So I made it through allergy testing - not more than a couple hours' worth - Thursday and Friday.
Here's what I learned, in the tester's words: I am "allergic to everything."
Who knew? I mean sure, I deal with the occasional headache or tummyache. I have eczema. I get hives now and then. I pretty much always have some sort of drainage in the back of my throat and my nose runs constantly. At times my eyes are so itchy and watery that I'm afraid people think I'm crying. And then there's the sneezing and coughing and throat-clearing. And wheezing.
Umm, OK. When I write it out like that it does seem like a lot. And truly, I do deal with some sort of discomfort every single day. I guess it's just something I got used to, and I didn't know those various discomforts were (most likely) related.
None of my allergies is life-threatening at this point, but I was given a prescription for an Epi-pen as a precaution. I'm told I reacted quickly and pretty severely to ragweed and grasses, but there was some reaction to every single thing they tested. Dogs and cats, various molds, trees, weeds, foods, and (ick) dust mites. Cow's milk - this I had suspected for some time, actually, and had cut back on my milk consumption. White potatoes, of all things. Interestingly, I had a roast in the slow cooker and planned to have carrots and potatoes with it Friday evening (after testing). I went ahead with my plan, knowing the potatoes were on my list, thinking I would just see how my body handled it. Lo and behold, I went to bed with a headache that night. Sure, the headache could have been caused by anything, but now I know to pay attention to how my body reacts when I consume certain things. If I get a headache the next few times I eat potatoes, guess who's not eating potatoes anymore?
All the information I was given was a bit overwhelming at first, but now that I've had a little time to digest it I am thinking about how I can implement some changes here at home. It will take some effort to keep up with the dust mites and pet dander, but I am resolved to more frequent dusting, vacuuming, and laundering. I'm so glad we had central air installed last summer so I don't have to open windows and invite the pollens in from outside. Plans to remove carpeting in favor of hard surface floors will be put on the fast track. I'll be researching air filters and I already received a quote (*choke*) for sealing our crawlspace under the house to combat the dampness.
As far as the foods, there are some things I will just avoid. Most things aren't worth feeling like junk. For those I reacted to, I have been directed to do a "challenge" diet. So I would eliminate, say, any sort of milk from my diet for four days, then add it back in on the fifth day and write down how my body reacts. I will share those records with the doctor when I see him again in six weeks. The gal who tested me said she's certain the doc will recommend allergy shots. Yay.
So. That's that. I have some challenges ahead, but at least I know there is something I can do to help myself feel better, and having some answers is a relief. I expect when I see the doctor next month I will also hear about my breathing test and whether there is also an element of asthma going on here.
Moving forward. That's all I can do.
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctors. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Friday, February 3, 2012
On the road to recovery. Or more aptly titled: How would you know if you couldn't remember what you forgot?
It is only because Sam is doing well after thumping his melon that we can joke about it.
For instance, I have to laugh about what the ER doctor told me to expect over the next few days and weeks: Sam might be more emotional than usual; it might be a little more difficult to wake him up; he might have trouble focusing and might be forgetful.
None of those things would alarm me coming from this particular child.
The hospital discharge papers say "a concussion occurs when there is a blow to the head with enough force to shake up the brain."
A 13-yr-old kid with a jumbled up brain? Imagine.
In all seriousness, Sam's doctor told him today he is doing great neurologically and just needs to take it easy for a while. No rough-housing. No contact sports - so his Saturday bowling league is fine. But no skiing for a few weeks.
Sam is beyond bummed out that he can't ski. I am elated that the doctor made that call for us and I didn't have to be the meanie who told him NO.
Yesterday afternoon and today, Sam told me he hasn't had any trouble remembering things at school. My response to him is, "How do you know if you can't remember something?"
Hmm.
So, other than a mama's obvious concern over her kiddo's recent head trauma, things are returning to normal around here ... though the stress of the past couple days is catching up with me and I am exhausted. Early bedtime tonight, sleeping in tomorrow, and vegging out most of the weekend are all sounding pretty good right about now.
~ ~ ~
P.S. Thank you to all who did (and continue to) pray for Sam, sent good vibes our way, called, sent texts, and generally kept us in your thoughts. We are blessed to have so many people in our lives who care.
