Where to begin. What do I want my blog to be about now as I move away from HSCT? I’m still tracking my body, I still have MS, I’m still resolving SIBO. But more than anything, I want to begin to write something comprehensive, cohesive, impactful perhaps.
Where am I sitting right now? I’m thinking of this journey, this writing journey, as a description of healing the body in a society that doesn’t look at factors of healing other than allopathic medications and interventions. When allopathic medicine runs out of answers, then what?
I’m looking at healing my spirit, healing trauma, healing relationships; caretaking little molecules of discord that circulate in the body, intercept with cells, and ask them to work harder and dance out of step with their intentional way of being in the body.
I’m writing about healing from all angles with the curiosity of what is possible. I’m also navigating my own relationship between logic and reason and spiritual seeking. Though I don’t feel totally comfortable with that word, spiritual. Holistic seeking perhaps – ways of looking at healing that aren’t always explainable, don’t have evidence-based research papers, don’t get the validity in the world of science. A way of exploring healing that asks for the word surrender, letting go of the reins, giving up the belief that I have control.
I have no doubt that one connection as it relates to healing and health between the emotional world, the psychospiritual world, and the physical anatomical world, is the pressure of stress. That makes sense to me.
But can you unravel stress? Can you go back in time, take that DeLorean back to the future? Is it possible to find the initial threat(s), trace the breadcrumbs back through time to the origins of things? Does it ultimately even matter? I think that is my question, what I’m wondering.
I’m looking to poetry, to counseling, to naturopathic medicine, to psylocibin and psychedelics to learn more about my origin story. I am exploring psylocibin micro dosing to see what is possible there. The brain has the capacity to bind and connect psychedelics with evidence-based research into medicinal mushrooms other than psylocibin – open the brain through psylocibin, and then let the molecules of other fungi in to help build new neuronal pathways.
What I’m seeking is healing. What that means I am uncertain about. On one level, I want healing to mean everything. Full complete restoration of body, a return to the place I started where I could dance, climb, work hard, contribute physically.
At the same time, I’m wondering if healing is coming to a place of wholeness within acceptance of what is – living inside this body, the way it functions, the way it moves, the way it has limits, and still feel alive, full, and whole.
And maybe it’s somewhere in between. Maybe there’s a way that the work – the digging, the origin story search – finds some recuperation of lost function to the point where there is a balance place where I can live with less grief and loss.
Perhaps it is living inside and through the grief that offers a doorway, a window, a portal – an opening to something new – something that I cannot control, plan for, or orchestrate with the tools I currently have.
I have been thinking about the muscles I have developed to cope with this world. The strongest, most developed, is the muscle of competence. I can get things done, I can keep track of things, I can pay the bills, I can make the appointments, I can keep moving forward and keep all the ducks in a row, I can keep the ducks of others in a row – competence, I’m a bag holder.
I have the muscle of articulateness, the ability to use words spoken and written, in ways that others comment on, commend me for, admire me for.
I am a doer and a communicator.
So, what does that leave? Which muscles are atrophied? The muscle to live wholeheartedly, to be open enough to risk being wounded and hurt. The muscle to speak honestly and clearly in the face of fear of rejection and disappointing others. The muscle to be my own voice, not the voice of appeasement and smoothing things over.
The muscle of joy is weak as well. The muscle of being open to and experiencing joy and delight. The muscle of feeling tickled, giggly, silly, playful, messy, childlike – open to awe and wonder.
Where does that leave me in something like this, a blog post to others? It leaves me a human living with MS, wanting to share that story, but not wanting it to be the whole story of either this blog or of my life. I do not want to dwell here, I do not want to live here. I want to live in a house with more furniture than that. I don’t want the story of MS to be the walls of the house, that’s too much space for it to take up, too much structural integrity. I’m not even sure it is a piece of furniture. I think it’s a roommate, one that is sometimes an ally and sometimes an antagonist.
I want to describe my experience of living with MS and how it fits into the picture, but I don’t want to tell the story as if MS is everything, and I don’t want to live as if MS is everything. I want to find the proper place and space for it in my life. I can’t ignore it, ignoring it is as dangerous as letting it take up the whole space. What is the balance? I think the balance shifts depending on the day, depending on the degree that it is shouting or the degree that it is in the background. That is the snowflake nature MS, it is not a constant it is always changing, always elusive, always here, but not always loud.
So, if you are patient with me and interested in this story in all its shapes and sizes, I thank you for sticking with me.
As I’m sitting here now, today I seem to have found a good mix of medications and movement. SIBO appears to be abating, I feel stronger. That’s the story right now. If I were to try and do a blog post every two weeks, it would be stories like this. Where am I now? What am I learning? What am I integrating? Where is my grief? Where is my joy? Where is my deeper connection to life? How do I celebrate? How do I build and contribute? How do I connect.
I wrote this post almost a month ago. I then went through a very dark time related to SIBO and finally getting COVID after avoiding it for almost 3 years. I have come out the other side of that tunnel and am back at this place as I described above. I have decided not to go into detail about that journey because I don’t see the point in reliving it. I say this only to explain how long it is taking me to create this post.
It started with a niggling, a little scratch in my throat, the slightest bit of congestion in my nose – my first virus since transplant in February 2022 – one full year virus free. It was a very small virus, nothing at all, barely noticeable. But it tipped my physiologic balance, and I ended up in the emergency room on a Saturday with a UTI allowed to thrive in a disrupted immune system.
The round of antibiotics used to suppress the UTI, to the best of our understanding, shifted my digestive tract into dysbiosis – all the tiny bacteria in my gut, the carefully balanced harmonious communities, lost their song.
Slow motility (constipation by a gentler name) combined with the disrupted microbiome led to SIBO (small intestinal bacterial overgrowth). This is a condition where the bacteria that normally reside, happily and helpfully, in the large intestine get translocated up into the small intestine where they don’t belong. There, the bacteria feast – happy little creatures farting out their metabolic byproducts in someone else’s house. My whole abdomen became bloated and distended, a taut balloon, a pregnant belly with no child joy to offset the suffering. My gut in turmoil triggered my MS symptoms into overdrive – muscle spasms and off-the-charts spasticity.
Here are some quotes from my daily writing practice:
“Who knew that muscles around the torso could create a hug so tight you didn’t want to love anymore?”
“Those of us with MS learn to tolerate by inches by centimeters by millimeters. We normalize discomfort. We normalize living with it.”
“It could be wild rage trying to find its way out. Or maybe wild grief throwing around like a hurricane inside of a small room with no vent out for the circulating wind.”
“It’s the smallest thing – sitting up in the morning, putting my legs and my feet to the floor, considering standing with their persistent rebellion. No one can see it, but it can feel it like an elephant sitting on top of me – that strong, that immense. It looks like nothing from the outside. It’s the smallest thing to others, but it’s an elephant to me.”
In trying to sort this out I have worked with my PCP and undergone colonoscopy prep without the colonoscopy -twice! – trying to empty out the meters of small and large intestine. When that didn’t work, I was referred to a neuro-gastroenterologist – fancy, big title. He was a sweet guy, on the young side, who always wears poop emoji socks when he sees patients. Cute.
By the time I met with him, my PCP and I felt confident that I had SIBO. He agreed that I had “dysbiosis” and prescribed rifaximin, an antibiotic that very specifically targets the bacteria in the small intestine and nowhere else, which insurance doesn’t cover, and is incredibly hard to get. I happened to mention this to a friend and neighbor who had gone through SIBO, and she said, “oh I have a bunch left over that you can have”. Random and lovely – and saved me $2500.
