Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
I've tried the latter, and it seems the point of irrelevancy as far as eating goes is death, not some robot-body swap-out or conversion of melanin to chlorophyll. I'm petitioning the gods.
In any case, when I found myself anemic in summer 2017, my gynecologist said that iron pills weren't necessary. They cause constipation, which can be a terror on the pelvis, and my iron level would adjust naturally.
Ha! Hahahahahaha. More than a year later, I found that every time I stood up, I'd close my eyes and fall asleep for half a second. Lovely dreams, teetering there next to my desk, snuggling papers meant for the copier. I'd had med changes, but if you've been through this stuff, you know the difference between new-med tired and other tireds. New meds make me drowsy. Anemia makes my pulse race when I vacuum.
So that year over which my doctor said I should've been reacquiring iron was a year over which I ended up not reacquiring iron, and I did not reacquire iron because I hate eating. Over calendar year 2018, I followed the 80/20 eating rule: 80% of the time I avoided eating, and 20% of the time I ate food from the gas station.
Gas stations have crap food, but some crap food is kind to my pelvic pain: potato chips, popcorn, Natural Cheetos. All naturally lacking iron.
I really did not consider the fact that my diet might not actually be providing me with all the nutrients I need. Isn't that insane? I worried about calories because I didn't want to dip below my weight minimum. If I felt like I hadn't been eating enough, I'd eat the simplest possible thing: a vanilla milkshake. At only 800 calories, they can also soothe bladders! So between gas stations and the ice cream shop, I kept my BMI in the normal range. But as I was already in a spot with the anemia, I didn't have the stores in my body to weather my narrowed diet.
Alas, the forces of my many ills have combined and thrust me upon the shore! Of taking iron pills and trying to eat more meat. I've also returned to the spinach-and-two-bananas smoothie, which I really missed making. Remember the good old days when I actually tried to fix my pain? When I actually believed I could do it? When I had an ever-expanding spreadsheet charting every damn thing I did in a day to see if I could spot what the pain demon was feasting on??
I BELIEVED back then. I HAVE NOT BELIEVED in a very long time. In fact, I think I entered a relationship after my spreadsheets failed me just to avoid any more trying. Spreadsheets cannot fail us, people. It is we who fail the spreadsheets. ("We" is the correct pronoun here. The "to be" verb does not take an objective pronoun. I am not citing any sources and I am relying on a mental note made seven hundred years ago. If I'm wrong, it was the iron.)
(I could stay in parentheticals forever, couldn't I? I could keep posting to this blog in parentheticals and never have to make the next logical statement in the progression of this blog post. Question: would my post titles have to be parenthesized as well? Question: do you also feel like you're underwater in your underwear when you're reading parentheticals? Question: do you read parentheticals?)
Look, it doesn't matter when I last believed. What matters is I know a lot about my pain, about where it comes from and what drives it and what alleviates it, and those things don't require some airy faith to uphold. They are facts. What I need instead is to be able to live inside the constraints of the facts. Because that is a strict little space in there, and we all have a limited amount of self-discipline. I have to figure out how to build mine up again so I can observe the laws of my pain while living the rest of my life and without eating my meals at the gas station.
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Sometime earlier this year, I had a meltdown at my urogynecologist's office. It was the kind where you see that your pain is eternal and that you're trapped inside it forever and it crushes you and you get so angry you actually start gesturing in your doctor's presence, like you're a human with a person inside you.
After some gesturing, I spat out, "I don't understand why we don't know what's going on!"
"We do know what's going on," my doctor said.
Whaaaaa???????? What was that, senor? We who? Who knows?
"It's an allergic process," he might've said after I did my voiceless, expressionless double-take. He explained that basically, my bladder is recognizing a lot of things as allergens, and that in response it produces mast cells and yadda yadda yadda, I think he did actually explain this to me but I'm not up to doing the research to corroborate my memory tonight.
"Orange juice?" I said in a sentence that I can't remember.
"When it hits your bloodstream, your body reacts," he said but in different words.
"That's why the bladder flares up within minutes of drinking orange juice and not after it has filtered through the blood and into the urine, making the urine more acidic," one or both of us said in part or in whole.
And that's why antihistamines help my pain. Did I even post about that??? I take Zyrtec for seasonal allergies -- it's the only non-Benadryl one that has an effect on my itchy eyes. I noticed that when I took Zyrtec, I'd have lower pain, so the doc said go ahead, take it every day. Then he put me on hydroxyzine too, which is one of the standard medications used to treat interstitial cystitis. Zyrtec, it turns out, is a metabolite of hydroxyzine. A little bit of serendipity there.