For instance, I have to laugh about what the ER doctor told me to expect over the next few days and weeks: Sam might be more emotional than usual; it might be a little more difficult to wake him up; he might have trouble focusing and might be forgetful.
None of those things would alarm me coming from this particular child.
The hospital discharge papers say "a concussion occurs when there is a blow to the head with enough force to shake up the brain."
A 13-yr-old kid with a jumbled up brain? Imagine.
In all seriousness, Sam's doctor told him today he is doing great neurologically and just needs to take it easy for a while. No rough-housing. No contact sports - so his Saturday bowling league is fine. But no skiing for a few weeks.
Sam is beyond bummed out that he can't ski. I am elated that the doctor made that call for us and I didn't have to be the meanie who told him NO.
Yesterday afternoon and today, Sam told me he hasn't had any trouble remembering things at school. My response to him is, "How do you know if you can't remember something?"
Hmm.
So, other than a mama's obvious concern over her kiddo's recent head trauma, things are returning to normal around here ... though the stress of the past couple days is catching up with me and I am exhausted. Early bedtime tonight, sleeping in tomorrow, and vegging out most of the weekend are all sounding pretty good right about now.
~ ~ ~
P.S. Thank you to all who did (and continue to) pray for Sam, sent good vibes our way, called, sent texts, and generally kept us in your thoughts. We are blessed to have so many people in our lives who care.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
'Pleasant words' in life's stormy times.
If I wanted to write all about me I'd lay it out for the world to see like the open book I am, but when it comes to others I try not to get too personal. So I tread lightly today.
Steve's dad is sick. Not a I should make him some chicken noodle soup kind of sick. It's not something extra rest and a few aspirin can conquer. No, we're talking more like a team of doctors and a pretty risky, yet potentially life-saving surgery. On his brain.
My father-in-law has had his share of health struggles this year and we have weathered them as a family, each one of us offering support and encouragement in our own way. We live next door to Steve's parents and our children see them nearly every day, so they are hyper sensitive to any break in routine or disruption of their time with Nana and Papa. That means I am, too, because when their grandparents aren't around I get drilled with questions about where they are and what they're doing.
Oh, it's not like we watch for Nana's car to pull in the driveway after work.
Wait. Yes they do.
Well, not in a stalker-ish kind of way, anyway.
And yes, I suppose the kids do wander over there some afternoons just to see if Papa has filled his candy jars with lemon drops and Tootsie Roll pops. Hey, they're kids after all. But the sweet treats and the always-stocked pantry are just a bonus to spending time with two people who adore them like only grandparents can.
So the thought of something being seriously wrong with their Papa is scary. And to their many questions I can offer few answers. We're all shaken. Nobody really wants to think about how fragile life is.
But today I am reminded through my little book of daily devotions that sometimes all it takes is a few kind words to lift someone up when the world has knocked them down. (OK, and sometimes it takes medical intervention, but then kind words wouldn't hurt, either.)
I've never been one to sugar-coat the truth for my children, but I can certainly comfort them - with my words and lots of extra hugs and kisses - in the midst of a crisis. They look to the adults in their lives for safety, for a sign that it's OK to be scared and hopeful at the same time. This week I have encouraged them to take their worries to God, and to do their best to focus on all the good in their lives.
And I'm doing my best to take my own advice.
Father-in-law's surgery is planned for Friday. He's hanging out in the hospital being waited on and keeping up with his soap operas and bantering back and forth with the nurses until then. Afterward? I guess we won't know until the time comes. Maybe life will eventually get back to normal ... whatever that is. Or maybe we'll have to learn a new normal.
One thing is for sure: we'll face it together, this extended family of friends and neighbors and ... well, extended family. We'll lean on each other. We'll pray. And I will make a point to speak "from God's honeycomb" to each of my loved ones.
Steve's dad is sick. Not a I should make him some chicken noodle soup kind of sick. It's not something extra rest and a few aspirin can conquer. No, we're talking more like a team of doctors and a pretty risky, yet potentially life-saving surgery. On his brain.