My frustration with the gastro doc was that he didn’t listen when I said (based on my extensive research and consistent with my symptoms) that I believe I have the form of SIBO known as “methane dominant” where I would need a second antibiotic (Neomycin) to be effective at eradicating the bacteria. He said that particular antibiotic wasn’t available due to a national shortage (turns out, not true). He also did not do the official SIBO testing (an involved three-hour breath test process) which would have confirmed (or ruled out) the methane-dominate variety.
To speed this story up, I did the antibiotics, and also reached out to my MS naturopath who referred me to a different naturopath in his practice with a lot of experience with SIBO. She ordered the breath test. which came back with a very clear SIBO positive, specifically methane dominant. The naturopath ordered another round of rifaximin and added it to the Neomycin which, it turns out, was very easy to get. I have now, as of yesterday, completed this cycle of treating this bacterial beast.
Right now, as I write this, I am filled with hope and excitement.
As the antibiotics started to do their work my energy has come back to a level I have not felt since May of 2022. My body is loosening up, the spasticity is so much better that I can’t quite believe I have lived as long I have this impacted. It’s possible that SIBO has been here at a low level for a lot longer than this last February. My body and life are coming back online.
This round of treatment has not taken it all away, I can tell it’s not gone. I’m doing a second breath test today to figure out where I am now and will be on a very specific diet until those results come back, at which point we will consider next steps. The image I shared above shows the four main treatment pathways and we will figure out which one is next. It’s a long haul, but I’m totally fine with that because I can tell it is 100% worth it.
In the meantime, I bumped into a spoken word poet/artist, Andrea Gibson, who brought me to tears, made me smile, reverberated inside me as someone who has found a clear and loving voice inside of a very difficult personal world. Someone who has found the clearest connection to love in the face of death that I’ve ever encountered.
The day after bumping into Andrea Gibson, I heard a podcast with the poet/essayist Ross Gay whose focus is all about joy and delight. I’m just beginning to read his books, but his voice is infectious and a delight in its own right. His work is all about paying attention. I am learning that joy and delight can look like tears, can touch something that breaks open and bleeds.
So, I am reading and listening to poetry and audio books, re-reading my favorite Mary Oliver collection, reading Pema Chodron – digging into Buddhist philosophy, writing, meditating, researching, using music therapy to aid my PT, seeing a counselor. I have tried supplements, tried gut-directed hypnotherapy, tried to find delight, joy, and gratitude in the world, no stone unturned. Looking for ways to be at peace with pain if it doesn’t leave and doing everything in my power to usher it out.
Kira is home (along with her boyfriend Zac) for the summer, working on the farm across the street and I am soaking up this time with them – perhaps the last stint of living at home.
Kira and Rosie on the farm
What I want to tell you is that I’m still here. I’m still on the riverbank with my toe in the water, soaking up life, connected to it enough. Craving a deeper dive, but proud that I’ve got that toe in at least. I can feel the vibrancy of life, I can still be brought to tears by a piece of poetry.
Today is the one-year anniversary of the birth of my new immune system, the day they put my stem cells back in my body to begin the process of rebuilding an infrastructure free of the memory of MS, hopefully. So, I thought I better get my butt in gear and write!
February 14, 2022 (a new meaning to Valentine’s Day) was the day they reintroduced my stem cells. February 14, 2023, my 1-year “stemmie birthday´. Also the day Kira and Zac leave on a three month trip to Southeast Asia. Grand adventures on both counts!
I also want to say a big and beautiful “happy birthday” to Kira who turned 24 on February 8th.
This post is playing catch up, so it is a long one…
Month 10
Ditto Month 9 – it sucked.
Month 11
The summer I turned 16, my grandmother took me on a three-week trip to France. We boarded a plane leaving from Seattle and landed at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris and while the Airport was majestic, the surrounding part of the city was grittier than I expected Europe to look. I remember being nervous that Europe, and Paris in particular, had been overhyped. As we arrived in Paris proper, the majestic was restored many times over.
We spent a packed and beautiful week in Paris where we met up with my uncle Rob – a seasoned expat who spoke fluent French. Together, they took me to a sweet little restaurant, Au Franc Pinot on Île de la Cité, to celebrate my 16th birthday. To get to our table we had to walk down three flights of stairs underground. My memory tells me the walls were earthen – moving and alive – with carved out shelves for candles. As we descended deeper and deeper into the underground bowels of Paris, I expected our waiter to be otherworldly or at least suspect. That dinner was the first time I tasted (or had even heard of) foie gras – which I enjoyed tremendously and chased down with my first Kir Royale.
The morning after my birthday dinner, my grandmother got up early, before I woke, and bought a watercolor painting from a street vendor. It depicted the exact corner with the restaurant where we had celebrated my birthday. I carefully carried that painting through the rest of our trip. I have brought it with me every place I have lived since – Eugene, Boston, New York, Seattle, and now here to Indianola.
I fell in love with Monet on that trip. We had bags of flour thrown on us from a bridge over the Seine while we rode a Bateaux Mouches. We stayed up late and walked the Paris streets, ate dinner at street cafés, toured museums including the Louvre where I was disappointed by the Mona Lisa – so small. Because we were in Europe, my grandmother didn’t care that I was under 21 and I had wine, beer, and champagne freely.
Bateaux Mouches
We drove through Arles, Avignon, and St. Tropez where we shopped, ate, and explored. With the help of my uncle, we enjoyed a week on a barge through the burgundy region of France – Dijon to Beaune. I was closer, by far, to the age of the crew than I was to the other guests, but it was magical. We took a horseback ride, toured chateaus, ate the most amazing food, and tried without success to take a hot air balloon ride – the weather conditions were sadly never right.
Me and the crew on “La Litote”Crew on “La Litote”, bestill my 16-yr-old heart!Bill from Bath, my biggest crush!
At the end of that boat tour we visited a wine cellar, Marche Aux Vins – a multi-floored cavern with candle sconces on the walls and rows and rows of oak barrels. We were not skilled at the spitting part of wine tasting, which was probably their plan all along, and were more than tipsy by the time we reached the “purchasing room”. My grandmother bought multiple crates of wine to be shipped home and I bought a couple of bottles to take home with my teenage self.
Wine tasting “cup” from Marche Aux Vins.
I share this now because my grandmother passed on Dec 12 at age 96. She was surrounded by family – her daughter and son In-law, two of her grandchildren and their spouses, and a squirrel’s nest of great grandchildren. She was ready and her passing was without pain.
The memories of that trip to France are vivid for me and I know they were vivid for her. Over the years and decades since then, we talked about them often. In October of this year when I visited her, almost 40 years since the trip, we still talked about it as if it was yesterday.
Last night as I was walking downstairs I looked at photographs of her that hang on our stairwell wall and it hit me that I’m the only one who still holds those memories. My co-author of those stories is no longer here. They only live inside me now and I miss her. It reminded me of what she said when my grandfather passed, at his memorial. She shared that the thing she missed most was having a person in her life who knew all the stories. The stories of their marriage, good and bad, the stories of raising their children, the stories of their travels, of their friends, the houses they’d lived in, the meals they’d shared, the decisions they’d made — the minutiae of life. I get that now.
This morning is the misty gray that comes with living in the Pacific Northwest near the ocean. It is quiet, my house is empty. I will offer this cliché… It’s been a long time since my last blog post. I skipped right over a month 10 and find myself now at month 11.
Between my last post and now it has been rough. My spasticity was so intense that I was in bed a lot, not really functioning. It was a dark time which I recognize now correlates, somewhat symbolically, with the darkest days of the year and the stress of the holidays. I lost all interest in writing.
