Category Archives: Life As I Know It

Blessed 4th of July

Last week I had the honor of meeting with photographer and fellow veteran Stacy Pearsall at the Junction City USAA for a portrait session through her Veterans Portrait Project. It was an incredible experience. Persall, an Air Force veteran, is an energetic woman with eyes that reflect a kind heart. She guided me onto the stool and helped me find a comfortable pose. Often shy in front of the camera, I end up looking stiff and imperious, so she asked questions about my tour of duty while placing my hands in a natural positions and turning me toward the camera.

Photo credits: Stacy Pearsall, Veterans Portrait Project. I retain no rights.

She asked one of those typical questions that I love to hear — so, deployment/family? And I blurted “Oh, going to war is great practice for raising a family. Dealing with children is similar to dealing with terrorists, and vice versa!” and her lighting assistant gave a belly laugh. After that I felt more at ease and tried to charm the camera. It was a fun session, and having my portrait taken this way was extremely special. I often don’t give myself credit for my work in Iraq; I step back and let better veterans, more deserving veterans, take credit. And I’m okay with that. But on this day, it was about me, and it was nice.

Stacy took several silly photos of me with my kids, and then gave me a big hug. The paperwork to fill out — so the pictures would be sent to me — included a question about what being a veteran meant to me. I wrote ‘continued support and service to those in the military’. I love the photos I received. The images are perfect. They show a person who isn’t a soldier anymore, but who wants to continue to serve. And someday I will have them enlarged and framed for each of the kids, not to glorify the fact that I was on the battlefield, but to convey a message that even though war must split up families, it doesn’t change the fact that love remains.

Have a blessed 4th of July.

Please take time to look at these images of the men and women who have served.

http://stacypearsall.photoshelter.com

Medical Misfit

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Nurse uniform in the 1900’s. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday a phone call from an endocrinologist’s office left me seething. An administrator — she didn’t offer a name or title — indicated in a polite but vaguely superior manner that I was not requesting services at the correct clinic. There was an icy undertone, as if the fact that she had to contact me to explain all this was putting a huge strain on the clinic’s resources. It took me a good ten minutes of cajoling, conniving, convincing, and just plain bullshitting to get her to understand that it wouldn’t be a complete waste of the endocrinologist’s precious time for me to come in, but it wasn’t until I uttered the magic word ‘fibromyalgia’ that she granted me status as a legitimate patient. What is this place, anyway? Am I creating such an inconvenience that I cannot be seen by this doctor unless I successfully pass vetting by a bureaucratic toady with a list of secret code words?

I was not surprised that the doctor at this clinic was reluctant to take me on as a patient. My referral, sent weeks ago from my PA at Fort Riley, had been rejected on the grounds that my “specific” needs did not “encompass” the doctor’s specialty. It was a possibly a coding error made by the insurance company making the authorization for services. The nurse from my referring clinic spent several days making phone calls to the clinic as well as my insurance company on my behalf, smoothing over the misunderstanding and pleading my case. I don’t know if that is even part of her job, but she knows that I am sick. She has seen me too many times over the last few months to not want to help. And she must have deduced from the cryptic, noncommittal responses coming from the endocrinology clinic that I would need a champion.

It’s been difficult to get good medical care in Kansas. My tiny local Veterans Affairs clinic seems to always be bogged down and overwhelmed; I can’t get in but once or twice a year, and that is just for routine blood tests or ‘Well Woman’ visits. God forbid anything goes wrong in between! When I lived in the Black Hills, I had the best VA care. If a non-emergent matter arose, chances were I could get a same day walk-in appointment, and the staff listened to my needs. Here the story is different. During a non emergency episode when I needed immediate advice (which happened in between my allotted visits), the local VA staff either misunderstood or misjudged my situation, leaving me to seek medical attention elsewhere. After the incident I plan not to return to the clinic. Luckily I can still turn to the clinic at Fort Riley, where I trust my physician and nurse. The problems arise when they have to refer me to specialists.