I repeat: hydroxyzine, an antihistamine, is a standard treatment for interstitial cystitis. I have known about this for longer than I can estimate, but I never had the puzzle piece of an antihistamine's efficacy in treating IC. Now I have it! And you do, too.
Over the summer, I was on 10,000 medications, okay that isn't true. But I was on nortriptyline, a tricyclic antidepressant. My psychiatrist prescribed it for depression, which it didn't help, but I stayed on it long enough to confirm that it didn't help my pain either. That's the second tricyclic I've been on and I think we can cross those off the list for my pain treatment. Also! Word to the pain-havers! Nortriptyline made it even harder for me to pee, and it backed up my bowels too. Those were pretty rotten symptoms on top of pain and pelvic-floor problems.
Meanwhile, the urogynecologist had me on Elmiron, the big-name IC drug, three times a day, as well as Zyrtec once a day, hydroxyzine three times a day, and he wanted me to go back on gabapentin and take it three times a day and I got the script filled and took one and said to hell with that. That drug takes a lot of adjustment and I know a dose of 300mg three times a day isn't high enough to help (see the years 2010 and 2011).
Along with my other meds, this was just, I just, I just felt disgusting. I'd fill my little pill holders and take pictures of them because they looked so ridiculous. I think I was up to 8 prescriptions plus the Zyrtec, and then throw some vitamins in there. I knew that some or all of those meds could change my life radically, but I also started to feel like I was pill chasing.
And between the nortriptyline and the antihistamines, I felt like a little fading fairy in a Disney film. I was sedated and lightheaded all day long. My mouth and eyes were dry and I would panic easily from feeling lightheaded and thinking I was going to faint and die.
At the same time, as spring turned, the antihistamines seemed less effective. It seemed like since they had more to overcome because of my seasonal allergies, my bladder wasn't getting the same benefit. I thought back and remembered multiple out-of-the-blue pain flares in April. I also remembered that I seemed to have better success with Elmiron in the winter. At least one study has shown that people often experience more IC flares during allergy season. No I'm not finding it right now.
So here I am. I take hydroxyzine in response to a flare rather than preventatively. I ran out of Zyrtec or put it away in a strange place so I haven't taken it in a month or so. I'm off Elmiron entirely, mainly because my inconsistent experience with it started to wear on me -- though now I realize that the inconsistency might've been seasonal.
Basically, I've put a moratorium on chasing medical treatments. I decided if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it the way I've always thought it should go -- and now I know why it could work!!!!!! I've got to eat well consistently for at least a year. I've got to avoid the bad foods as much as possible. My top triggers seem to be
- caffeinated tea
- spicy food
- tomato-based things
- sugar in certain forms (like, SweeTarts. Other forms can be bad, but that kind is worst)
Cutting these out is not hard nutritionally. Almost all of them do not provide us with nutrients. And I'm not too overly tempted by any of them not to be able to cut them out with a couple weeks of refusal-by-willpower.
After that it gets more complicated. If I really want to do my bladder right, I need to eat very simple whole foods and limit those foods until I can figure out the intermediate pain triggers. I'm fine with a diet of eggs, chicken, rice, potatoes, kind vegetables, oatmeal, and bananas, but there are three problems I run into:
- It's very easy to eat too little on this diet.
- Where are the snacks?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
- Other people and the social obligation to eat with them.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
The pain actually began gradually. In August and September of 2006, I started to get very low-level pain in my lower abdomen that I attributed to not drinking enough water. It was constant but very quiet, like a minor headache, and I hardly noticed it.
Then, on Friday, September 29, I met someone new and hooked up with him. The next morning, I regretted not peeing after sex, as we are advised, but thought the discomfort was fleeting. It didn't feel like a UTI exactly, and I again had the vague sense that if I drank more water, the pain would subside. By Monday, however, the pain was full blown, and my new life had begun.
My pain in those early months was not constant in the way it would grow to be. It cycled up and down. When I peed, it would catapult up the scale and ring on afterwards for a half-hour or so. Then it would quiet back down. It also seemed to cycle relative to eating and other activities, though I didn't spot a pattern.
Frankly, I wasn't looking for a pattern in the first couple months. I thought I had an atypical bladder infection that would resolve with the right antibiotic.
The first doctor diagnosed me with a UTI and gave me antibiotics for that. The second doctor diagnosed me with chlamydia and gave me antibiotics for that. Both diagnoses were wrong and I ended up getting an ultrasound of my bladder and kidneys to make sure I was eliminating all urine when I peed. I was. The next doctor tried me on a month of Macrobid, which didn't work either.
As the months passed, the intermittent stretches of low pain went away. My muscles were kicking in, trying to hold my pelvis steady because movement made the pain worse, and eventually that muscle engagement became dysfunctional.