Over the past few weeks, it seems that medication management is starting to work. I feel connected again to the world. I can dream about the future, do physical therapy to get stronger, comfortably participate in social activities. I can sit at the table and play games.
I am not sure what exactly is different. I have tried these medication combinations before with little effect, but now they seem to be making difference. Some days are still rough – two days ago I was in bed all day – some days I feel relatively effortless. Most days are in between.
I have been able to start my day feeling that I can move things forward; that I can contribute. I have more capacity to participate. I am taking on volunteer opportunities in my community and connecting more with friends for conversations and catching up, I feel like I’ve lost time with people.
As I close in on the one-year mark I’m having difficulty wrapping my head around the fact that that much time has passed. In a few days it will be a year since I stepped on the plane to Mexico. Am I better? Did HSCT work for me? More on this at the actual one-year post…
Month 12 – 1 year
Our crazy cohort
Where am I at the one-year mark? Cautiously hopeful. Still in pain but working on it. Still experiencing loads of spasticity but working on it. I would say I’m in the middle of things. I’m on the upward arc from the nadir, I’ve seen the darker parts and I feel they are behind me. Am I back to my baseline? Not yet. Only because my spasticity is still higher and different than before treatment. If that were to go away, I’d be back to baseline or better. My bladder is better, my fatigue is better when I’m not medicated to high heaven. My mood is balanced. Some days are still hard, but those days are fewer. More days are good.
I’m feeling optimistic. I have this sense that there is a strong, fluid moving skeleton underneath a façade of spasticity, waiting to emerge. I feel strong inside. In those rare moments where my spasticity eases, that strong understructure comes forward and makes itself known enough that I can trust it’s there. I feel stronger and more centered than I did in the dark of winter.
I continue to turn over all stones of therapies, modalities, and medications. Under one stone, I found that Swedish Medical Center, here in Seattle, offers a free music therapy zoom group every Wednesday morning. What a fun discovery! It is both meditation and movement therapy – using music in connection with movement and emotional exploration. It connects the mind and the body in a way that makes sense to me. It is both science and heart.
Am I done? Not yet. Am I hopeful? Mostly. Do I regret treatment? Not yet. I think if this spasticity does not relent I might wonder if I did the right thing, but it is still early for that. I don’t think I will regret this even if that doesn’t happen. There’s no way to know if the spasticity wouldn’t have happened anyway. Also, if I hadn’t tried HSCT I would’ve always wondered. And since there are no other options, the risk wasn’t really that great.
I’m feeling at peace. I am starting to have more in my life than just my MS, though it does still take up time and thinking. It will continue to be my “job” for the rest of my life most likely.
So, what am I doing? Learning to use Spotify and Photoshop, volunteering with my local community, reading, loads of physical therapy, counseling, music therapy, writing, spending time with my family, supporting my smaller circle of my intentional community (wise acres), making granola and yogurt – I’m staying busy.
I feel on the cusp of something, some internal revelation maybe, some sort of quantum leap. I’m open. We shall see what the next year holds. Happy one year “birthday” to me. If you are still here, thank you for reading along.
“Birthday” card from Kira.
Symptom Update
Walking/legs/spasticity:
This has been my focus since the start of recovery. I’ve mostly covered this above. It is still rough, still very much present, but significantly more managed than before. I am motivated and energized to do physical work every day. Over the last few months, it has been difficult-to-impossible to do simple exercises, even though I was motivated to do so. Now I get to be creative, enjoy my body more, I get to build. That ability to build gives me hope. I am willing to do the hard work that needs doing if I know things are moving forward. Working with my Physician, I am planning to attempt Botox again on my leg to see if we can impact the correct muscles this time.
Arm/hand:
I have slowly begun to do work here after ignoring it for such a long time, this work is hard – the hardest of all the work I do. I am using a contraption (Saebo Reach), prescribed to me by my occupational therapist (OT) years ago. It was designed for stroke survivors to reduce their arm spasticity and regain function through neuroplasticity. I recently started using another product from Saebo – the Estim Micro, that I wear at night along with the Saebo Stretch the I have had for years. These therapies are not a quick fix. They are awkward and cumbersome, but a trust that over time and with a ton of committed intention, my arm and hand can improve.
Saebo ReachSaebo Estim MicroSaebo Stretch
Bladder:
My bladder function continues to be mostly normal, thankfully. I can live like this forever, even if it isn’t perfect.
Bowel:
Trigger warning: skip to the next section if you are squeamish about scatological things.
By and large, my bowel function is normal. Regular, constipation managed, not too loose, in the sweet spot. However, I recently had an episode that many people with MS will relate to. I had been increasing my magnesium dose to see what my body could tolerate – this can lead to loose stool. I drove to a medical appointment, got out of my car, and preceded to unload my walker to assist me getting into the building. As I am bent over to lift the walker, I felt a sudden bowel movement urgency and simultaneously felt that my anal sphincter was unable to hold in the impending poop. It just slipped out into my underpants. Thankfully, I am perpetually early to appointments. I had time to clean up.
I entered the facility and went directly to the bathroom. I took off my shoes, pants, and then carefully took off my underwear. Thankfully it had been contained and my pants were spared. But oh, what a “shit show”! And, what a cleanup! Scads of toilet paper, hand towels, and huffing and puffing before I was “shit free”. I flushed the toilet paper, put the hand towels and my underwear in the garbage bag, removed the garbage bag from the container and tied it shut, put my pants and shoes back on, and went to check in. Embarrassing, humiliating.
I have had a small handful (thankfully) of moments like this over the last 15 years, but this was by far the worst. It reminded me that there is still some MS vulnerability in this area. Note to self, back off the magnesium.
Hair:
Still in the awkward grow out phase. My hair continues to grow up before it turns downward. Still curious and patient.
While my MS fatigue continues to be at bay, the combination of medications that I am on have fatigue as a side effect, so we’re playing with different medications to find a combination with the least downsides.
Medications
I have a strong drive to be on as little medication as possible. I think it is a fear of polypharmacy, learned in graduate school. Too many medications = bad things. I reassure myself that my underlying cardiac health is strong, my kidneys are working well, my pulmonary system and liver are healthy. I don’t have an issue with blood sugar regulation. So maybe I’m less at risk than I think.
I don’t plan to rock the boat, even though it is my impulse to wean off medications that I don’t know concretely are working. Spasticity is there underneath the medication like the proverbial sleeping tiger. It could make itself known if provoked.
Current meditation cocktail:
Baclofen: Maximum dose – 20 mg, 4x/day.
Lyrica (Pregambalin): 150mg, 2x/day, 75mg 2x/day. This is a medication that can be used interchangeably with gabapentin. It is metabolized somewhat differently and is known to have a gentler side effect profile. I am two weeks into this, and the jury is still out as to whether or not my fatigue is better with this.
Tramadol: I have been down to 25 mg at night and one night I used none. That night I slept very poorly and had a rough day emotionally. Still sorting this out. I don’t like being on an opioid, but it makes a difference with sleep and weaning off, even at this very low dose, is impactful.
Duloxetine (Cymbalta): I have been on this for a little over two weeks at a moderate dose. This is an antidepressant that has been shown to have beneficial impacts on pain.