My father-in-law has had his share of health struggles this year and we have weathered them as a family, each one of us offering support and encouragement in our own way. We live next door to Steve's parents and our children see them nearly every day, so they are hyper sensitive to any break in routine or disruption of their time with Nana and Papa. That means I am, too, because when their grandparents aren't around I get drilled with questions about where they are and what they're doing.
Oh, it's not like we watch for Nana's car to pull in the driveway after work.
Wait. Yes they do.
Well, not in a stalker-ish kind of way, anyway.
And yes, I suppose the kids do wander over there some afternoons just to see if Papa has filled his candy jars with lemon drops and Tootsie Roll pops. Hey, they're kids after all. But the sweet treats and the always-stocked pantry are just a bonus to spending time with two people who adore them like only grandparents can.
So the thought of something being seriously wrong with their Papa is scary. And to their many questions I can offer few answers. We're all shaken. Nobody really wants to think about how fragile life is.
But today I am reminded through my little book of daily devotions that sometimes all it takes is a few kind words to lift someone up when the world has knocked them down. (OK, and sometimes it takes medical intervention, but then kind words wouldn't hurt, either.)
Proverbs 16:24
"Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body."
I've never been one to sugar-coat the truth for my children, but I can certainly comfort them - with my words and lots of extra hugs and kisses - in the midst of a crisis. They look to the adults in their lives for safety, for a sign that it's OK to be scared and hopeful at the same time. This week I have encouraged them to take their worries to God, and to do their best to focus on all the good in their lives.
And I'm doing my best to take my own advice.
Father-in-law's surgery is planned for Friday. He's hanging out in the hospital being waited on and keeping up with his soap operas and bantering back and forth with the nurses until then. Afterward? I guess we won't know until the time comes. Maybe life will eventually get back to normal ... whatever that is. Or maybe we'll have to learn a new normal.
One thing is for sure: we'll face it together, this extended family of friends and neighbors and ... well, extended family. We'll lean on each other. We'll pray. And I will make a point to speak "from God's honeycomb" to each of my loved ones.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
A defining moment.
I don't mind hospitals. Probably because I've never had a really traumatic or terrible experience in one. But there is one thing for sure: you can expect only so much privacy and only so much modesty in a hospital emergency room.
I spent all day yesterday in the ER with my grandma - she was the patient - and it was very enlightening. Or ... educational? Maybe "memorable" is the word I'm looking for.
Yes, definitely memorable. As in, I will never forget the events of the day and how they impacted our family.
I've been visiting granny and taking her to doctor appointments and picking up prescriptions and communicating with her caregivers while my parents and my aunt and uncle are in Florida for the winter. I wrote a little about that here and here.
While this has been hectic at times, I am happy to do it. She is my only remaining grandparent and I feel blessed to have her close to me and to have a great relationship with her.
Yesterday's visit to the ER was not all that unexpected, as grandma has been having some pretty serious pain in her back and ribcage and the prescription pain killers were helping her less and less. We had been waiting to hear from her doctor's office about scheduling a procedure to drain some fluid off grandma's lung; we believed that fluid was causing the pain. When she asked me to take her to the ER I figured it would at least put her on the fast track to getting the procedure done.
Boy, was I wrong.
While we waited for results of all kinds of tests to come back I couldn't help but overhear the maladies of the patient on the other side of the curtain. It was a (probably) middle-aged woman who had brought her mother in. The mother had been diagnosed with cancer two days after the daughter's husband lost his battle with cancer.
Can you imagine? The love of your life dies of cancer, mom comes to comfort you and within days she is diagnosed with cancer. It's a cruel world.
Cancer. The ugly "c" word.
It made me think of all the people I've known - too many - who have struggled with this disease. Some won, some didn't make it. It's never pretty and never easy.
I thought to myself, "At least grandma doesn't have cancer. Thank God she doesn't have cancer."
The hours ticked by. Nurses came and went. I finished reading a magazine. Grandma snoozed when she could get comfortable enough. I played games on my cell phone. Two IV doses of the strongest narcotics they had didn't touch grandma's pain. Calls were made. Vitals taken repeatedly. I sent Steve a text. CT scan done. I called my mom. Grandma told the nurse on a scale of 1-10 her pain was a 10. I kept wondering why they couldn't find something to get her some relief.
And then grandma's family doctor appeared.
