I've pretty much been ill off and on my entire life, mostly due to allergies, but also from colds and stuff. My body decided that food and pollen and dander are more evil substances than things like colds and flus. It wasn't until college that I really felt I had good health. I was eating better, for one, and I biked to school and to the post office (I got rides to the store, thankfully), so I was in pretty good shape. My food allergies didn't bother me so badly and I didn't get fatigued as often. I did still get fatigued, though.
Then I want on a mission. The first six months, my health was still pretty good. We had to exercise every morning and we did a lot of walking. That, coupled with some good meals provided by members, and I was still doing really well. Toward the end of my time with my third companion (during the end of March/beginning of April), things started getting worse. First, my knees started going. They started swelling and hurting, first my right and then my left. I ice packed them, wrapped them, and took pain meds, but nothing was really helping. Then, in my last week with that companion, we caught the stomach flu (courtesy of the Elders). My comp got over it in about three days, while it took me a week. So I got transferred with my knees in disrepair and still feeling whoozy.
The flu symptoms totally went away by the end of another week, but my knees got better. Over the course of the next three months, the pain spread down to my feet and up to my hands, back, and neck. The pain was excruciating. I couldn't move anything without hurting. The mission got me to a doctor, who got me on pain meds, and then proceeded all sorts of testing to figure out what was going on. I also got some knee braces and a loooooooooooot of aid from sympathetic members. One of the hardest things was whenever I did have an especially bad flare up and then get something to help it, the release of pain would always knock me out. So much fun.
I almost came home halfway through my mission because of it, but ended up staying out (that is a story for another time). As part of the deal for me to stay out, my mission president promised me unlimited miles on any vehicle for the rest of my mission, because walking and biking made my knees swell worse. It didn't help either that this was all happening over the summer months, so it was already hot and humid many days.
After a couple of more months, I was able to get in to see a rheumatologist. That didn't help any. She did a bunch of testing, which all came back negative, and told me she couldn't do anything for me and not to bother coming back. My joints were OBVIOUSLY swollen, still, but whatever.
Another few weeks and the mission got me into a physical therapist, to see of that would help (I had gotten writer's wrist in college, which affects the joints, and physical therapy had helped me then, so the church thought it might help me now). Transfers happened and I got moved to a place about an hour and a half away, so physical therapy always took up more than half the day. Wheeeeeee....
But it worked! The therapist worked on my legs and feet, and within a month the pain was cut in half. It was also October, so the temperature change helped a lot too. Of course, the therapy also wore me out, so I would be out of commission the day after therapy as well. (I only got to go three times because of insurance. I got an at-home program to do so I could keep up on it.)
With that being mended, you'd think that it would have been smooth sailing, right?
You'd be wrong.
I got a cold or flu like every other week all through November and repeatedly had to be told to rest (by leaders and by the Lord whenever I prayed or received a blessing). I got transferred to Ely (my first area!) again in December. That was one of the happiest days of my life, let me tell you. I loved Ely 3rd Ward, and couldn't believe the blessing it was to be sent back.
The stomach flu came around pretty soon after arriving there (thanks a lot, Elders), but then I had a month (January) that wasn't too bad for my health. I would just get achy walking around in the cold (yeah, sure it wasn't arthritis) and need to half the car blasting heat.
Then February came around and I thought the stomach flu was coming around again because I got ill in my stomach again. Then I woke up one morning and dumped my stomach in the toilet; which, the stomach flu can get pretty bad, but this was worse than any flu I'd ever had.
After some weeks of it not improving, and a doctor saying that I may need a colonoscopy to figure out what was wrong, it was decided that I should come home a transfer early so I could get taken care of. As much as I hated that thought, I also recognized that I couldn't work most days because of the constant diarrhea and accompanying nausea and headaches. So I came home.
It took eight months for the doctor to figure out what was wrong. In the meantime, I had tried going gluten free and a couple of other dietary changes, but nothing at all helped. Then, in October, they were able to diagnose it at gallbladder failure, and in November I got my gallbladder out. There wasn't anything specifically wrong with it; it was just inflamed and not working. Turns out, that's a genetic problem on my mom's side. Nearly all the women have had to get theirs out, and at young ages.
Still and yet, my health didn't get as better as hoped. I got color back in my skin, and had more usable hours to my day, but I still had severe IBS symptoms and there were several days I could barely get out of bed. "Exercise!" some helpful people would say, but anything strenuous made it worse. "Get a job!" others would say, but mental and physical strain also made it worse. "Rest," my doctors prescribed, as well as a bunch of medications that were either a) too expensive or b) didn't work. I got a pretty good GI doctor who gave me a list of foods that could be irritating my gut, so I started avoiding some of those foods, and it helped, but didn't heal me. I also would get periodic spasms where my gallbladder used to be, which were pretty debilitating.
I'd gotten married the May after my gallbladder removal. My husband is a saint:I don't know too many people who would willingly date and marry someone who could barely take care of themselves, but he did it. He worked full time, and then he would come home and take care of me. I wasn't completely useless all the time, so there is that, but I know it was still a lot for him to manage. We also had a ton of other emotional things going on during our engagement and start of our marriage (that was the period of time we were working on having our son adopted out, and we had a ton of resistance from family over everything we did). But Steve didn't give up on me. He stuck to me.
So we were married, and he'd be gone to work Mon-Fri. and I would sit at home, usually by myself, and not do a whole lot. Sometimes I was able to hang out with my family or his at their respective homes, which helped my loneliness. And some days I could do more. But many days I couldn't do much. Oh, and I also still had arthritic flair ups happen, which would also incapacitate me to varying degrees.
When a year since my gallbladder removal came around, things started shaking up for us again. But, since this post is already way long, I will save the 2nd part for another day!
Cheers!
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