“Duloxetine is also used to treat pain and tingling caused by diabetic neuropathy (damage to nerves that can develop in people who have diabetes) in adults and fibromyalgia (a long-lasting condition that may cause pain, muscle stiffness and tenderness, tiredness, and difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep) in adults and children 13 years of age and older. It is also used to treat ongoing bone or muscle pain such as lower back pain or osteoarthritis (joint pain or stiffness that may worsen over time) in adults. Duloxetine is in a class of medications called selective serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs). It works by increasing the amounts of serotonin and norepinephrine, natural substances in the brain that help maintain mental balance and stop the movement of pain signals in the brain.” Source: https://medlineplus.gov/druginfo/meds/a604030.html
The idea here is that it can increase my pain threshold, so I am less triggered by pain as a source of my spasticity. It may replace Tramadol to help me sleep the night, and, as a side bonus, it may give me an overall sense of well-being. I am interested to see if this might be beneficial. Not noticing anything yet as relates to decrease pain, but I do believe it may be having a negative impact on fatigue during the day as well as some blurry vision
Cannibis: I am currently only doing this at night to help me sleep. During the day it is inconsistent and its benefit to spasticity and consistent in making me feel high, so I don’t use it very often.
I am finally posting is three days after writing what is below. My head space is better, even if my body isn’t meaningfully so. Medication changes are helping somewhat. Family is starting to arrive for thanksgiving, and I am feeling grateful, hopeful, and more resilient. This crazy ride is day to day.
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I have started this blog post a dozen times. I can’t seem to figure out what I want to say. I want to be honest, to describe this journey as it is. But who wants to read a story of struggle? I woke up this morning and started crying as I braced to sit up, cried as I made my way to the bathroom, cried during my shower, cried while I got dressed. Things are hard right now. Some days I don’t have the energy to look for silver linings, to look for things to be grateful for, to reach for hope.
This is nine months post treatment, nine months into the “recovery” process of undetermined length. I wish I knew how long the marathon was. I wish this story had a clear, narrative arc. I wish I could be witty and comedic about it all.
I am certain I am not alone in this feeling. For a million different reasons people are sitting in their rooms alone trying to make sense of something that feels untenable. People feeling depressed, lonely, in pain, and stuck in bodies that don’t work, whether through illness, injury, or age. It sucks and it hurts and it’s hard and there are times when looking for the bright side of things just doesn’t happen. Maybe it will tomorrow, but maybe it’s okay to just be here and let the hurt have space. It is something I fight so hard against but today I don’t have energy to fight. Today I barely had energy to shower, but I did. Today I barely had energy to do dishes, but I did. Today I barely had energy to make my bed, but I did.
I need to call my grandmother more often. She is 96 and alone in a body that keeps going even though she’s done. She lonely. She hurts. She does not know what to do with her time. I get it. My situation is different in important ways, but the result has a lot of similarities. I want my body back. I want a purpose. I still want to be building things, to look back on my life and have a story to tell that I’m proud of. I can only imagine she wants the same thing.
Me and my grandmother on a recent visit.
Spasticity/legs/walking:
I am now nine months in and if anything, this spasticity is getting worse not better. My right leg contracts so hard. It pulls through my quad, through the muscles on the outside of my right hip. It’s not just tightness, but spasming. I can be standing and my right leg seizes up into what looks like the crane pose from The Karate Kid. I’ve shown this before in videos, but it’s so hard to describe the intensity. This muscle contraction through the quad, knee, and down through my right foot have the effect of making my leg shorter. I cannot fully straighten my leg or put my heel down. My foot wants to walk on the toe and the delicate muscles and bones along the upper arch of my foot have a sharp pain and it feels like they might break.
I honestly don’t know where to step next. I can only do so much physical therapy, massage, prayer, wishful thinking. Medications aren’t touching it, no one seems to have answers. So, I’m a dark storm cloud these days. I’m not interesting or fun to myself let alone to others. And I’m losing energy to fake it.
I do still believe this is transient. But it will not be quick. I may not have relief, if it comes at all, until the 2-year mark.
Arm/hand:
I don’t know what to say here. I haven’t exactly given up, but I just don’t have reserves to focus here when my leg and walking are so hard.
Bladder:
status quo, a little bit of urgency issues, but something I could live with if it never got better.
Bowel:
again, status quo, not perfect but whose is?
Hair:
still watching with curiosity. Kira trimmed it about two months ago. I may eventually want to have it short (it is so very easy!), but I’m so curious to see what it looks like as it grows out that I’m sticking with it through the very awkward grow out phase.
Medications:
I met with my physiatrist yesterday to try and sort out a pathway forward with medication when there are no silver bullets. I have increased my baclofen to 20 mg, 4x/d. I am switching from gabapentin to Lyrica. I am planning to decrease Tramadol at bedtime and the switch to tizanidine for sleep.
My hematologist is having me try and iron infusion. The hope here is that increasing ferritin to a goal of 100 ng/mL (I’m currently at 63 ng/mL) may help with the spasticity. This is a known remedy for restless leg syndrome. My MS naturopath had also mentioned this as a possible intervention. Fingers crossed!
Seven months in, more than half a year since treatment.
I am on Facebook groups related to HSCT: HSCT in Mexico, HSCT in Russia, HSCT in general. The posts in these groups are mostly people considering HSCT at the beginning of the process. They are in the questioning phase, trying to get information, looking for certainty and guarantees where there are none. How much does it cost? What should I bring? Where is the research? Will it work for my specific snowflake of symptoms and diagnosis? How many people had it improve their walking/pain/fatigue…? For how many people did this not work? Did you regret it? Reaching for hope and afraid of the future no matter which choice they make.
Many will never make it happen – because of fear, because of money, because of family demands, because it just isn’t right, because they are not willing to face disappointment, etc.. I was there, I remember how that felt. I had all the same questions, though I did do a better job of searching the page history before asking a question that had already been asked over and over. I trolled the comment threads. I read through the files. I dug up the research – less research than I wished there was. I wanted stone-cold guarantees and clarity. I ultimately had to find my way to make the choice inside the discomfort of ambivalence.
And then I did it. I went to Mexico. I spent a full month there. I went through treatment that was simultaneously hard and brief. I spent the money. It is done, in the rearview mirror. Now the calendar is back to spinning forward faster and faster and when I look in that rearview mirror, the memory of that time is fading fast.
After I got home, I followed the blogs, private Facebook groups, and Instagram pages of people who were in the cohort right behind me. I paid close attention to their journeys, and I had personal connections to some. The next month came, and I paid a little less attention, the next month even less. Now I am no longer following the stories. I pop into the FB groups of people asking the questions at the beginning and answer things where I can, where others haven’t already answered the same questions a million times over.
I am currently in a Facebook group of people who have completed the treatment with the questions we all ask now. How long did you feel this way? When did things change for you? How long was your roller coaster? What did you do to get through it? We are all looking for stories that match ours, for a string to hold onto out of the maze. There are many for whom this time is now far in the rearview mirror. They pop in less and less to offer stories and advice. For now, I am of the ones asking the questions, seeking stories that match my snowflakes self. There will come a time when this phase is in the rearview mirror for me as well.
Legs/walking:
These days I am feeling stuck in pain. Spasticity is a bitch. It seems to be getting harder, even though I felt like it was as hard as it could get already. I hope, I trust. I hope, I trust. I hope, I trust? that this is just a tunnel to get through. I have to believe that. These are still early days, 7 months into a recovery arc that lasts up to 24 months for some. However, when I live in this body day by day, each day can feel eternal and the next seven months inconceivable.
Occasionally there are moments where I feel like I could dance. These moments come out of nowhere. I don’t know what causes them and I don’t know how to re-create them. But they arrive and give me hope; if my body can do this at all, it’s capable of doing this more. The connections aren’t lost. The structure, the skeleton of movement, is there waiting to be released. These teaser moments are a gift. Water in the desert. They take my breath away. They are joyful. They are too brief.