The three of us - granny, doc and me - talked about the morning's events and everything granny's been through in the past few months leading up to this week. The doctor reminded her of how previous tests showed a mass on one of her lungs, and when further testing revealed the mass was most likely not cancerous the doctor still felt there was something a little off. At the time grandma declined further testing because she was not interested in any more surgeries or poking or prodding or cutting.
Doc said these latest tests from the ER indicate the mass has grown a bit and she's pretty sure that's what is causing grandma's pain.
Grandma asked the question.
"Do you think it's cancer?"
The doctor's answer: "I do."
This is one of those defining moments. I thought I had somewhat prepared myself.
It still felt like someone punched me in the gut.
There was time to take a breath, and then the conversation immediately turned to grandma's options for treatment. She is not interested in biopsies or chemotherapy or any of that; she just wants the pain to go away. We talked about hospice care and the doctor directed one of the nurses to make a phone call.
I had to call my mom and tell her.
The rest of the day was a blur of phone calls and consults and doing my best to comfort grandma and address her wishes and - finally - another dose of medication that numbed the pain enough to let her sleep. She was moved to a room and admitted for the night. I left after the doctor came in to check on her in the evening and I was glad for the quiet 30-minute drive home.
Cancer.
Cancer without treatment, no less. We're probably talking months left with her. Maybe a year. Nobody has a crystal ball, of course, but I think it's only human to wonder about a time line.
No bones about it, cancer sucks. Interestingly, I don't think grandma gives a flip. She's tired. She's been saying for a while that she's ready to go. She said yesterday she just doesn't want things to drag on and on with her body in the shape it's in. I believe her. I pray that with help from hospice she can at least enjoy the time she has left, free of pain.
After a good night of sleep I'm eager to see her today. I plan to take her back to the adult foster care home when she is discharged from the hospital this afternoon, and we will meet with a hospice nurse there to get grandma signed up.
As I've talked with family members I tell them I am taking my cues from grandma; she's OK and handling things with dignity and grace, so I will, too. That's all I can promise for today. Tomorrow and the days after? We'll deal with them one at a time.
I spent all day yesterday in the ER with my grandma - she was the patient - and it was very enlightening. Or ... educational? Maybe "memorable" is the word I'm looking for.
Yes, definitely memorable. As in, I will never forget the events of the day and how they impacted our family.
I've been visiting granny and taking her to doctor appointments and picking up prescriptions and communicating with her caregivers while my parents and my aunt and uncle are in Florida for the winter. I wrote a little about that here and here.
While this has been hectic at times, I am happy to do it. She is my only remaining grandparent and I feel blessed to have her close to me and to have a great relationship with her.
Yesterday's visit to the ER was not all that unexpected, as grandma has been having some pretty serious pain in her back and ribcage and the prescription pain killers were helping her less and less. We had been waiting to hear from her doctor's office about scheduling a procedure to drain some fluid off grandma's lung; we believed that fluid was causing the pain. When she asked me to take her to the ER I figured it would at least put her on the fast track to getting the procedure done.
Boy, was I wrong.
While we waited for results of all kinds of tests to come back I couldn't help but overhear the maladies of the patient on the other side of the curtain. It was a (probably) middle-aged woman who had brought her mother in. The mother had been diagnosed with cancer two days after the daughter's husband lost his battle with cancer.
Can you imagine? The love of your life dies of cancer, mom comes to comfort you and within days she is diagnosed with cancer. It's a cruel world.
Cancer. The ugly "c" word.
It made me think of all the people I've known - too many - who have struggled with this disease. Some won, some didn't make it. It's never pretty and never easy.
I thought to myself, "At least grandma doesn't have cancer. Thank God she doesn't have cancer."
The hours ticked by. Nurses came and went. I finished reading a magazine. Grandma snoozed when she could get comfortable enough. I played games on my cell phone. Two IV doses of the strongest narcotics they had didn't touch grandma's pain. Calls were made. Vitals taken repeatedly. I sent Steve a text. CT scan done. I called my mom. Grandma told the nurse on a scale of 1-10 her pain was a 10. I kept wondering why they couldn't find something to get her some relief.
And then grandma's family doctor appeared.