I realize that it’s a Me Problem. It’s not the world that’s strange, it’s me. I’m the misfit. I take supplements of turmeric and holy basil and treat hormonal breakouts on my face with a salve made from an old Native American recipe. I use cabbage poultices and rub herbal oils on my forehead to fight off migraines. I am treating my current ailments using natural remedies instead of chemicals and drugs. I abhor drugs. I am probably a traditional doctor’s worst nightmare. So if/when I go to a specialist and invariably open my big fat mouth to spout things like “I am researching home remedies and the use of ethnobotany for possibly treating my migraines and hormonal imbalance” or “I really don’t want to take any more pills” I run the risk of being written off as a crazy jackass. Even the mere mention that I take herbal supplements and seek chiropractic care results in odd looks, as if I am lapsing into an unknown language during the dialogue.

Yet my specialists don’t seem to take the time to actually read the medical records my referring clinic is required to fax to them. Instead I am interrogated with rapid-fire questions, in a patronizing tone. If they had read the records, they wouldn’t have to ask me the questions, and we would have time to discuss the most important part of a visit to any doctor: what type of treatment is truly best for the patient? I am sure these specialists are brilliant, and with limited amounts of time in their work days they have to make quick decisions based on what information they gather from patients. I probably don’t help with my rambling history of odd symptoms intermingled with home remedies and Native American medicines. But damn it! They are supposed to be highly educated professionals with vast stores of knowledge about various types of treatment. Why are they so single-minded about ramming more pills down my throat? And when did practicing medicine medicine come to include treating patients, and potential patients, like children, or worse yet, like criminals who have to prove their validity before receiving care?

Maybe I am wasting their time with my herbal supplements and quackery treatments. But it’s my body. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want better quality than the living death sentence my very first neurologist prescribed, something to the effect of “take these pills every day for the rest of your life and pray for early menopause to ease the pain of your migraines”. The nerve! Certainly that can’t be the best option, for anyone. If the care I am receiving here is so laughable, there is at least one thing that I have taken from my experience, and I do consider it a blessing. I, and only I, am completely and unequivocally responsible for my health. Doctors don’t know everything. Medical professionals can and will do their best (I hope) for me, but it is ultimately up to me to take care of myself. I can make decisions about my body and my health, because sometimes there will be no one else willing to take the steps to ensure my health. If it takes being a medical misfit, then so be it.

I am my own best doctor, nurse, and patient!

— G

Mirena Detox: Days 4 Through… I Lost Track

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“At least I don’t have typhoid — yet.” Dr. Schreiber of San Augustine giving a typhoid innoculation at a rural school, San Augustine County, Texas.Transfer from U.S. Office of War Information, 1944. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first three days of my detox “diet” went well enough, but on Day 4 I managed to contract severe gastroenteritis, or stomach flu, which demanded all my time and attention through Day 11. I wasn’t able to eat real food, much less do a body flushing detox. Hell, I was barely able to get any liquids down for most of those days! Apparently stomach flu is going around along with bronchitis, which I also now have. Great way to start the summer! So I don’t really know what detox day this is supposed to be. I consulted with my nutritionist and he encouraged me to get back on the detox horse, but half strength, until I feel fully recovered enough to go full throttle.

I visited my regular physician (again) because I had to get a doctor’s note to go back to work. I was pretty cranky about having to drive an hour out of my way for permission to go back to work (and, more likely, proof that I was actually sick) when all I really needed was some rest and Pedialyte. Ah, the bureaucracy of being employed! I explained to my physician as much, and we had a good laugh. He was interested to find out how my detox helps in treating and preventing future migraines, so I promised to keep in touch. If I have to go back in for my bronchitis, it may be some kind of record. I have visited this guy about five times in as many weeks!