In the meantime I continue to do physical therapy, massage therapy, cardiovascular exercise to the best I can, and the MSgym. My goal, my mission, is to keep that skeletal under structure strong and resilient for when the spasticity eventually subsides.
The Mollii Suit
A woman from the UK, who is about two months behind me and dealing with the same degree of spasticity/spasms, recently posted a photograph of herself in what looks like a wet suit.
The Mollii Suit
It turns out it is a rehabilitation apparatus full of electrical impulses, “functional electrical stimulation”, called the Mollii Suit.
“What is the Mollii Suit?
The Mollii Suit (formerly Elektrodress) is a functional garment that consists of a pair of trousers, a jacket and a detachable control unit which sends electrical signals to the user via electrodes on the inside of the garment. Mollii is an assistive device that people with muscle stiffness (spasticity) or other forms of motor disability can use in their home environment. It can help to reduce undesired reflexes and stiffness, thus enabling an improved posture, range of motion and functional ability. It can also reduce certain types of pain and improve sleep patterns.
How does it work?
The suit has 58 electrodes which can be combined in various ways. Mollii has a control unit which is individually programmed for each user. The person prescribing Mollii uses a computer program to adapt the active electrodes and the intensity (which muscles are to be activated by means of current). The settings are then saved in the Mollii control unit making it simple for the device to be used at home. Mollii uses low level electric current to produce basic tension in the musculature. The current stimulates the antagonist to the spastic muscle. If, for example, the biceps is spastic, the tricep is stimulated which in turn makes the biceps relax. Relaxing the muscle enables active movement and a gradual improvement in function. The physiological mechanism is called reciprocal inhibition.
Who can benefit from using it?
Mollii can be used by adults and children with neurological conditions such as multiple sclerosis, cerebral palsy, acquired brain damage, spinal cord injury and stroke. Mollii provides tailored rehabilitation in the form of a garment with electrotherapy programmed according to the individual’s requirements.”
This woman reported that after a short time wearing the suit it greatly relieved her spasming. The relief doesn’t last forever, but it is meaningful relief that can be repeated. This suit is not available in the fucking US because of the fucking FDA. Even in the UK, on the NHS, I don’t believe it is free. At this point, if it worked, I wouldn’t care if it costs something. I want this suit.
Arms/hands:
I’m still not putting my focus here because the spasticity in my legs and the pain in my hips are so on fire. Someone in my online physical therapy group mentioned she noticed she was deferring to her stronger hand/arm because things were getting harder with her affected arm. Because the brain reinforces what you do it every day, through neuroplasticity, she was making it a practice to embrace the struggle and use her challenged arm even though it made things slower and more difficult. Use it or lose it. Challenge accepted.
Fatigue:
Fatigue continues to not be an issue, at least not MS fatigue. I can feel exhausted when my muscles contract all the time, but that is different and hopefully solvable. I don’t have hours or entire days where I just have to lie down and take a nap for no apparent reason like I used to. I’ll take the win.
Bladder:
Ups and downs here. I’m noticing a correlation between increased overall spasticity and increased urgency. Mostly this isn’t a problem. I no longer worry about being out somewhere and having to find a bathroom quickly.
Hair:
A picture is worth the proverbial 1000 words. I will add some words, however. I am reaching the uncomfortable part of growing out one’s hair. Decisions need to be made – stay the course through the awkward growing out phase, or cut it short again and never know what the future could hold. Given how tightly curled my hair is right now, I imagine it will be going up in all directions, for a while, before changing tack and heading south under the weight of gravity. My curiosity for what it will look like after chemo is keeping me from cutting it even though it is so easy short, the practical choice certainly.
Medication:
A lot going on in this category this month. I continue to be on Baclofen and gabapentin at their maximum dosages, I’m not sure they’re making any difference at all. Beginning this week, I am weaning myself off the gabapentin. I am doing this for the most part because I don’t think it’s helping, at least not very much and definitely not enough. I am also doing this because I’m pretty sure it is causing weight gain and digestion woes.
Baclofen, I’m coming for you next! Hopefully this doesn’t screw me over the way it did last time I tried to wean off a medication.
About three weeks ago my physiatrist injected Botox into my right hamstrings and calf muscles to see if that would reduce the spasticity. It can take up to four weeks for this to fully take effect but so far, I’m not noticing anything. It is critical to start low with this medication. Too little and you feel nothing for three months. Too much and your leg is a noodle for three months.
The process of injecting botox into the muscle is fascinating. The practitioner has a device attached to a very thin needle that delivers the botox. The device can “hear” the activity/contractility of the muscle. The practitioner literally fishes around with the needle inserted into the muscle, looking for the highest amount of “sound” the muscle is making and then injecting at this location. It is like standing behind an old television set, adjusting the rabbit ears trying to get the TV signal to come in. Or like moving around the room with your phone trying to get better signal when you are at the limit of the range.
Botox device and accoutrement.Injection sites
Last week I started taking LDN (low dose naltrexone). According to the National MS Society:
“Naltrexone is an opiate antagonist that is taken orally to block opioid docking sites (receptors) on cells. It is approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for the treatment of addictions to opioids and alcohol. At significantly lower doses, low-dose Naltrexone has been used off-label as a treatment for various types of cancers, HIV/AIDS, Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s disease, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), emphysema, as well as multiple sclerosis (MS) and other autoimmune diseases.”
I am now at the highest dose possible for this, 4.5 mg per day. The hope for this is decreased pain in my hips and back. So far not noticing any benefit here either. I will give it another couple of weeks.
Last week I went into the clinic to see my MS doctors in person for the first time since COVID started. My appointments have been virtual for years now, which is a convenience I greatly appreciate, but ultimately lesser care. When I see my doctors in person, they can do physical assessment and more accurately determine an appropriate course of care. When my appointments are virtual, I try hard to describe what I am feeling, and exactly where in my body I am feeling it, which mostly looks like a very bad game of charades. We have made do.
I really like my doctors. Dr. Hou, my physiatrist, has grown on me. When I first met her, I found her timid and socially awkward. She would walk into the room with her handbag hanging from her elbow like she was leaving to catch a train soon. She speaks very quietly and, while doing physical exams, her touch feels homeopathic – a diffuse approximation of contact. Over the years she has had my back. When I was working with the long-term disability company at work, she was essential in my getting the appropriate benefits and accommodation. When I was applying for social security disability, she again helped make sure the documentation was complete and thorough. She doesn’t hesitate to provide referrals, is always looking for new treatments or devices to help make my life better and, even though she can defer too much to my opinions, she is able to get through to me the pros and cons of medication choices and strategies.
Dr. Gloria Hou
My neurologist, Dr. von Geldern, is warm and knowledgeable. She is a sparkly-eyed German woman whom I’m sure would envelop me in a bear hug if it weren’t for medical protocol. She is respectful of my knowledge of my body, my intelligence and healthcare background, and my decisions. She is never rushed and she also helps me get whenever support I need – medical marijuana approval, a disabled parking permits authorization, approval for any and all appropriate medications.
Dr. Gloria von Geldern
I see these practitioners at the University of Washington Multiple Sclerosis Center. When I was employed, I had the pleasure of working with Joe Stuckey, the vocational rehabilitation counselor at the center. He walked me through my evolving decisions related to accommodation at my workplace, my interaction with long-term disability insurance, and ultimately the decision to leave the workforce and apply for social security disability. A vocational rehabilitation counselor provides pragmatic information as well as the emotional support in dealing with the grief and loss of leaving meaningful employment.
