FRIDAY, JANUARY 23, 2015
It began in late May 2014 with what I thought was a 24-hour flu bug and ended on January 14th, 2015 in an operating room having two organs removed. I went through 8 months of nausea, almost daily vomiting, weight loss, weight gain, feelings of being full all the time, pain, discomfort, constipation, heartburn, and reflux. I suffered an all around gastrointestinal nightmare from the bottom to the top.
My “GI Journey”, as I’ll now lovingly call it, started simply enough with a trip to my family doctor to discuss my symptoms. His reaction was that I was having gallbladder issues and ordered an MRI. The results came back and much to my delight, I was told I had a polyp obstructing the opening of my gallbladder, causing my issues, and it was recommended I have it taken out. Hallelujah!! I was convinced that this would become a long, drawn out, test-after-test process and they may never find out what was wrong with me. To hit the diagnosis out of the ballpark on the first swing at the plate?! Sweet! From a copay savings perspective alone, I was over the moon.
I scheduled my appointment in mid June 2014 with Surgeon #1 and whistled my way there. I’m getting my gallbladder out! Woohoo! No more “Hold on one second, kids. Mommy needs to throw up real quick before we head off to school.” Life was going to be good again. Until Surgeon #1 broke my heart with one simple phrase: “It’s not your gallbladder.” What the what?! With a referral to see GI Doctor #1 and 2 prescription slips in my hand, I left Surgeon #1’s office, tail between my legs.
Now from June 2014 to January 2015 was just a ginormous cluster. If I went in to every single detail, this would quickly become the length of a novel, so instead, I’m going to break it down by the numbers. Over those 8 months, I saw 5 different doctors. I was diagnosed and/or misdiagnosed with 4 different medical ailments: gallbladder, Gastroparesis (for which GI Doc #1 wanted to insert a pump into my stomach), GERD and Functional Dyspepsia. I went to 8 different medical facilities where I had 11 different medical tests performed: 2 MRI’s, 2 endoscopy’s, 2 gastric emptying scans, a HIDA scan, a small bowel series, a brain scan, a hydrogen glucose breath test, and an upper GI. I’ve been on 6 different medications and had 2 trips to the ER. I even collected 3 different cards to carry in my wallet stating that I was radioactive from the dye injected in to me. (You know, just in case I needed to get through a metal detector any time soon.) I drank what felt to be gallons of barium and spent countless hours having the tests performed. (The quickest was done in 45 minutes while the longest took upwards of 4.5 hours) I had 5 IV’s and 5 rounds of bloodwork. The financial cost? I honestly don’t know. And for the sake of my sanity, it is probably best that my husband keep handling the bills that arrive.
With GI Doc #2 now admittedly stumped, he passed me on to Surgeon #2 in the beginning of January 2015. Surgeon #2 listened to me, looked at the very first MRI taken of my gallbladder and said “I am convinced this is your gallbladder and it should have come out in June.” A short time later, he followed that magical phrase up with another fantastic line: “You’re not crazy.” I wanted to marry the man. He believed me. He had seen “me” countless times in his office. Poor souls like myself who had been through the ringer, only to have every test show that that are “healthy”. My symptoms lined up to a tee with the useless organ that causes those symptoms, so he wasted no time in scheduling my surgery. Six days after that appointment, it was so long gallbladder… oh, and appendix, too… which was also very unhealthy and would have ruptured.
I can look back on certain things now and laugh a little. Laugh at things that were ultimately the lowest points in a very low point in my life. Like running over to the school’s gym a few times a week to throw up in the back bathroom so I could have some peace while I puked. Or the time I threw up in the Walmart bathroom. Lowlight. Or that one fun the time when I crapped myself at Cleveland Clinic’s main campus after one of my tests. I had spent 4 hours drinking barium, then walking, then an x-ray. Every 20 minutes. Drink. Walk. Picture. And then topped it off with a shot of some liquid fungus (that tasted like absolute shit) that was supposed to get things moving faster through my system. It did, but unfortunately at a very wrong time and left me stranded in my poo-pants in the middle of a bustling Cleveland Clinic building… FOR TWO HOURS. Just when I thought I could make it to my car, noooooope. And back to the bathroom I went. I can only thank God now that it was winter and I had a long’ish enough coat on to cover my rear.
Horrifying. From start to finish. From being given an answer out of the gate to then being told no. Being misdiagnosed or what was maybe even worse… undiagnosed. It’s a hard enough game physically to go through, let alone the toll it takes on your sanity. You follow the direction of the doctors you put your trust in. And as I found out, you just can’t always do that. So I learned. I learned that any time someone tells you that you need surgery (or in my case, that you don’t), you get a second opinion. And you CERTAINLY find that second opinion before someone puts a pacemaker in your stomach!
I’m 9 days past my surgery now and I’m feeling human again. I have a bit of a kick back in my step and color in my face. Color that my parents said they haven’t seen in months. I have thrown up twice, but it was totally my own fault. “Don’t eat spicy food, fatty food, fried food or dairy” is what the surgeon recommended for a few weeks until my body learns to function again without a gallbladder. My first offense was my dad’s spaghetti, which I can never pass up. The second offense came on my daughter’s 9th birthday when I ate a piece of her ice cream cake. (That one, I’d absolutely do over again.)
I’m looking forward to starting running again in about 5-6 weeks and getting in to regular yoga at home, which is a 2015 goal of mine. And mostly just learning to find the fun again. It puts in to perspective just how incredibly crappy you’ve felt when you finally start feeling good again.
NOTE: Dr. Brent Bogard with the Cleveland Clinic is “Surgeon #2” and the man I wanted to marry that day in his office. He is a great surgeon… patient, kind and genuinely cared about me and making me feel better. Before he left my side prior to my surgery, he grabbed my hand and said to me “May God be with you and watch over you.”. I can not say enough good things about him and the quality of care he provided to me.