Tag: neurological

He really cares: Part 1

Published on by Jesus is for the Wounded2 Comments

The initial blog title rattling around in my brain for the last 24+ hours was, “You are THE ONE who really cares.”  After all, when each of us is alone in the midst of a trial (particularly when it is medical), it is only you that bears the greatest burden of the suffering.  Others offer comfort, prayer, helps of various levels, and if you are lucky will actually stick around for more than a few moments.  But it is you, one and only, who must bear the pain . . .  And that can be frightening to say the least!

Rather than rant about what to do with fear, give platitudes and verses with which to train your mind, and otherwise avoid ministering to the weeping heart, I will simply offer this:

Just lay your head on the lap of Jesus.

More than anyone, Jesus Christ knows what it is like to be killed, pained, abandoned, betrayed, falsely accused.  He is the only one Who can be with you as the Holy Spirit, in your time of sorrow from its beginning until its end.  He will never leave us or forsake us and always be there if we but call upon His name.  He is worthy of our

praise

tears

anger

weakness

alms

thanksgiving.  I was reminded of all of this just yesterday!

About 3:30 p.m. in the afternoon I was abandoned in a treatment room of my doctor’s office.  The nurse practitioner (NP) had left the room after writing an order for me to get IV fluids and after “catching” me collapse during a short convulsive episode during the appointment.  After all, that’s why I was there:  to document the crisis, get the orders, and head over to the hospital for treatment thereafter.  I was sitting there kind of dazed.  Soon after she left the room (and after another nurse came into the room to revise the scheduling of some other appointments), I began to list to one side.  There was a chair next to me with my purse and water bottle resting on it.  The weakness increased and a few inches at a time, I began falling to my right side, coming closer to the purse on the chair.  I could not speak.  I could not brace myself.  I could not do anything but be glad there was a chair next to the one upon which I was sitting so as to break my fall.

The next 20-30 minutes were very ugly.  My body collapsed fully onto the chair next to me.  My face smashed into the zipper of the purse while my glasses and cover-style sunglasses pressed into my face.  I looked straight ahead with my head rotated completely to my left, straining my neck most uncomfortably.   The front of my right ear was crushed underneath me on the purse whilst the back was free-falling unsupported; the back of my head pressed into the vinyl backrest of the metal chair.  Not exactly pillow material!  My right hip was twisted and pushed into the thinly padded, vinyl seat of the chair upon which I was sitting.  The ringing in my ears had already increased with the headache that had been working its way into action over the past hour.  Legs cramping, toe tips burning as much as my finger tips, and feet struggling to keep contact with the floor to stabilize my position . . . herein I would remain for the next 90 minutes.

I thought about many things.  First, I prayed.  I prayed again and again and talked to God about many things.  Will they be coming soon?  Do I hear them coming?  Was I expected to go out to the nurse’s desk after the NP left the room or was she coming back with more instructions?  I really could not remember since I was already in the brain fog of recovering from the earlier episode that she had witnessed before she left the room.  Surely the staff would notice that I had not left the room yet?  Or maybe not.  I waited in that same treatment room (#4) TWO HOURS the last time I saw the NP before I stepped out to mention that I was in there waiting.  “I didn’t know you were in there waiting for me,” she explained with her soft, sweet voice that I would learn never changes even in the midst of an emergency . . .

Time passed.  It was hard to ignore the searing pain of the two pairs of glasses being pressed with my full upper body weight into the side of my nose.  I could not move to get more comfortable.  I still couldn’t speak.  I tested this out and nothing happened.  In a while when I tested it again, my arm would start shaking; if I tried my leg, my leg would start shaking.  This is what I call, “neurological collapse” at it’s finest.  I learned on in a Catamenial Epilepsy Facebook page that in true epilepsy (which I do not have) has a name for this phenomenon called, “Todd’s paralysis.”  It can go on for up to 48 hours and mimic the signs/symptoms of a stroke.  Todd’s paresis usually resolves on its own without any residual effects.  I have experienced this complication at least once per week for the last 3 years.  Gratefully, most of the time the residual effects for me resolve within 2 hours, at home, in the evening, and within reach of my beloved husband!