Joe Stuckey MS, CRC
The center also provides mental health counseling, physical therapy, occupational therapy, regular education classes, and is an infusion center if you are prescribed medication that requires it. For the most part, I’ve seen the same nursing staff over the last 10 years which provides a comforting continuity of care over time.
This comprehensive and collaborative care model is something I hadn’t questioned. It makes perfect sense and I assumed it’s what many had access to. In fact, we have two fantastic multiple sclerosis centers in Seattle. In talking with my weekly MS Zoom women’s group, it has become clear to me that this isn’t so. The eight women in my group are similar age, education level, socioeconomic status, and proximity to urban centers. Except for one other woman (who also lives in the greater Seattle area), this isn’t the case. A couple of the women are close to University of California university hospitals. A couple of others are patients at Mayo Clinics. And another, though technically in the greater Seattle area, is far enough away that her closest Health Care providers are not part of an MS center. It would make sense that this collaborative model of care would be available in these different environments, but they aren’t.
I am lucky, and I shouldn’t have to be. This center-based care model works. The right providers and modalities work together in a concerted way where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Because they can communicate with each other about patients, less things fall through the cracks and more creative solutions to problems are possible. It is a human model of care where patients feel seen and heard. When I go in for my appointments, the degree to which I’d don’t feel anonymous helps inspire hope and optimism. My team has my back and is rooting for me.
We are lucky to live near one of my HSCT cohort patients and his wife – Bob & Kandace. We got together for dinner a few weeks ago, so sweet!
I am way behind my own arbitrary schedule for writing this blog post. I am now six months post treatment, six months through the roller coaster first year. This is the middle of the tunnel, the part of just getting through it. I think that’s why this has been so hard to write. There is no new news, no big breakthroughs, no major changes, nothing sexy to talk about.
My original goal was to do a post every two weeks. One post that was musings (thoughts on this HSCT journey) and one that was a detailing of symptoms. So, I’m conflating the two into one this month.
Legs and walking: I hear a vinyl record skipping over a scratch in the grooves, playing the same lyric over and over. That lyric is spasticity, and it is getting as old for me as I imagine it is for you, the reader. The spasticity in my right leg continues to be intense and difficult to describe. My massage therapist is trying to identify which specific muscles are the biggest complainers, the biggest overreactive players. To me it feels like a chain reaction that starts in the upper thigh, crosses my knee, continues down my calf and echoes all the way through my foot. The muscles system itself doesn’t work that way, but my physical therapist has explained that there is a neurological chain that does map to my experience.
We have identified two muscles in the thigh that are the big bullies in this system – gracilis and adductor longus. I have an appointment with my physiatrist for Botox injections into those muscles to see how far down the chain it will impact.
Side notes on Botox: though commonly understood to be used to make your lips fuller, your face wrinkles go away, and overall freeze your face into an unmoving glamour mask against aging, it is also very useful with overactive muscles. Using it, however, is a careful balancing act between relaxing the muscles just enough to be able to use the legs (or arms, or bladder, etc) more freely and making the muscles too weak to be useful at all. About a year ago I had Botox into my right arm bicep which helped that muscle unfold and become more comfortable. It also made my arm and hand too weak to do much else. With the legs, this dance is even more critical. Too much and I won’t be able to walk. Thankfully it only lasts three months.
Because of spasticity, my hips and low back hurt. Both sacroiliac joints and the muscles that reach out from there around the outsides of my hips ache night, and day. I am retraining my body to use my gluteus muscles (asleep and weak for years) and my adductors and abductors in the jobs they were meant to do with walking and stabilization. This retraining includes reminding my hips of the appropriate position to support everything else – tucked under. This retraining also has the side “benefit” of increasing overall pain in the area. I honestly don’t know if this is ultimately a good thing on the way to less pain as the muscles wake up and work out the kinks (my hope) or a more chronic problem that will need another intervention at some point.
I am always looking for new tools to decrease pain and increase strength. I recently purchased a vibration plate that has a good track record among other people with MS for decreasing spasticity and hip pain. I am learning how to use this, and it seems positive so far. More to report later.
There is a difference between my outside presentation and my inside experience. I often look like I’m going to fall. I stumble and lurch, I am entirely ungraceful. But I don’t fall. The work I’ve been doing with physical therapy has created stability in my core muscles. From my shoulders to my ankles there is a strength I feel with every movement. I am in a holding pattern waiting to reach the end of this tunnel when I shed my spasticity like a snakeskin, Clark Kent becoming Superman; underneath is resilience and steel. This underlying strength gives me hope for the future.
Medication update: I am on the highest dose of gabapentin and close to the ceiling with baclofen. I think they are helping somewhat, but not a miracle solution. I continue to have a love/hate relationship with these medications. I am still using pot, mostly at night for sleep. The 6 month mark also means I get to drop one medication, daraprim, the pneumonia prophylaxis.
Arm/hand: I’m leaving this heading in to remind me that I care and to not abandon hope that this can get better. Right now, legs and hip are on fire, and I only have limited time. The squeaky wheel…
Fatigue: Still gone. I am thankful every day that this symptom has resolved.
Bladder: I am still wrestling with some degree of urgency. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had a couple of peeing my pants incidents, thankfully not when I was in public. The game I am playing is to push the boundary of time from the feeling of needing to urinate to going to the bathroom and occasionally, I miss the mark. My pelvic floor therapist has some quick phrases for this game; “sit still and chill” (slowdown and consciously relax, remind the bladder that it is OK and has room) and “take five” (take five deep breaths, relaxing everything on the in breath and pull up the pelvic floor on the out breath). Work in progress.
Bowel: A little weird. No details here, you wouldn’t want them. It did want to note that I’ve been dealing with bloating which coincides with starting gabapentin.
Hair: My hair is definitely growing back curly, but it was pretty curly before so it is hard to know how much the chemo impacted this. I am at a crossroads of sorts, curious to see what it looks like as it grows and at the same time liking the ease of it being short which would mean a haircut. I haven’t reached the haircut point yet.
This is the post where I document, on mostly a monthly basis, the experience/progress/reality of my symptoms; tracking how things are moving. I resisted writing this post because I find myself in the long tunnel of recovery. This is the place where things get worse before they (hopefully) get better. I would like to able to report linear progress and tangible outcomes. That’s not how this works
I knew going into treatment that the first year was likely going to be rough. I knew that many people encountered significant increased spasticity. I knew the beast was coming. This beast doesn’t move through quickly. It doesn’t sit down and rest quietly by the hearth. This beast is vigilant, relentless, and resistant, impervious to the slings and arrows of my outrageous fortune. So, I do the best I can. I search out tools and tricks to settle the beast down, to distract it, to make it sleepy, if even momentarily.
My sorceress bag includes gabapentin, baclofen, tizanidine, pot, physical therapy, acupuncture, the swimming pool, zero gravity bed positions, pure wave massagers, tiger tail rollers, therapeutic massage, mindfulness meditation, magnesium glycinate, pelvic floor therapy, vibration plates, lion’s mane mushrooms, Valium, Tramadol, sheer force of will.
Medical Experimentation:
Over the last two weeks I have started gabapentin and titrated up to a current dose of 900 mg three times per day. I started at 300 mg three times a day and thought, “hmmm, I feel something. A tickle of relief.” But it wasn’t enough, and I slowly increased to 600 mg three times a day. At first it felt miraculous. It wasn’t perfect, but I could move more fluidly, more freely, I could feel my legs – they belonged to me. But it was fleeting and inconsistent. I read research that reported the sweet spot dosage of 900 mg three times a day. So that’s where I am now. If I want to, I can go as high as 3600 mg (1200mg 3x or 900mg 4x) per day. I will hang at this dose for a while to see if it settles in and evens out. It seems to not work very well in the morning, only coming online mid to early afternoon. I find I feel best in the evening before bed and the worst in the morning getting out of bed.