Since I don’t have day to day notes on my detox, I can share a few noticeable changes. While I am considerably weaker from being sick, I do feel better just from the initial few days of detoxing. I am not trying to lose weight, but have lost about five pounds. My hormones seem to be stabilizing and I’m not nearly as, well let’s just say it, bitchy as I was a couple of weeks ago. My head is clearer, with sharper focus. One notable disappointment is that I still feel as though I have no energy, even after a great night of sleep. However, I am hopeful that with the return of my strength, my energy will also return.

The only changes made: starting the detox (clean food based, no chemicals or drugs) and stopping most if not all consumption of OTC drugs for my migraines. I do still take daily prescriptions and vitamins, but nothing else if at all possible. While I am not yet ready to sing the praises of this detox program, it would appear that using food to heal my body is beginning to work. Hopefully I can get back on track with better notes in the weeks to come. I am supposed to be doing a 21 day detox after all!

—G

My Mirena Tried to Kill Me!

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English: Mirena IntraUterine System Deutsch: Mirena Hormonspirale (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Okay, apology disclaimer right off the bat for any reader — but especially to any males who may have stumbled across this post innocently. Unless you really want to read about the horrors that I have endured because of an intrauterine contraceptive device that was eh, installed for medicinal purposes, then you may prefer to read something more benign from a happier time in my blogging days.

There is currently a class action lawsuit because the Mirena is a defective and extremely dangerous product. The company that developed and marketed it allegedly did so knowing that the device would likely cause numerous side effects, many of which that would be detrimental, some that could be fatal. If you are using or have used a Mirena, then you very likely have experienced the same ‘illness’ that I am going through.

Now like most women, I trusted my healthcare professional, who probably had every good intentions. My reason for getting the Mirena was not to prevent pregnancy but to “control my hormones” so that my migraines would be kept in check for up to five years (since the IUD had to be taken out after five years’ time). And like most women, for five years I really didn’t think about my IUD because it didn’t seem to be doing anything. I wasn’t having very many periods, and when I did, they were lighter, less annoying, and more convenient. Who wouldn’t want that?

Me during one of my MANY visits to the doctor during my hellish Mirena Crash. It’s blurry, but that’s how I feel. Taken By Annie

I started to feel like something was wrong about six months ago, and although I wasn’t sure, I suspected that my hormones were to blame. We women usually know, right? I could feel that something was wrong and started to wonder if the Mirena was causing hormonal fluctuations. Four months from my five-year removal date, I was climbing the walls with uncontrollable migraines and excruciating hormonal mood swings. By that time I was certain that the Mirena had something to do with my very severe decline in health. The VA clinic didn’t take me seriously when I called and requested an appointment to have the device removed, which destroyed my already shaky trust in the staff. Luckily, my physician on the Army base saw me immediately and removed the device as an in-house procedure without giving me any grief. You see why I left these details out of my previous posts about my migraines? Too much information, and very traumatic!

I thought my problems were over and that I would start to feel much better in no time. But I became more sick than I had ever felt in my entire life. Oh yes, the Mirena Crash! It is well documented and even has its own special name. I started doing research online, and the more I discovered about the negative side effects of the device, the more betrayed and I felt. My Mirena had caused much more damage than initially realized! The list of possible offenses to my body went on and on, everything from pseudo-hemorrhaging during periods, to anemia from blood loss, to early menopause, to depression, to liver failure, to various types of cancer. The list went on, and if that wasn’t bad enough, apparently the Mirena had also leached silicone into my body, essentially poisoning me slowly over time. SILICONE POISONING. Are you fucking kidding me?

Angry doesn’t begin to describe my feelings. At the time I made this unsettling discovery, I didn’t have anyone to talk to because my healthcare providers either weren’t educated or just plain weren’t sympathetic to what was happening. My husband has been out of town for several weeks — the worst part of this living hell — and in retrospect that may have been a blessing in disguise — for his safety. With out of control hormones, I was definitely in a vulnerable state, just hanging on from day-to-day. I would cry myself to sleep, begging God to make the headaches stop, just for one day, so that I could have some relief. Then in the morning I would wake up with a worse headache, and cry again while making tea. I could feel my body shutting down more each day, and it was terrifying.