I went through countless gynecologists and midwives, a few of whom were incredibly condescending. It was a horrible stretch of time. Finally, eight or nine months after the start of the pain, my mother's gynecologist diagnosed me with vulvodynia.
It's hard for me to write past this point because I get so angry.
Right when my pain flared up, I saw about five urologists who could've diagnosed me with interstitial cystitis. IC is not common, but it's not obscure. It's well within a urologist's wheelhouse, and any sustained pain resembling a UTI should be investigated as possible IC.
I saw six or more gynecologists and midwives who could've diagnosed me with vulvodynia. Vulvodynia can affect up to 15% of women at some point in their lives, depending on which statistics you're looking at. It should be one of the first things doctors consider when women have unexplained pelvic pain, yet I was told to change my toilet paper, bathe in oatmeal, and use Aveeno.
If a urologist had caught the IC, I might not have developed vulvodynia. My pain might've remained cyclical and not become constant. My pain might've receded to a low level with intermittent spikes. Note how I'm not saying we could've cured it. It's possible, but I don't like to think that far.
Early on, I was able to have sex without pain so long as my bladder wasn't in the mix. Pain-free sex was gone by the time I started visiting gynecologists.
If a gynecologist had caught the vulvodynia at the start, we could've fought it before it acquired more and more layers to the point of becoming indistinguishable from the bladder pain -- to being worse than the bladder pain.
It could've saved me so much had any of these doctors taken me seriously. Had they looked at me as chronic and not acute.
No use looking at what's lost, but all the same, I have a really hard time being high-minded about it. Maybe it's because my loss isn't just past tense. The pain stands between me and my senses, between me and my thoughts, me and my hopes, me and experience every second. I still do not hear music like I used to. The smear of my pain is always there dulling it. The world is constantly muted.
The past week has been terribly difficult and I don't know why. My anxiety is intractable. It's wires down my skin. I've tried to zero it out in multiple ways, but so far nothing is helping. I've also been exhausted, again in a different way than normal. I rotate through possible causes in my mind -- season, weather, food, work, pain -- but there's no history for any of the current variables producing this kind of anxiety and fatigue.
When I'm less tired and less overwhelmed emotionally, I'll try to post about my diet experiments and some progress I've made in understanding the mechanism behind my pain.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
So, goodbye birth control.
I started it up again about six weeks ago and have felt increasingly worse. At first, I thought it was normal aberration, maybe seasonal. But the past week, the bipolar cycling has become obvious. The only times I've cycled like this while on my current med combo are under extreme stress. The cycling doesn't start up because it's February, and it doesn't start up because I am worried about a medical procedure.
I called the psychiatrist on call today to confirm that the birth control could be the problem. Why my gynecologist didn't bring it up, I have no idea. Maybe it isn't on his radar. Maybe they are more worried about which medications can interfere with birth control and cause babies instead of what birth control can do to people who are on medications for bipolar disorder or epilepsy.
I really hate everything right now, especially myself, and I'm trying to remember that this is a mental state, not the truth. Just get through today, get through the next few days, and the lamotrigine will be at the proper level soon. If I'm not too far down the path of bipolar episode, I should come out of this without having to change my medications further.
Thankfully, I was just on birth control for birth control, and there are options that don't involve estrogen.
Pelvic pain data: the birth control I was taking (levonorgestrel and ethinyl estradiol... no brand name provided on this packaging, though there are many) didn't cause me more pain, but it did cause me to pee more. That was my experience when I was on it before, too. That time, I didn't note changes in my mood, but it's also possible I was in a rocky place at that point and wouldn't have been able to note changes anyway.
So, of course, when I started Vesicare, intended to treat urinary urgency and frequency, at the same time I started birth control... that was poor science.
Now to figure out how to be okay with the minutes I am in.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Lying here in bed, my eyes started doing that flicker thing they do when I'm forcing them to read but it's time to sleep. So I closed my Kindle and rolled over. But my heart is beating much faster than normal, maybe twice as fast, and I wondered if it's one of my medications or just what I ate for dinner. And then I realized that all my thoughts of suicide come out of thoughts of confinement to this pain.
During my time in college, three people who attended my school killed themselves. That is a lot, but it's especially a lot on a campus of 1,200. It was awful, and it shook everyone up. I was in the throes of my own depression, and I remember many times thinking, "At least I've never been suicidal."
I don't remember when the thoughts started, so I can't say for sure they were at bay until the pain came around. I think maybe my depression ramped up over time not in degree but in despair -- the more it seemed it would never go away, the more killing myself seemed reasonable. So I probably had suicidal thoughts before my pelvic pain started.