Research also shows that it can take up to four weeks for the full impact of the medication to take effect, so I will be patient. If I find it gives me relief more often than not, I will begin to wean off the baclofen, carefully this time, and see if I need to be on both.
I am also doing a more scientific, patient way the use of the different RSO (cannibis oil) strains I have found to be valuable. Here is a little of what I’ve learned:
Milky Way RSO: seems to give some relief but also makes me weirdly high, uncomfortably so. It is not a good high, but a paranoid disconnected one. I don’t understand why because it has very little THC. I want this one to work for me because it has a high CBG content and that is supposed to positively impact many different areas. So far, I kinda hate it but I haven’t quite given up yet.
Sour tsunami RSO: this one does not make me feel high until I take a very high dose. Its THC content is the same as Milky Way so I do not understand this. It also doesn’t seem to have the same intensity of impact in terms of relaxation. I am trying to pay attention to it more subtly by doing it throughout the day. The jury is out.
Critical Mass RSO: this one is magic. It absolutely relaxes my body. But it can also make me quite high. It is a lovely, floating, tingly, soak into it sort of high. A lie down with your eyes closed feeling every tingle of the body type of high. It is very helpful with sleep, but too drowsy making for daytime use.
The other thing I’m aware of in writing this post is how difficult it is to express the internal feeling of the body in a way others can understand. Each walking video I provide from month to month likely looks exactly like the other to an observer. But the feelings in my legs, in my knees, in my hips can be wildly different, hour to hour, day to day. My walking is hard right now. My spasticity is through the roof. The pain in my hips and sacrum are constant. But you can’t see that in a video, and I try hard not to dwell on them.
This is one way recovery can look almost five months in. This is the dark part of the heroine’s journey, the place of challenge and fortitude, slaying dragons and monsters, holding faith, holding on, holding hope.
In summary, my spasticity is very high. It is known and expected. It is likely to quiet down, though it can take time – months to years, and for some never. So, I’m living in that belief that I am of the many who just have need to hold tight to the wheel through the big waves to the restful pool at the end. The brain is a powerful thing and can write the story. I intend to know that I did my best.
Symptoms:
Walking and legs: this is pretty much covered in the writing above. High spasticity, hip pain, lots of experimentation.
Arm function: ugh. All my energy and attention has been focused on what’s going on in my legs and I really don’t have bandwidth to put the spotlight here.
Bladder: I feel like this is getting better. I can go longer between trips to the bathroom. I still feel urgency and some leakage. I see a pelvic floor therapist this week and I’m excited about that. More to come.
Bowel: Mostly continues to be normal. For some reason I don’t understand I’ve had significant bloating last couple of weeks.
NEW SYMPTOM – Hot Flashes: I have been postmenopausal since 2017. I had minimal hot flashes throughout the menopausal process. Lucky me, they are back! It is a known thing that the chemotherapy agent cyclophosphamide impacts hormones and can put women into menopause early. Given that I was already postmenopausal, I didn’t think this would impact me. Well, it did. I’m having more hot flashes than I was during menopause. Fun.
Hair: Hair growth is to the point I no longer look like a cancer survivor. I am fast approaching the decision point of whether to keep at it this length or grow it out. I’ll leave you with that cliffhanger!
Musings for this month. It’s been a whirlwind since I last wrote. Not even sure exactly where to start. My daughter and her boyfriend moved back home after college graduations to live with us for the next six months or so – lots of transitions and moving parts. Shortly after their arrival my daughter’s boyfriend went into the hospital with a ruptured appendix and we all had that as our focus for about a week.
We got to breathe for a couple of days and then on my birthday, On Monday, June 20, we woke up to Cassie, our 14-year-old beautiful mutt of a dog, drooling and panting, obviously in distress. “The kids” had made a beautiful birthday and Father’s Day breakfast for us which got lost in the upheaval. We had to grab food and eat on the run as we took Cassie to the emergency vet clinic.
We learned that Cassie had cancer on both her spleen and liver. It also appeared something had ruptured and she was bleeding into her abdomen. They gave her medication to keep her comfortable and to hopefully stop the bleeding and sent her home. She was comfortable that afternoon, through the night, and into the next morning.
When we woke, she was extremely lethargic. With any real movement or exertion, she would breathe heavily, pant, and drool. Around noon, Nils and I looked at each other, both wishing we had more time, knowing we didn’t. Kira came home from the farm at lunch, and we all spent the afternoon petting and laying with Cassie, giving her bites of anything she wanted to eat, crying, telling stories, saying goodbye.
We were lucky to find a vet who could come to our home to help us let Cassie finally rest. It was solstice, a day of transition that pulled on our hearts at with a deeper meaning this year. The day with the most light and the least dark is the day our girl chose to say goodbye. She was nothing but light in our lives and the lives of anyone who met her. Around 6 PM on Tuesday, June 21, sweet Cassiopeia Rain left us with cavernous and tender heartbreak. She also left us with the gift of 14 incredibly beautiful years.
I’m here now little over a week later still grieving and feeling the weight of loss on my heart. I hear her many times a day as a gentle exhale, tags rattling, nails on the floor. I look for her at the door to come inside or go out. She was my shadow and I feel her so nearby still.
Add to this the political landscape of my (and all women in this country’s) personhood and body becoming even more of a second-class citizen without autonomy, less restrictions on the unnecessary weapons of intimidation and murder in our communities, less legal ability of our government to fight devastating climate change, the insertion of religion into our school system-the merging of church and state in the context of our children’s learning – to name only the most potent of the gut punches of the last two weeks to an already stressed out, running on fumes body.
The Body Keeps the Score
I share this as a segue into my body and recovery. The body holds grief, stress, and trauma in its cells, in its tissue, in its fluids. This is true for all of us, whether we notice or not. Living with a chronic disease makes it impossible to not notice. All the challenged, vulnerable places become more intense; it amplifies the disconnects, it amplifies the tightness, it amplifies fatigue. It increases the heat, and it brings pain more to the surface, louder, more complaining.
That is been my body these last weeks. spasticity more intense, hip pain more, many things resonating at much higher, uncomfortable level.
The other factor that is hard to quantify is the degree that this increase, and rather sudden change, in spasticity is chemotherapy related. This is the theory I am choosing to invest in because of the way the spasticity is showing up; it is very different than what I had prior to treatment. With this theory in mind, it is also likely transient and will let up at some point, even though that “some point” could be eight months to a year.
My physiatrist is having me try different medications to find a cocktail that works to get my spasticity and pain better managed. I am becoming more patient and scientific with medications and anything else I am trying as an intervention. This means trying one thing at a time instead of throwing everything on it frantically, all at once, which has been my instinct when things are so uncomfortable. Pain makes it difficult to be patient.
My doctor’s first instinct was to figure out how to help me sleep better. Perhaps if I slept better, more deeply, would that help the symptoms quite down. We tried Valium 5 mg at nighttime. I think it maybe helped some, though not dramatically enough to feel excited or that it was worth it. I tried it for a week, then I did a week without it, then tried it for a couple more days. Maybe?
We are now trying gabapentin. This is an antiseizure medication commonly used for nerve pain. I am starting at 300 mg three times a day. I started on Monday evening and immediately felt benefit. I also felt more energy, more lightness. That held true the whole next day. Wednesday I instead felt a crush of fatigue, which is a common side effect of gabapentin, and I also felt less benefit.
