This post is about my intestines. I share this not to gross
anyone out, but to cast light on some failures in our US diagnostic system. And,
well, because I’m a traveler and that’s what we do. So if you can take it, or share
frustration with our own health services in the US, then read on.
For a couple years now I’ve been struggling with some form
of digestive trouble. It came on quite suddenly while I was traveling in France
a couple years ago. My bowel
movements stopped. Entirely. For two weeks. I started experiencing a searing
pain in the right arch of my foot that would come on with absolutely no warning
and would paralyze me with pain. Though it would only last ten seconds at most,
the pain was so intense I would often break into a sweat. It started randomly,
and at long intervals, maybe once a day, then sped up, hitting more than half a
dozen zings during our flight home. I was in agony.
Once home, the doctors ordered a stool sample to rule out
parasites, then moved on to more frightening examinations and ultrasounds of my
ovaries, my cervix and my entire abdomen. Nothing. I was sent to a podiatrist
for the foot pain (no, not gout, or plantar fasciitis, or anything else anyone
could identify). I became increasingly convinced that my foot pain had nothing
to do with my feet, but moreso with my internal organs. More blood tests, more
radiology. I was told I was simply getting older. I should drink more water,
eat more yoghurt, buy some supportive, expensive tennis shoes, deal with it. Definitely
not satisfying. Lessening my sugar intake helped my foot pain immensely. Still,
I embraced suggestions: I ate more yoghurt, drank olive oil, chugged magnesium,
ate apples by the pound, drank water and moved daily. Over the years, we
stopped short of a colonoscopy, mostly because at the time, and just before
leaving the country, I had to undergo unrelated surgery, and didn’t have it in
me to add on a scope of my nether regions, as important as it surely is to
reading my general health.
Over time, my foot pain mysteriously disappeared with only
occasional flare-ups, and I had become almost accustomed to the other intestinal
challenges. So I was pretty upset when, after several weeks in Mexico – and perhaps
fed by the twice-daily ice cream binges –, my foot pain came back, with a
vengeance. I needed to find someone who could look at my foot pain as being
integral to the rest of my body, and not solely about my foot. I called on a
doctor most often recommended in this Mexican town and told him my tale. He had
no answers but said he too would start at the beginning: with a stool sample,
three in fact, because “one sample is never enough. Any doctor who only
performs one doesn’t understand parasites. Or stool samples.” Hmmm.
Well, you can guess what happens next, right? We were
equally surprised when tests showed I had a rare parasite, one so rare that he
had never treated this, and had no medication for it. It was so rare in humans,
in fact, that treatment is to be reported to the CDC, one site informed me! The
little fella may have been with me for years, and MAY be causing some of my
distress. May be? We finally tracked down and ordered the meds from
Guadalajara. I consulted with some Santa Fe doctors, one of whom said to go
ahead, the other told me to run the other way fast as the side effects included
suicidal depression. This doctor told me to keep the parasite, informing me that
worms have been used to treat autoimmune diseases, decrease inflammation in the
gut and that I should celebrate this infestation. Rejoice! She also insisted
the parasite, otherwise known as a Rat Worm, couldn’t possibly have to do with
my inability to go to the bathroom. But while researching, I learned that
parasites very often cause constipation, which can’t be good for my body no
matter how I looked at it. I mulled this decision over for weeks, but finally
decided that if there was a chance this could help me in the long run, I
couldn’t pass it up. So here goes, dosing on some of the strongest meds I’ve
taken in a long, long time. Wish me luck.
As I write this post I am reeling from this powerful medication.
I’m left to wonder at the costs of all the tests I have already undergone, and
more importantly, at their accuracy. Do I actually know what’s wrong? Could
this parasite be the cause of my internal distress? Were the docs and nurses
who did previous examinations exhaustive? Or even precise at all? I can’t help
but question. If only they had accurately done a stool sample several years
ago, would I have suffered so long? Then again, no telling if this medication will
treat all of my symptoms, or any of them.
The one message I’m left with is that I was right. Not that
I know if this is the true cause of my distress; what I mean is that we so
often know when something isn’t right in our bodies. And I definitely knew
something wasn’t right, regardless of how many people told me I was just
getting older, or wasn’t eating enough yoghurt. I had no idea it was a parasite,
but I’ll take that any day over something more serious. And if this worm, which
Aiden has affectionately named Fred, has helped me in keeping my, uh, girlish
figure, then I thank him. More importantly, I hope that it has not been key in
providing me with an incredibly strong immune system, from which I have
benefitted for many years. Because by taking this drug, I’ve decided that Fred
has been up to more nefarious dealings in my body. I am deciding to eliminate
him with toxins I am not entirely comfortable with, all in the name of trying
to answer questions about my health that have plagued me for several years now.
So, Fred, be gone with you now. It is with much gratitude that I am asking you, telling you, and then letting you
go.
wow; tell us what you learn! best wishes for good health
ReplyDeleteYou are so strong - honest & good. Blessings
ReplyDelete