as a person. I am generally a happy person. I find the funny in the most unfunny of circumstances, but there are times where I just want to look up at the sky and say "WTH Universe?" As humans we have a range of emotions for a reason. Permanently perky is just as destructive as permanently pessimistic. In both cases you are stuffing down your emotions. We are all going to have bad days. The important part is to acknowledge what you are feeling, work through it and move on. If you keep stuffing it down you will reach a point where you explode and find yourself hysterically crying and screaming at your husband because he brought the wrong toilet paper. Which is totally disproportionate to the non-issue of the toilet paper (though in my an unnamed wife's defence, some brands are like sand paper and you really don't want sandpaper going anywhere near your tender parts). But you can only stuff down those emotions so long before they begin to eat you up inside.  It sometimes takes more courage to say it's hard, than to put on a false veneer of happiness.

   5. You're going to be okay.

Those first days and months are hard and scary and lonely. But you'll make it through. You think you wont. You'll want to throw in the towel and scream "No more!", but you'll make it out the otherside. And you'll do it again and again. I can't predict how your symptoms will pan out over time. We are all very individual. Some will get better, some will have symptoms that wax and wane, some will have a chronic but stable process and some, like myself, will progress. Your body may still be broken, but your ability to deal with it, will get better.  You will find your stride. You will find the things and people in your life that matter and make you happy.  You'll be able to breathe, even when it's bad. It wont be easy but you'll find that your ability to cope and your acceptance will grow. Your spirit will heal and you'll find direction you never imagined. You are filled with possibilities and, if you give yourself permission, you'll find them. Being ill can give you a freedom to explore yourself in ways you never thought possible. Life with Dysautonomia or any chronic illness, is a life changed, but sometimes that change is a wonderful thing.

No doubt after I push publish I'll think of more tips, but these are the basics. Just know, it gets better. Not in the Disneyesque sense of shooting stars and rainbow farting unicorns. But in the real world sense  where you're battered and bruised but you're stronger than you thought and more at ease with your life. It takes time, and there will be tears and disappointment and setbacks. But one day you'll turn around and realise that somehow you made it through, and no matter what your body is or isn't doing, you're okay.

Be kind to yourself.
Michelle :)

October is Global Dysautonomia Awareness month. Take the time to raise some awareness.