Celebrating 3 years of blogging and the beginning of the end of my battle?
Three years ago today, I published my first post on this blog.
At the time, I was in a downwards spiral, falling apart and losing my mind. My doctors were baffled and running out of treatment options, and I was threatening to take my life. But then, my family figured out I had PANDAS/PANS. Thus began a three-year fight to regain everything my illness had so suddenly stolen from me.
Dissecting and discussing every meal isn’t helping
This week, I quit therapy.
Wait a minute… I was nearing hospitalization for anorexia just seven months ago, and my psychiatrist recently suggested intensive outpatient was reasonable, and now I’m not even addressing it at all?
Some college kids stockpile liquors, but I stockpile nutrition supplements!
At 93 pounds, I was so miserable and malnourished that I didn’t even know how ill I was. At the time, when I found myself sitting in an infusion chair receiving my third IVIG, I silently wondered to myself what I was doing there. How could I have PANDAS if I wasn’t “that sick”? Why was I getting such a heavy-handed treatment? But with my weight nearing the so-called “starvation” range, many of my organs weren’t working properly anymore. My psychiatrist warned that I’d be in the hospital soon.
Did I really eat a restaurant without having a panic attack?
This week, I reached a turning point in recovering from my eating disorder.
Up until now, although I’ve known how destructive my restricting has been to my body and though part of me wanted to stop, anorexia had so much control over me that I wasn’t completely willing to give it up. I said a few weeks ago that I was going to start treatment for it, but honestly, I was so depressed the day of the appointment that I couldn’t get out of bed and just cancelled it.
Treating PANS can mean trying the whole kitchen sink.
When I was first diagnosed with PANDAS in 2014, my doctor said the treatment plan was to give me “the whole kitchen sink.” In other words, I would receive the full range of therapies, many of them all at once. It was unscientific, since this made it hard to tell which treatments turned out to be the most effective, but for a girl who could hardly walk and had lost over 10% of her body weight, this approach was necessary.
I never imagined what could result from an iPod and a Google search…
As I approach final exams this week, I’ve been thinking back to three years ago, when my life changed forever, on December 17th, 2012.
At the time, I was seventeen and in my senior year of high school. I was excelling academically, and people told me I’d have a promising career. I was popular with lots of friends. I felt such a sense of freedom in being an “adult” by learning to drive. I thought the possibilities for my future were endless.
But in an afternoon, my whole world collapsed.
Leaving a switch on can be bad news for my OCD…
Ever since my tonsillectomy, I’ve noticed my OCD dying down significantly. I’ve found myself touching cabinet knobs in the kitchen that I haven’t been able to touch in over a year. I’m not checking my room for people trying to hurt me. I’m not washing my hands all the time.
I’ve been in CBT all summer, but the improvement I’ve seen seemed to happen much more suddenly and with much less effort than what I normally get from using therapy techniques alone. It was as if maybe, I had less brain inflammation, because I no longer had an infection in my tonsils.
This week marks the one-year anniversary of my blog. To say it’s been an incredible year doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’ve come such a long way since I first started writing about this difficult journey—and so has this blog…
Last June, I’d hit rockbottom. I was in such bad shape and declining so much that I thought I’d die. Although I was otherwise dysfunctional to the point of not being able to walk, not eating, and not being able to speak coherently, I was able to write. In the countless hours my family spent researching PANDAS/PANS on the internet, they’d never found a blog written by a PANS patient. I thought maybe I could change that. I hoped that maybe by sharing my experiences, I could help someone else going through the same thing. So I started a blog.
Recently, I’ve taken up mountain biking, and strangely, there are a lot of parallels between becoming a mountain biker and overcoming OCD…
Ever since last summer, I’ve been apprehensive about getting on a bike, considering that my legs used to give out on me frequently when I walked. If one of these attacks happened as I rode a bike at 20 mph down a road, I could get seriously hurt.
But this week, I got back on my bike anyway and rolled into the woods, following a friend of mine who’s an avid mountain biker.
Wellbutrin XL: The Latest Addition to the Daily Pile of Meds & Supplements
As my two-month IVIG follow-up approached, I was sure I would have bad news no matter what. It would be bad news if my doctor decided I needed an invasive plasmapheresis treatment. It would be just as bad if she told me we had to “wait and see” if this second IVIG worked, because certain symptoms were still making me miserable.
Well, I didn’t exactly get either piece of news. We made a plan that involved neither option…
As spring break approached, I did everything I could to avoid answering that dreaded question: “What are you doing over break?”
“Oh, I’m just taking a short trip to the city and then going home and resting,” I told most people.
But the whole truth is that I’ll be sitting in my doctor’s office for two days hooked up to an IV to get a bunch of people’s antibodies poured into my body. The truth is that I desperately need this treatment so that my own bad antibodies will stop attacking my brain. The truth is that I’m going for my second round of IVIG to hopefully wipe out this disease once and for all.
After eight years of searching for a diagnosis and then finally discovering I had PANDAS, it wasn’t enough for my family and I to simply know what my illness was. We wanted to know what caused it and who or what could be responsible:
Why did I get sick? What could’ve been done so that this never would’ve happened?
We blamed the doctors for brushing me off for eight years. We blamed them for not being willing to consider thinking outside the box. We blamed them for giving me more and more diagnoses while never stepping back to consider a single cause for all of them—while we insisted there had to be one. (more…)
It’s just a doorknob—just a little piece of metal attached to my door. For most people, it’s an overlooked necessity that doesn’t get a second thought. But for me, it’s a peril.
Until a few days ago, I’d gone the entire school year without ever touching my bathroom’s doorknob. I avoided this by either leaving the door cracked enough to let me use my feet to open the door, or I grabbed the doorknob with a designated washcloth that I kept nearby. Unfortunately, I often don’t touch any other doorknobs or handles of any kind in the rest of my apartment, either—not the refrigerator, not the microwave, not the cabinets, and not even the doorknob to my own bedroom.