I still don’t know if this story has a happy ending. Luckily, through what I can only call Divine Providence combined with my Web surfing abilities (Divine Surfidence?), I found out that there is a nutritionist specializing in treating survivors of the Mirena Crash (the official name given to the specific yet numerous symptoms associated with use of the device) in Great Bend, Kansas, which is really just a two-hour drive from where I live. I almost couldn’t believe it — maybe this is the real reason we have lived in Kansas all along! I had been begging God to stop the pain for weeks now, so I took this as an omen that I MUST get in touch with the doctor, who is by happenstance a nutritionist and chiropractor.

Okay, so to wrap up this story, I will skip over our long phone conversation because it turns out I didn’t have to even drive the Great Bend. He does phone consultations with women from all over the country who are suffering from the side effects of their Mirena IUDs, and are not getting adequate support from healthcare providers. Hmmm. Long story short, he recommended a whole foods based detox diet selected by him, and tweaked over the years to heal the body as much as possible. The detox is designed to flush five years of toxins out of my body and liver, and hopefully get the liver functioning at full capacity again. The silicone may or may not flush out. I am also going to be using a bio identical progesterone oil to ‘reactivate’ my natural progesterone since the Mirena stopped production of my natural hormone. This should halt the pre-menopausal symptoms I am experiencing (hello, hot flashes!) and hopefully turn back the aging process (I already have a lot of gray hairs!).

It could take months or even years to undo the damage caused by the Mirena. Right now I am looking at my entire summer as a recovery time, and I may not be able to go back to work at the school. I am immensely saddened by this turn of events. Summer was supposed to be fun time with my family, everyone happy while traveling and having adventures. I am no longer the wife or mother I was six months ago, and it isn’t fair to my family. I am very angry that a tiny device could make me so sick, and that in five years, NO ONE in my medical community raised a red flag about it. It goes to show that you and only you must be diligent about your health, because doctors don’t know everything, and pharmaceutical companies don’t want to make you feel better.

On the bright side, today I started my detox. I took my pills (all food based, no chemicals or toxins) and made my smoothie with the special food powder blend. It tasted disgusting! I like my homemade smoothies better, but it is important to follow the plan. I have to do something, be proactive. This is the way to get it done. I feel optimistic knowing that I am using food to heal my body. And maybe soon I will be who I used to be.

— G

Another blogger whose life was affected substantially by Mirena, and who refers to the same nutritionist from Great Bend in her posts:

http://mylifeaftermirena.blogspot.com/

Another survivor of the Mirena:

http://mirenaandra.blogspot.com/2013/03/mirena-iud-is-poisonous-hashimoto.html

Change of Command

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Two things have been preoccupying me lately: Army farewells and wardrobe dilemmas. After a good run, my husband will soon relinquish his company to a new commander during a change of command ceremony. He has innumerable tasks to attend to in preparation, but there isn’t much for me to do except choose one pretty outfit to wear to the ceremony. The stress is unbearable!

A pile of dresses with vibrant patterns. Which do I choose?

Most of my nice dresses don’t fit anymore because I (accidentally) lost some extra pounds, and now they hang off my shoulders like shapeless, circus-y potato sacks. I was tempted to order a nice pair of shiny pants from J. Crew and wear them with a little wool jacket. It will be chilly in February and the Kansas wind is notorious for blowing skirts in embarrassing directions, so pants are a wise decision. Of course, I got distracted with work, children, and everything that fills the mind of a housewife, and I forgot to order them. Now I am back to staring into my closet, wondering if I can pin anything into a respectable shape and cover it with my wool jacket. Agonizing over what to wear brings to mind memories of past ceremonies and events attended, the outfits and costumes I painstakingly assembled or just threw together, the revelry of friendship, and the pain of saying goodbye. For a military spouse, choosing an outfit for a special occasion is bound to make dormant memories spring back to life.