There is nothing I can do to quicken the process of recovery from an episode.  It takes what it takes.  Knowing this I tried to calm myself down and focus on my breathing despite my twisted posture.  My rib cage was constricted so I did what I could to at least slow down each inhale, each exhale.  I did what I could to keep my neck and shoulder muscles tensed a bit so as not to twist my upper torso any more extremely than it already was.  I tried to relax the crushed tissues on my face so the pain would subside.  This worked poorly.  Suddenly the voices beyond the closed door seemed louder.  Then I heard the doctor’s voice.  This would be the time to try and vocalize something for help.  My voice was weak.  help.  Help.  I tried many times.  Probably no one in the same room with me would have heard those first cries.

I redoubled my efforts.  I took a deeper breath and vocalized a little louder, “Help!”  Then I rested and made more attempts, “HELP!”  Surely the door cannot be that thick!  I can see a crack at the bottom between the wood of the door and the low pile carpeting.  “HEEEEEEELP!!!”  I cried again.  My nose was running from the first time I had started to cry, dripping onto my purse.  Fortunately it is made of an outdoorsy, washable fabric.  Your mind thinks of all kinds of things when you are trapped.

To be continued in Part 2

Yes, no, and wait

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They say that the Lord answers prayers with three responses:  yes, no, and wait.  I believe I have experienced all of these in a big way this past week!

Yes.  The answer was “yes” to the question of whether or not I would like to be admitted to the Indiana University (IU) Methodist Hospital Neurology Unit.  After an intense appointment with a neurologist in the IU Neuroscience Center, Dr. R. offered an overnight “observation” stay for a video EEG.  The hope was to capture the tic and seizure attack episodes to clarify my diagnosis and treatment.  So with the clothes on my back (since we were 2 1/2 hours from home), my husband and I followed the epileptologist’s advice and proceeded with the admission procedures.  I’d had 2 hours of sleep the evening before and a major episode in the office of the neurologist that morning.  Surely I was primed for plenty of episodes as the day progressed!

And that is exactly what followed:  at least a dozen more full blown or brief episodes captured on video with dozens of electrodes glued to my head and a heart monitor attached to my chest.  The rest of my Tuesday was wretched.  One good part was finding some food to eat on the hospital menu fit my Candida diet, yes!  The staff was nice.  Many unfortunate frustrations occurred as well; you’ve heard enough of those on this blog so I won’t elaborate.  The biggest frustration was seeing the inpatient neurologist twice for about 60 seconds each time he visited my room.  He never looked at my MRI films or my medical records!  His job was to do the EEG study and nothing else so that’s all he did.  Perhaps that is all I could take anyways?  Who knows.

No.  I do not have epilepsy.  O.k., my Lyme/mold literate doctor kinda knew that already.  The hospital neurologist said I needed to follow up with the Neuroscience Center neurologist for treatment or any next steps in my care.  The answer was also “no” to having one of my 3x/week IV magnesium infusions while the IV was still in my arm.  I usually have a tic or seizure-like episode when it is inserted or removed so I was grieved when they could not help me with this; I would need to make up the appointment at Dupont Hospital in Fort Wayne, back home.   The nurse pulled the IV; another episode followed, off camera.

There were plenty of other “no” replies over the 24 hour stay in the hospital.  Perhaps you know what it is like?  I was ordered to be on bed rest and fall precautions, tethered with multiple probes, monitors, and a bed alarm.  Geez.  At least they let me use the bathroom after initially forcing me to take a bowel movement on a commode in the room within view of the video cameras.  Geez again.  Eventually I was too exhausted  to care if the back of my hospital gown flung open.  Finally, after 2:00 a.m., I got 7 straight hours of sleep.  A miracle for an inpatient setting, no less.  Thank you Lord!

Wait.  These past 2 days since returning home have required patience with myself as I recovered from the whole ordeal.  My dear husband drove a total of 5 hours two days in a row plus participated in the neurology appointment on Tuesday and completed a partial day of work on Wednesday.  Steve is a saint, I tell you!  So we both have waited for our bodies to recover from exhaustion.  I will need to wait to speak to the neurologist at the Neuroscience Center as well.  Her nurse was not able to return my phone call Thursday or Friday.  Steve and I are waiting and wondering what’s my treatment plan?  Do I have one?

My heart is breaking with another project that must wait at the moment:  publishing my eBook:  Hope Beyond Lyme:  The First Year.  I need to transpose the final edits into the document formatted for publication.  I’m about 3 hours from pressing the “go” button!  This must wait until I can concentrate better.  I just feel too traumatized and drained by the hospitalization experience.  Perhaps it’s all I can take now anyways?  Who knows.