But eleven years into pelvic pain, I'm pretty sure if I didn't have the pain, I'd have a solid handle on the depression and anxiety by now. There are so many ways that I've grown in this time and so many things I've learned that would've made my early years easier. If I were only dealing with the one illness, it wouldn't rule my world.
All of my meltdowns have had to do with the pain. The summer I left grad school -- I left because of the stress of the pain. Americorps -- left for the same reason. 2014's agoraphobia came after months of failed treatments. 2016's outpatient therapy came after months of fantasizing about walking off a cliff.
And these thoughts that come into my head, thoughts I won't even write down -- I wonder how many of them follow thoughts about the pain.
I'm thinking most do. Almost all.
It's a maddening life. And then I feel guilty for thinking it is so bad. There is so much worse.
Then I think, well, imagine being made to sit on a hot iron without an end in sight. That would be a pretty horrible life.
Or a bed of nails. Or an acid bath.
At least the pain shapeshifts?
Of course I feel trapped. Of course I think of dying. That is to be alive and in pain.
I have news, but sharing it so far into a mournful post -- well, so I am disorganized.
March 23rd I go in for a bladder distention under anesthesia. The doctor will fill my bladder with water and expand it, a procedure that can lessen the pain for a few months. He will also do trigger-point injections, nerve blocks from inside the vagina. And he'll take a biopsy if anything that looks problematic.
At my last appointment, I told him I'm not convinced I have interstitial cystitis. He said, does your pain increase as your bladder fills? I said yes. He said that's all that needs to exist to diagnose painful bladder syndrome. Interstitial cystitis is a debated condition in the field of urology, but we can at least be sure I have PBS, and that's all we need to know to move forward with treatments.
At that appointment, the doctor also explained that some people think IC/PBS is an allergy. I may have mentioned before that I noticed a benefit from taking Zyrtec during the season for seasonal allergies. I generally only have to take it for a couple weeks, and even then I muscle through a lot, so I never had a real experiment with Zyrtec confirming that it helps. I started myself on it daily and wouldn't you know, so long as I'm not flaring, it takes the edge off my pain. I've gotten an allergy test before with 100% negative results. All I know I'm allergic to besides the seasons is bee stings. But maybe it's time for another test. I think people can be allergic to sugar, and my bladder hates sugar...
So I will end this post now and try to sleep. Maybe my heart has slowed. Before bed, it would sometimes dip below 50 beats per minute. Right now it is at 80. Maybe it is something I ate and not one of my many medications, all of which I will try to forget about for the night.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
I'm in a relationship and on birth control. Birth control has been linked to pelvic pain, but usually to its onset, not its worsening mid-condition. Still, I don't trust it.
My pain isn't really worse -- it just hasn't gotten better with Elmiron like it did last spring. I blame myself for not taking it regularly enough, and surely I was not taking it exactly as prescribed while I was working all kinds of hours during the Indians' baseball season. But I doubt I've been taking it any more inexactly than in the spring.
Here's the thing. I'm up in the predawn hours because I got up to go to the bathroom and peeing felt like being ripped in half. Which is normal. And I lay in bed waiting for the pain to subside, but I didn't doze off again like I usually would. Instead my feelings got hurt.
Penelope Trunk wrote in a recent blog post, "When you are living a nightmare you can't process. You are just surviving." When I read that, I wondered if my life counts as a nightmare. She was talking about childhood abuse. This is not that.
But tonight I thought of how when my pain is distressing, my mind jumps to rigging my neck to something and kicking over the chair. Then I thought, well, that's probably a thought habit. That's not a nightmare.
I have a thought habit I prefer for its impossibility. The earth falls away before my feet. I can step off without waiting, without preparing. Preferably I'd replace the other habit with this one, but they pop up in different circumstances. When I'm sitting still waiting out pain, it's my neck. When I'm moving around walking through pain, it's the cliff.
I haven't killed myself yet so I figure I probably won't. But I couldn't hold judgment against anyone who did, and people do.
I think I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. But when you cross from this space to the other one, fear is a different thing.
Last fall I crossed to that other space, and I stayed with my parents and attended therapy five days a week for two months. I put myself in a safe space. I'm still here.
Here at five in the morning, I see the reasons for living. I am not in constant emotional torture. People at my current job speak of me as a Pollyanna. Maybe that is relative. It's certainly learned. I hope it's true and not compensatory.
I would just like some progress. Some degree. If urination could not feel destructive. If I could forget about my pain for stretches of the day.
Why am I a miserable character? This pain has hurt so many people in my life. The thought of my grandmas worrying about me. I will likely see the sunrise today.