Coming to Kansas held promises of new adventures, but I was definitely nervous about interacting with other Army spouses. I’d previously had little exposure to them, and with my only background knowledge coming from a few episodes of ‘Army Wives‘ I wasn’t sure what to expect. It didn’t take long to realize I had stumbled upon the Dream Team of spouses in my husband’s organization. After getting to know several of them, I was enthusiastic to be involved in their community events, fundraisers, and social gatherings. My husband had no qualms about volunteering me, and by the time he took charge of the company, I was slated to be the Family Readiness Group Leader, even though I had no inkling what the responsibilities would entail. I learned that the best way to figure out anything in the organization was to dive in, ask many questions, and above all else, be myself. I was grateful to learn that the spouses in advisory positions were not judgmental, and that they encouraged individuality. I knew immediately that this organization would be a perfect place to learn, grow and excel!

Not realizing what I had discovered, my husband was more cautious. When we attended our first social event, a semiformal fundraiser, he insisted that I conceal all cleavage by taping my low cut dress at a severely modest angle on my decolletage, and by wearing a shawl so as not to give the impression that I was a street walker. Incensed at his lack of trust in my judgment, I nonetheless compromised and taped myself into my dress. But I refused to wear a shawl! I told him that I knew the other spouses would be wearing the same type of low cut dress, but he countered with “I just think you should dress more conservatively because I don’t know how my boss will react if you have cleavage flying everywhere.” When we arrived at the fundraiser, I smirked in self satisfaction while he gaped at the throngs of heaving bosoms and short hemmed thighs shimmying around the conference room. “I told you so,” I seethed, “and this tape is giving me a rash!” Since then, no matter how emphatically he argues the virtues of bland attire, I refuse to dress “conservatively” for any Army function, with one exception where I ended up dressed like a Nancy Reagan stunt double. Note to self: remove all shoulder pads from blazers and avoid wearing hair in a pompadour from now on!

A dress with pockets is a brilliant investment!

Once I found myself in a group of spouses who would not pass judgment on me for my background, beliefs, point of view, and yes, choice of clothing/questionable fashion sense, I became much more comfortable just being myself. This opened up a world of possibility for my previously boring wardrobe. I began to courageously show up at ceremonies in unconventional outfits. I attended the change of command ceremony for our beloved Battalion Commander in a seizure inducing psychedelic flower printed Cynthia Rowley sundress (complete with pockets), fantastic paisley fishnet hosiery from Missoni, and little black stiletto boots. I thought my husband would pretend he didn’t know me out of embarrassment, but the Battalion Commander’s wife was tickled; I did it for her anyway. Life is too short to wear clothing that makes you feel stuffy, especially when attending ceremonies where all you want to do is cry your eyes out while saying farewell to the people you adore! You might as well be happy with your clothing.

Two dresses: one from when my husband took command and one from when he came home from Afghanistan. Apparently I have a thing for floral prints.

I probably won’t go overboard for my husband’s change of command. Even though this ceremony will pay homage to a period of time when his Command Team (which includes me) held the unit together through teamwork, leadership, and love, it isn’t all about me and my fabulous outfit. But it is a little about me and my fabulous outfit…As the commander’s spouse I will be a representation of the pride invested by Army families when we send our loved ones to serve. So I really should be dressed appropriately, perhaps a little triumphantly, in clothing I love, to show I am excited and proud that my Command Team is passing the torch of a fine organization. A well put-together ensemble can go a long way in translating such noble sentiments.

But it also isn’t a fashion show, and my knees have been hurting lately (and it might be icy) so the stilettos will stay at home, and I will probably opt for something more conservative, like my husband originally asked for when we attended our very first event at Fort Riley. He deserves a little compliance on my part since the ceremony is mostly about him. I do have a delightful little dress with a flying bird print, and if I pull it off right, I can sneak in “conservative” zippered motorcycle pants and low heeled boots without looking like a middle-aged Miley Cyrus wannabe…

Always Reliable, Always Professional!

— G