neuropathy – Words Not On Paper

*This post is part of a series. If you are new to the story begin here.

I had been sick for two years. Bounced from doctor to doctor with lengthy periods of waiting in between. I was looking for a diagnosis, and confident that my young doctor at Emory was the one who would finally get me back on a path to health. She had ordered “special tests,” and I only needed to wait two more weeks for the answer.

Actually, I saw no reason to wait until the appointment.

All the prior doctors had “patient portals.” These are internet sites through which you can access your medical records – appointments, lists of medications, test results, and messages. It is where the Redhead accumulated all the information that was in The Book.

Over the next three days, I received an email notification from Emory each time a new entry appeared in my medical record. These were the tests and the results. I was unfamiliar with most of them. Names like “Free Light Chains” and “Protein Electrophoresis.”

One addition to the Emory reporting system was an exclamation point (!) beside the test if the results were abnormal.

There were six tests – four had exclamation points.

I did not know what any of it meant, but I knew who did. I consulted “Dr. Google.”

Dr. Google had bad news. There were two likelihoods: multiple myeloma (a type of white blood cell cancer originating in the bone marrow), or a rare genetic condition called amyloidosis. Neither was good. My future included bone marrow biopsies and chemotherapy. Waitin’ around to die type stuff.

I got a second opinion from Dr. YouTube, who concurred.

I know it may sound hard to believe, but I was not devastated by the news. I was more stoic. In some strange way I was relieved that I had an illness with a treatment. When you are sick for a while, especially undiagnosed, you begin to think you might be crazy, and you are quite sure that others think you are.

The terrible thing about this experience was that I knew the Redhead was on her laptop across the room every night, conducting the same internet investigation.

One night I finally broached the subject.

“You know I have multiple myeloma, right?” I have never been one to beat around the bushes.

She began to cry.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. We will get through this. I am strong.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, because I am going to need you to be.”

And that was that.

Another week passed and we made the trip back to Atlanta. We did not go straight to see the doctor but instead went to an exam room to get another Electromyography (EMG) test. This was a repeat of an earlier exam by another neurologist to determine if my neuropathy was progressing.

After a brief wait, the doctor came in with her intern in tow.

“Sir, the good news is that your neuropathy is not progressing. I have run all the tests that we have at our disposal, and I am sorry to say that your case is idiopathic. I simply cannot find an explanation.”

“You mean I don’t have multiple myeloma or amyloidosis?”

“No, no! Some of your test results were a little high, but nothing like we would expect to see with either of those conditions.”

I felt like all the air had gone out of the room. I was relieved – but stunned.

“So, what is next?”

“It is hard to say. You have some inflammation somewhere in your body which indicates some sort of autoimmune disorder. All we can do is try and manage your symptoms. I will give you some medication for your nerve pain and we will go from there. Sometimes cases like yours resolve themselves. It could be six months, a year, or a decade, but your symptoms may go away on their own. I am going to schedule an appointment to see you again in one year. In the meantime, call me if your nerve pain worsens. We may have to try several medications before we find one that works for you.”

We were quiet for a while on the ride home.

“Well, I guess we’re at the end of the line.”

“No,” she said.

“We have seen everyone I know to see and done everything we know to do. What else is there?”

“All the things,” she said. “We are going to try all the things.”

I reluctantly began this story several weeks ago here due to the urging of others. It is difficult because it is personal, and I have always guarded such things. If we met on the street today and you asked me how I was doing I would say “Pretty good” or “Fine, thanks.”

I continue the tale with the hope that it might be helpful to someone.

The next part of the story may seem incredulous. Let me frame it this way:

Have you ever gone for a time, say six months, and one day tried to put on a pair of jeans only to discover that they are too tight? You ask yourself, “Have I put on some weight?” You step on the scales and find that you have gained ten pounds. Your first thought is “How did that happen?”

The answer is gradually. My progression into chronic illness was the same.

In the weeks following hospitalization, I experienced some tingling and numbness in my feet. I began to stumble a little, and my gait became unsteady. Walking up or down stairs and on uneven surfaces became challenging. I would lose my balance but “catch” myself on a wall or a chair. It was not a matter of vertigo or “light headedness.” It was strictly mechanical. It was hard to walk a straight line.

I also lost a lot of weight. Most of it was muscle. The clothes in my closet (my sizes had not changed since my twenties) were now way too large. Clown clothes.

I rationalized that these two conditions were linked. I was simply “out-of-shape.” Muscle atrophy from inactivity had affected my mobility, and I could get back to normal with disciplined exercise. I started lifting weights and felt better immediately, but after a few workouts I experienced complete fatigue. Though it was difficult to get out of bed, I had responsibilities — my family, my church, and my employer. I stopped and re-started the workouts several times, but the results were always the same.

Sometime later the Redhead and I were watching television one evening. She asked, “Why do you keep rubbing your hands?” I realized they too were numb. I really had not noticed before that moment because of the issues with my feet.

The numbness gradually worsened. Both hands and feet were numb during the day and throbbed at night. The Redhead told me I was “moaning” in my sleep.

Still, I let some time go by. Surely all this was simply connected to the Specialist’s “post viral syndrome” diagnosis.

Then I began to experience something the medical community calls “brain fog.” I lost track of things. Wallet. Phone. Keys. Forgot the names of people I had known for a long time. Stopped in mid-sentence because I could not remember a word.

I finally started to worry. I had waited long enough, and I had to find another doctor soon.

Thus began my search for answers in the modern medical system. It would drag on for over a year.

Tag: neuropathy

Nine: All the Things

Six: The Descent