I do know one thing:  writing is one of the best therapeutic agents for me to come back to my senses!  I am sooooooo grateful for you, Gentle Reader!  You keep me sane!  I am grateful to report that I had a 27-hour reprieve from noxious events yesterday and two less events overall thereafter.  Being away from home and in the hospital (with a limited pharmacy for supplements and compounded medications) forced me to go off most of my prescribed treatments.  This may have been a blessing in disguise!  I’ve started an elimination schedule, gradually adding back one item at a time and recording my symptoms.  Turns out that one of my supplements is made from mold!  Chucked that one last night after a bad episode.  Not sure what caused the one tonight.  Oh well.  It was around 10:30 p.m.  I always have a severe episode then anyways.  Got any ideas?

Yes.  No.  Wait.  Perhaps this week is no different than any other with these three answers to prayer, to the desires of my heart.  I am so glad that I can trust the Lord with any answer that comes from Him.

1 John 5  14 This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. 15 And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him.

And when the answer does come, the one we have hoped for with longing and expectation, it can be as joyful as a wedding celebration:

John 3:29 29 The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice. That joy is mine, and it is now complete. 

I am somewhere between the themes of these two verses, knowing that He cares for my needs and has a Divine plan that includes all of the events of this past week.  In the meantime I must keep my eyes focused on Him lest they wander to places that will get in the way of healing.  I will rest in the promise that has meant so much to me these past 10 years.  His love prevails and will carry me through all that is to come.  Perhaps it will encourage you too?

Romans 8  38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

They really need to work on their transfer technique!

Published on by Jesus is for the Wounded5 Comments

Sometimes I simply take for granted the skills I have as an occupational therapist, even when this OT is on an extended medical leave.  Allow me to explain  . . .

The writing was on the paneled walls metaphorically today when an appointment for a medical evaluation by a new doctor turned out to be in a water-damaged building (WDB).  I had a bad feeling when I noted the address of his office:  in an older part of town with offices that were probably built at least 25 years ago.  I knew that another building down the street was flooded during a bad storm last year so it seemed possible that this building could be:  1) older, 2) a WDB, and 3) laden with automatic air fresheners to attempt to cover up any residual odors!  What I did not count on was the receptionist/medical assistant wearing perfume as well!

The scent of Dollar Store air freshener greeted me inside the glass doors of the 70’s style concrete medical office.  The scent was even more concentrated in the tiny office of Dr. O.  I had barely finished the new patient paperwork when the neurological symptoms hit.  Oh boy, here we go again!  I looked up and saw water stains on one of the grayscale ceiling tiles; there was at least one water stained tile in each room I entered this afternoon.  The medical assistant received my completed paperwork and took me back to the patient screening room.  No sooner had I stated my usual precautionary mantra of what to do/not to do if in case of “neuromuscular events” before the random fireworks of tic attacks began.

I aced the eye exam and I was pleased.  Steve and I have not had the funds of late to update our eye exams or corrective lenses for the past 2 years so it was good to know that perhaps not much had changed for me.  Conversely, the nature of my Doctor visit was about to change drastically.  The medical assistant (with great purple-striped fingernails) invited me to sit in the exam room and wait for Dr. O.  As soon as she closed the door, my whole world began to rock-n-roll.  Tic then seizure attacks are a real bear sitting up in a chair because of the whiplash effect on one’s neck.  Everything from the spinal column outward stiffens and voluntary movement diminishes the longer and more frequent the attacks continue.  Things were not looking good at all.

Dr. O entered the room and turned out to be true African instead of Indian as I had surmised by the spelling of his name.  He asked, “why are you here?”  I said I was there for a “medical evaluation.”  He asked a couple more brief and concrete questions and my ability to respond quickly degraded as the seizure attacks became entrenched.  Attempts to speak or move exacerbated the involuntary tremors and shaking; to try and tell him this while my face was becoming constricted and torso was pulling forward in a writhing, flexed posture was quite a challenge.  “I need to stop the exam,” he announced rather emotionlessly.  I encouraged him to wait a moment.  He persisted with something about not being able to do his exam with “all this” going on.  Yeah, I knew that but it was better that he said it and not me.