It is now Thursday, and I am feeling somewhere in the middle. It is hard to tell if it is the gabapentin or two nights of poor sleep. So many complicating factors. I plan to give it a week at this dose and then begin to increment up. I’m optimistic based on the first couple of days. The upper limit of gabapentin is 1200 mg three times a day or a total of 3600 mg per day. All depends on how you tolerate the side effects. I am carefully weaving in the strains of cannabis have found make the most difference in trying to find that careful balance between benefit and “high as a kite”. I have also fully weaned off of tramadol at night for pain.
Something deeper?
Today I had a significant mind shift. I have been thinking, unconsciously and habitually (my Gemini nature?), of my body as something to be pushed, cajoled, tinkered with, fixed. I have schedules, routines, targets and goals, urgency, and desperation. This is an outside looking in perspective. I am doing things “to” my body with an ache to get back what I’ve lost and a grasping, time-is-running-out, energy.
I am not sure why today, but I stepped in to surrender (at least for now) and a quiet pause. Today I chose to relate to my body like I’m learning an instrument, or courting a lover, or making a new dear friend. This means slowing way-the-fuck-down to take stock. This means breathing deeply with each movement. This means sometimes leaning into pain with gentleness but also persistence. This means letting up when my body says “that’s enough”. This means being present enough to notice the difference.
This means no longer tracking repetitions or hours or exercises. This means getting down on the floor or sitting in a chair or standing against a wall and listening as my body says what’s next. It is a sacred humbling.
I had tears move through today as Cassie came into my mind and heart. A quiet moved into me as I felt things settling in to place. It feels like an important shift, like a caretaking, loving hand, a safe place. It feels like a place I don’t spend much time and it would serve me to learn this place better.
It has taken me way too long to sit down and write this update. In reality I am more like 3 ½ months post treatment. This last month has been incredibly challenging dealing with spasticity and pain. As was true with last month’s symptoms post, if I had written this a few days ago, I would’ve sounded hopeless and morose. The last few days have found more balance and comfort.
This first year post treatment is frequently referred to as a roller coaster but I’m not sure that is quite the right term. Roller coasters are fun and exciting they have ups and downs but ultimately, they are exhilarating. I feel it is closer to a hero’s journey full of beasts to be fought, lessons to be learned, loves to be found and lost, long stretches of solitude, moments of despair and hopelessness, moments of beauty and insight, and ultimately the attainment of a goal, though that goal can be elusive and ever-changing.
The upside of hitting this three-month mark is my immune system is more robust giving me the ability to engage in life more. My blood labs reflect that my baseline immune system has for the most part normalized. I still have somewhat anemic lymphocytes (B cells and T cells) and that will likely be the case for a while still. This means that if I get a cut or infection my first line of defense, my innate immune system, will kick in as normal and likely be effective. If I get exposed to a virus, it won’t be life-threatening, but my response will likely be sluggish, and I may get it more intensely than I otherwise would. Also getting a virus of any kind will suck because it would flare up my existing MS symptoms intensely. I can now go to the grocery store, to physical therapy, to small group gatherings where no one is actively sick, to see the new Top Gun movie wearing a mask, to begin to normalize life.
I went to Kira’s college graduation at the end of May which involved flying and being in crowds. I did so carefully, wearing a mask everywhere, and taking a lot of downtime. It meant a lot for me to be able to be there and partly why I timed my treatment for February.
I continue to do daily physical therapy and I can get out on my trike a lot more now that the weather is marginally better.
Mobility/Walking/Legs
You may recall that I had been weaning myself off baclofen, a medication prescribed to reduce spasticity, to see if it was doing anything for me and to know if it was worth tolerating the side effects. Well, turns out it is. I had weaned down to 5 mg in the morning and 5 mg at night prior to getting on the airplane to Colorado. By the time I arrived I was experiencing intense spasticity, paroxysmal spasms, and pain. Nothing I tried could alleviate the discomfort. I had to rest that first afternoon and evening and missed Kira’s Phi Beta Kappa induction. The next day, Saturday, I had to miss her department graduation celebration as well as the school’s baccalaureate. By that evening I was so uncomfortable we took a trip to the emergency room where they provided me Valium and gave me baclofen to increase my dose (I stupidly hadn’t brought extra). Thankfully that worked and I was able to attend the graduation itself on Sunday morning and all the celebratory events the rest of the day.
Lesson learned. I am now being a better patient and also more “patient”. I’m slowing down my experimentation so I can learn more clearly what everything is doing. My physiatrist has me taking 20 mg of baclofen in the morning, postponing my midday baclofen of 20 mg to 2 or 3 PM to stave off evening spasms, and 10 mg at night. She added 5 mg of Valium at night to help with sleep. I am to try that for a week to see if it makes a difference. I hadn’t noticed any benefit for the first two days and was ready to stop but received good counsel to give it the full week before deciding. Patience, patience, patience. Things are definitely better, though there is room for improvement for sure. The next step will be to add gabapentin.
I am also almost weaned off tramadol at night. The goal there was to decrease hip pain for sleep, but I have found that “wonder rub” is equally, if not more, effective. I have also found that if I get out on my trike it limbers up my spastic hip and adductors as well as increases energy/decreases fatigue. If only it would stop raining.
View from my trike
Finally, I have taken to wearing my AFO full-time and it makes an important difference in my walking gait. Here is this month’s walking video:
I wanted to give the product shout out to Kizik shoes for any fellow MS followers. They are “No hands” on and off with an “uncrushable” heel, lightweight, very comfortable and stable base, and not horribly “orthopedic” looking.
Arm/Hand/Writing
I have not done a thing here over the last month. No arm, wrist, or hand exercises, no handwriting practice. I seem to be very resistant to this work. My focus has been entirely on dealing with spasticity and pain in my legs and hips. I have continued to play ukulele, so that’s something. This month’s hand/arm video:
Fatigue/Energy
After having gone down to 10 mg of baclofen, I went back up to 50 mg per day and then my physiatrist recommended I try the top dose of 80 mg per day. After having done that high dose for a couple of days my fatigue crushed me. It took everything I had to not sleep all day and I felt emotionally miserable and there was no notable difference/benefit with my spasticity. I went back down to the 50 mg per day and the fatigue has resolved. I feel back to my fatigue free self!
Bladder
I met with a urologist, and she was able to confirm that indeed I am no longer having urinary retention – yay! She had me do a very specific tracking protocol for three days and determines that I have “overactive bladder (OAB)”, but not a very severe case. She prescribed Phenazopyridine, the medication you get to relieve UTI symptoms that turns your pee orange and then gave me instructions on doing “bladder training”. This is where you employ a “urination schedule” and urinate at set times, such as once every hour, whether you feel the need or not. You then slowly extend that amount of time until you can hold your urine for around three or four hours which is a more normal pattern. I am currently doing an every two-hour interval. Also, a lot of kegels and “urge suppression”. If this doesn’t succeed, I will see a pelvic floor therapist and/or try different medication. I’m feeling optimistic this will be effective.
Bowel Function
Going swimmingly, normal, no issues.
Hair Growth
Look Ma, new hair!
I am really enjoying this hair length and may keep it pretty short for a long time. I also got cool new glasses. I am curious to see what it looks like when it grows back. Will it be super curly? Will it be straight? Chemotherapy has an interesting and unpredictable impact on hair texture. I had very curly hair going into this, what will it be now? That’s one reason to let it grow longer at first. We shall see…
Today is the one-year anniversary of the birth of my new immune system, the day they put my stem cells back in my body to begin the process of rebuilding an infrastructure free of the memory of MS, hopefully. So, I thought I better get my butt in gear and write!