The three of us - granny, doc and me - talked about the morning's events and everything granny's been through in the past few months leading up to this week. The doctor reminded her of how previous tests showed a mass on one of her lungs, and when further testing revealed the mass was most likely not cancerous the doctor still felt there was something a little off. At the time grandma declined further testing because she was not interested in any more surgeries or poking or prodding or cutting.
Doc said these latest tests from the ER indicate the mass has grown a bit and she's pretty sure that's what is causing grandma's pain.
Grandma asked the question.
"Do you think it's cancer?"
The doctor's answer: "I do."
This is one of those defining moments. I thought I had somewhat prepared myself.
It still felt like someone punched me in the gut.
There was time to take a breath, and then the conversation immediately turned to grandma's options for treatment. She is not interested in biopsies or chemotherapy or any of that; she just wants the pain to go away. We talked about hospice care and the doctor directed one of the nurses to make a phone call.
I had to call my mom and tell her.
The rest of the day was a blur of phone calls and consults and doing my best to comfort grandma and address her wishes and - finally - another dose of medication that numbed the pain enough to let her sleep. She was moved to a room and admitted for the night. I left after the doctor came in to check on her in the evening and I was glad for the quiet 30-minute drive home.
Cancer.
Cancer without treatment, no less. We're probably talking months left with her. Maybe a year. Nobody has a crystal ball, of course, but I think it's only human to wonder about a time line.
No bones about it, cancer sucks. Interestingly, I don't think grandma gives a flip. She's tired. She's been saying for a while that she's ready to go. She said yesterday she just doesn't want things to drag on and on with her body in the shape it's in. I believe her. I pray that with help from hospice she can at least enjoy the time she has left, free of pain.
After a good night of sleep I'm eager to see her today. I plan to take her back to the adult foster care home when she is discharged from the hospital this afternoon, and we will meet with a hospice nurse there to get grandma signed up.
As I've talked with family members I tell them I am taking my cues from grandma; she's OK and handling things with dignity and grace, so I will, too. That's all I can promise for today. Tomorrow and the days after? We'll deal with them one at a time.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Doc, drugs, and the art of doing nothing.
Doc: "Where's the worst of it?"
Me: "Neck and left shoulder."
"OK. What happened?"
"Uhhh."
"Just life, huh?"
"Yep. I've been doing lots of work around the house lately."
"And probably twice as much as usual, right?"
He knows Steve is working out-of-state.
"Yeah. Do ya' think I could clone myself?"
"How many times?"
*chuckle*
He's working his way from my hips to my shoulders, palpating my spine.
"Oh. OH. This is bad."
"Yeah. Wanna' hear something crazy? It's actually better than it was yesterday."
"Ya' got quite a speed bump there."
"No kidding."
This is where he tells me to take a deep breath and let it all the way out.
POP!
The stabbing pain is immediately replaced by a dull ache. Ahhh, relief.
"Again."
My nose starts draining.
"And again."
POP!
I feel like I can run a marathon. OK, maybe a 5k. Maybe walk a 5k. Slowly."Again."
This time the neck. Thud.
I think I see stars on the backs of my eyelids.
Thud.
Why did I wait so long?Thud.
This is really going to hurt later.Thud.
I wonder if we still have any prescription-strength painkillers in the cupboard.
"Yep."
"NO chores."
"OK."
Here comes my favorite part: massage. He uses some vibrating shiatsu-looking thing. Not as nice as a hands-on massage, but I'll take it.
"You really need to be careful today. Get some heat on there to loosen up those muscles and take something for your pain. This is gonna' be sore for a while."
"Got it."
"You're going to want to take a day off. Or TWO." Emphasis his.
~ ~ ~
Right. Two days? No bending, lifting, twisting, pulling? No can do, chief. I totally respect the doc and all he does for the spinal health of humankind, but I can't put life on hold while I heal up. And really, who could?
In the interest of not completely incapacitating myself, though, I promise I'll do less than nothing at least until my kids get off the school bus today. That gives me a good ... oh ... seven hours from the time I left the doc's office.
The drugs are already kicking in and the couch is calling my name.
So ... happy Cinco de Mayo, amigos. It's time for a lengthy siesta. Hasta mañana.
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