Two things happened next that amazed me.  First and gratefully, the medical assistant and Dr. O realized that they needed to get me outside for some fresh air.  They brought in a wheelchair and asked me to get into it.  I replied that I could not move!  Through extremely strained vocal cords, jaw, and body posturing I indicated that they would have to help me.  The absolutely crazy part was discovering that they had no idea how to transfer a patient from a chair to a wheelchair!  I guess I take basic skills like transfer technique for granted.  It’s taught in 3-week Certified Nursing Assistant training classes and most workshops on back injuries.  And yet there I was, an occupational therapist with 30 years of experience in a completely debilitated state, instructing 2 experienced healthcare professionals how to get me the heck out of that chair so I could get some fresh air.  Eventually they realized they needed to lock the brakes, flip up the footrests, and so on.  I just couldn’t utter all the details that were needed at the time ya know.

The second amazing thing was what happened next.  Once outside and all the way through the ordeal I kept uttering apologies, thanking them for helping me, and trying to regain some type of control over my physical faculties to no avail.  I simply had to wait it out and focus on just breathing.  I let them know the latter.  It was in the mid 90’s F outside and it felt great in the shade!  Fresh air at last!  At least the air was fresher outside than on the inside!  The two healthcare professionals made a plan for what would happen next since they had other patients to see (but I did not see any in the waiting room) and could not leave me outside the building in a wheelchair alone.  The sweet gal with the fingernails called my husband at work and he was now on his way to rescue me, take me home.  However the plan also included transferring me from wheelchair into my truck so I could wait there and not in their wheelchair.  Using the same ersatz technique, they moved me like a sack of potatoes into the elevated seat of the passenger seat of my truck, turned on the ignition and air conditioner, locked and closed the door, then retreated back to their office.  Geez!

I gradually shifted my tender “sack of potatoes” body around to support my wrenched head and neck.  The pain, the fatigue, the grief reaction, the embarrassment, the horror of it all began to sink in.  I could barely move my arms to wipe the tears and snot running down my face.  My central nervous system was still in “tic mode” so any efforts to move flared the remaining shakes.  I wiped my face with my sleeve anyways.  From here I simply had to ride out the rest of the storm until Steve arrived.  Such is the very inconvenient hell of Chronic Inflammatory Response Illness.  On 1 1/2 hours of sleep from the continuous tic attacks the night before and now after surviving a 3-hour ordeal at this ol’ medical office, my beloved found me an graciously took me home.

When I started writing this account of my day today, I intended to tell a really funny aspect of what had happened.  I guess I needed to vent first.  This was a very difficult experience as you might imagine.  Probably the only good thing that will come out of it will be that there is absolutely no way that Doctor can say that this illness is all in my head after what he witnessed today.  I’d experienced a couple of “MDs” lately who tried to suggest that these seizures are psychological.  I was thoroughly disgusted!  I’d have to be a real sicko to imitate over 200 episodes of wretched and painful pre-tics, tic attacks, seizure attacks, and convulsions in a recent 44 day period that I tracked for my medical record.  Who would do that?  The answer:  no one.  I must trust that Dr. O will write what he saw and nothing else.  No “armchair psychiatry” welcome here please!

****************************

Funny thing happened on the way back to my truck after a medical appointment today:  I started to notice a host of crazy paradoxes despite my wretched situation that are quite humorous if I just changed my perspective a bit.  Here’s where I’m going with this.  Imagine these headlines for my story today:

Female medical center patient coaches physician and trusty assistant in wheelchair transfer technique to keep them from tangling her feet in the leg rests of the rolling and rickety wheelchair.  It’s a good thing that she’s been working in rehabilitation 30 years, eh?

Compromised patient slumped in non-ambulatory state must get back into her mid-size king cab truck loaded with dirt from a garden dig earlier this Spring.  She’s weak but her 2-ton truck is strong for sure.

Collapsed wifepoo recovers in her air-conditioned vehicle while her maximally machismo husband drives up to rescue her in his Dodge Magnum RT speed machine loaded with a 21-foot racing surf ski on his roof.  The dude looks like he could fly the stud mobile into orbit and launch a Tomahawk missile into space from the heavy duty aluminum racks bracing the sleek white projectile.  When she recovers, she and her co-pilot River Bear will fly shotgun in their 24-foot outrigger canoe on the roof one day soon.  Story at 11.  

Yeah, that’s more like it!  What a way to get a story, eh?