My life has never been what you would call easy or simple. Every day was a struggle to even attempt to maintain normal vital signs. Doctors unfamiliar with Small Fiber Autonomic Polyneuropatny had no idea how to treat me. Over the last few years, I had been losing more and more mobility. At this point, I was wheelchair-bound. I needed one or two people to help me stand and pivot to transfer in and out of my wheelchair.,
Because of my gastroparesis, I could eat nothing by mouth and was on tube feeds 24/7. My body was starting to reject the tube feeds. The problem was, I had such a poor immune system that the doctors were reluctant to start me on TPN (IV nutrition). Because of the high sugar content in TPN, it is a breeding ground for infection. In addition to the … Find Out What Happens Next
During a three month long hospital stay for a flare up of my autoimmune-mediated small fiber autonomic polyneuropathy I went downhill so fast that I couldn’t even sit up on my own, I could barely lift my head off the pillow some days, let alone bear weight and transfer into my wheelchair, I went in ambulance for an hour-long ride down to Hillcrest Commons the nursing home/rehab that I was supposedly going to for a few weeks or months for intense rehab, so that I would get enough strength to function outside of a hospital or nursing home environment.
Hillcrest Commons is located in Pittsfield which is in the Berkshires (part of Western Massachusetts) so it’s a very beautiful location. It’s right on the border of upstate New York and it’s near the Vermont border as well.
I had been living in a nursing home that I had not-so-jokingly been referring to as Hell-crest Commons for months, with its’s evil nurse Ratched (Ahem, I mean Jillian) the nurse practitioner who was my primary provider and in charge of my care there.
After spending 5 months at Massachusetts General Hospital in 2014 I had learned that I had a severe and rare condition called Autoimmune Small Fiber Autonomic Polyneuropathy (Autonomic SFN) and would require IV fluids and tube feeds or TPN (IV nutrition) for the rest of my life.
Flash forward a year, I had spent three months at my local hospital for what started as a bowel obstruction and then just morphed into a whole bunch of other issues. During that hospitalization I just got so sick that there was no way I could just go home from there, so I had been transferred to Hell-crest Commons … Find Out What Happens Next
Feeding through a J port is supposed to help people with gastroparesis get much-needed nutrition that they can’t get by eating orally or by getting fed through a G tube. A person with gastroparesis has a paralyzed stomach so a J tube which goes straight into the Jejunum skips over that paralyzed stomach and goes right into the middle of the small intestine is a way to give the person.
Now that I had the tube feeds and the IV fluids, I was feeling a lot better physically most of the time as I wasn’t actively starving to death, but I would still have breakthrough periods where the pain would get intense, or I’d get nauseous and start vomiting huge volumes of bile and/or tube feed. The tube feed was going into my intestines through my J tube, which was supposed to prevent me from vomiting it up. Still, it … Find Out What Happens Next
About four or five years after my heart problems had climaxed, my blood pressure took a surprising turn.
My whole life my blood pressure had run so low we worried about me tripping over it. This had always been concerning to Dr. Oster and my other doctors because with such a high heart rate and such low blood pressure it was too easy for me to go into hypovolemic shock. In fact, one of the reasons I was admitted to the hospital so frequently was due to hypovolemic shock. We referred to it as bottoming out.
When I bottomed out, I would turn bluish-gray, get really clammy, and if I caught it myself before it got too severe, I would call for my own ambulance from wherever I was. It was the worst when I wasn’t home and was in an embarrassing place. An embarrassing place was pretty much anywhere … Find Out What Happens Next
My pediatric cardiologist was extremely concerned about me by the time I was thirteen. He stayed in close contact with Dr. Kaye, my adolescent medicine doctor. When I was lying down on that crinkly white paper on the exam table, my heart rate was usually about 120. Sitting up it was usually about 135, and when I stood up, it was in the 150s. Neither Dr. Kaye or Dr. Oster, the cardiologist, ever said anything about those numbers being abnormal, but I read it right off their faces.
After they left the room I looked it up on my phone. A normal heart rate for a teenager is 60 to 100 beats per minute, and it shouldn’t fluctuate like that with changes of position.
Dr. Oster said they wanted to run a bunch of tests on my heart shortly before my fourteenth birthday. I was not surprised.
If you wanted to look up the word sick in the dictionary, you would probably find a picture of me. Ever since I was eight years old and started struggling with muscle fatigue and appetite loss I have been on a downward trend in my health. By the time I was ten I had had my first NG tube. This was followed by my first surgery when the NG tube caused a bowel obstruction. Then I had to deal with an even thicker NG tube to suction. This was followed by my first NJ tube.
I spent a good chunk of fifth grade in the hospital, and went home from the hospital with the NJ tube still in place and a diagnosis of severe gastroparesis. The rest of my childhood was spent racking up frequent flier miles at my local children’s hospital. At age thirteen my heart rhythm disturbances took … Find Out What Happens Next
As a toddler, I spoke before I walked, but I walked right on time too. I hit all my milestones early. My mom had a Master’s degree in early childhood education. She consulted at multiple daycare centers and nursery schools. Some days she would bring me with her to work to show me off. I would ace all of the baby developmental screenings. The other teachers and educators would watch in awe. Back then there was no talk about me having an eating disorder.
In third grade, I began my descent into chronic illness. My skin, hair, and mouth became extremely dry. I started getting frequent pounding headaches.
From kindergarten to the first part of fifth grade, I attended a private Jewish day school, where every day began with a morning prayer service. The Orthodox Jewish Prayer service consists of multiple parts where you remain standing for prolonged periods of … Find Out What Happens Next
The whole genre of my healthcare had changed when I first woke up, swathed in warm blankets after my emergency surgery to have 2.5 inches of dead bowel removed. It wouldn’t be until almost a week later, after all of the testing was complete, that I would find out I had a disease called gastroparesis. The NG feeding tube formula they had been pumping me up with had congealed inside me forming a hardened mass called a bezoar. This in turn had caused a bowel obstruction. After four days of being ignored while I was supposedly being “treated” for an “eating disorder” in the children’s inpatient psychiatric unit, the obstruction had finally just ruptured causing my surgical emergency and the death of that 2.5 inches of bowel.
At ten years old I weighed 38 pounds. For the last two years, everyone had passed me off as a psych case. At … Find Out What Happens Next
