Wednesday, September 29th, 2021 (a brief synopsis for anyone who hadn't been following the original thread)
To backtrack ever so slightly, I am in the midst of moving into an adult care facility. I am hoping this move is temporary, but it's difficult to say how all of this turns out. In a roundabout way, I started working towards this change of venue goal after realizing my infected teeth were likely contributing to my worsening M.E. symptoms.
Oddly enough, debilitating P.E.M. was the main obstacle in having these offending teeth removed on the first place. You see, I would need to be carried down difficult stairs (making four successive ninety-degree turns) carried by at least four paramedics, while fully wrapped in a tarp. So imagine me being wrapped like a burrito. Hmmm… perhaps you shouldn't.
Anyway, the physical strain due to the physical pressure placed upon my muscles renders me unable to speak for a couple of hours afterwards, and then unable to move for several hours beyond that.
Being at the mercy of a tooth-pulling dentist is far less than ideal in this condition. And then being brought back home immediately afterwards merely doubles the trauma.
The result? A severe P.E.M. episode.
My fear is not being able to breathe, not having the ability to operate the muscles that move my chest (afterwards). This fear is neither acknowledged nor understood by anybody besides us, or others similarly afflicted. So the idea is to avoid this potential outcome.
The Best Solution?
Having the offending teeth removed all at the same time under general anesthesia at a hospital.
The Problem?
The waiting list extends into April of 2022 (I'm on a state covered insurance plan). Truly, I cannot wait that long. Not many could.
Drugs
In the meantime, I was given Augmentin (two weeks ago). And within two days the headaches, nausea, chills, severe intestinal bloating, as well as other randomly occurring symptoms, diminished.
A New Solution
This is where the idea of moving into an adult care center came into play.
In that living situation, the paramedics would gently lift me from my easy access bed, place me on the stretcher, and that's that. I go. The dentist does his thing. I come back to the care center. And I'm finished! Then I repeat this same process every so often, until I am no longer in pain.
Advantage Number 2
Besides E.R. visits, I've been unable to see any doctors since 2014. There have been a few exceptions, a couple of home visits prior to the pandemic. But that's been it.
So I figure, why not visit additional doctors (specialists) to see if someone will give me a diagnosis.. Or actually do something that helps? I know this would be a longshot, but perhaps I have a different thing, a curable thing.
The Future
Right now, it's undecided if I shall return home. My wife has been solely responsible for me these past six long years, and it's not been easy for her. Of course there's far more to it than I am letting on, but she's understandably worn out and worn down. And the common refrain of late has been, "It's not you, it's the illness." So we'll see how this plays out.
Anyway, as much as I fight against this wrong-headed perception (the idea that my illness defines me), it somehow always comes back to that in the end. But, I am NOT my illness! And neither are you.
Take care,
Howard
Next Installment: Administrative Flux, and the Unanswered Calls to My Primary Care Physician or Dropping the Ball, Again and Again
To backtrack ever so slightly, I am in the midst of moving into an adult care facility. I am hoping this move is temporary, but it's difficult to say how all of this turns out. In a roundabout way, I started working towards this change of venue goal after realizing my infected teeth were likely contributing to my worsening M.E. symptoms.
Oddly enough, debilitating P.E.M. was the main obstacle in having these offending teeth removed on the first place. You see, I would need to be carried down difficult stairs (making four successive ninety-degree turns) carried by at least four paramedics, while fully wrapped in a tarp. So imagine me being wrapped like a burrito. Hmmm… perhaps you shouldn't.
Anyway, the physical strain due to the physical pressure placed upon my muscles renders me unable to speak for a couple of hours afterwards, and then unable to move for several hours beyond that.
Being at the mercy of a tooth-pulling dentist is far less than ideal in this condition. And then being brought back home immediately afterwards merely doubles the trauma.
The result? A severe P.E.M. episode.
My fear is not being able to breathe, not having the ability to operate the muscles that move my chest (afterwards). This fear is neither acknowledged nor understood by anybody besides us, or others similarly afflicted. So the idea is to avoid this potential outcome.
The Best Solution?
Having the offending teeth removed all at the same time under general anesthesia at a hospital.
The Problem?
The waiting list extends into April of 2022 (I'm on a state covered insurance plan). Truly, I cannot wait that long. Not many could.
Drugs
In the meantime, I was given Augmentin (two weeks ago). And within two days the headaches, nausea, chills, severe intestinal bloating, as well as other randomly occurring symptoms, diminished.
A New Solution
This is where the idea of moving into an adult care center came into play.
In that living situation, the paramedics would gently lift me from my easy access bed, place me on the stretcher, and that's that. I go. The dentist does his thing. I come back to the care center. And I'm finished! Then I repeat this same process every so often, until I am no longer in pain.
Advantage Number 2
Besides E.R. visits, I've been unable to see any doctors since 2014. There have been a few exceptions, a couple of home visits prior to the pandemic. But that's been it.
So I figure, why not visit additional doctors (specialists) to see if someone will give me a diagnosis.. Or actually do something that helps? I know this would be a longshot, but perhaps I have a different thing, a curable thing.
The Future
Right now, it's undecided if I shall return home. My wife has been solely responsible for me these past six long years, and it's not been easy for her. Of course there's far more to it than I am letting on, but she's understandably worn out and worn down. And the common refrain of late has been, "It's not you, it's the illness." So we'll see how this plays out.
Anyway, as much as I fight against this wrong-headed perception (the idea that my illness defines me), it somehow always comes back to that in the end. But, I am NOT my illness! And neither are you.
Take care,
Howard
Next Installment: Administrative Flux, and the Unanswered Calls to My Primary Care Physician or Dropping the Ball, Again and Again
