I knew that I was suffering two sets of symptoms. What was good for one was bad for the other. For example: Listerine would stop the action of one, but make the other one go wild (sugar and alcohol). Without a helpful doctor--and I cannot understand this for the life of me--I have suffered from the other problem until I figured it out by myself.
We'll keep it broad: Fungus.
The most common fungus that most people do know something about is yeast. And yeast is way underrated! Not even doctors seem to attach sufficient importance to diagnosing and treating it. When the thought of yeast occurred to me and I began to take measures as though yeast was my problem, it helped. I began by eating lots of yogurt and taking acidophiles. It only gave me a modicum of relief but pointed me in the right direction. I checked out the local health food store and I began taking an herbal anti-fungal regimen that helps a whole lot more, but still isn't good enough to give me total comfort.
The symptoms ascribed to yeast, not fitting my own symptoms exactly, indicate possibly that another kind of fungus or an unusual localized infection in the eyes, nose and mouth and sometimes in the lungs has mislead my doctor. Yeast, candida albicans, typically causes digestive problems and I haven't noted any. And I don't have thrush. I have no sores in my mouth and this has been confirmed by my dentist. But on rare occassions my lips have had a sore or two.
There are several kinds of yeast that make people sick and then there are several other kinds of fungus that make people sick. The fact that I had been given a powerful antibiotic at the end of last summer should have been a red flag. So I think the cause should have been reason for the doctor to check into yeast/fungus.
Most healthy people don't become deathly ill from a fungus. And I am healthy otherwise and that might have thrown my doctor off the scent.
Why haven't I said anything before this?
1) It still isn't officially diagnosed. I figure that since my doctor didn't even consider the possibility, there is no use in going to him now and saying, "I've pretty much figured out what the problem is. Now, make me well!" ;) I'm looking for a doctor while my husband catches up on the medical bills.
2) I want the right kind of doctor. I don't want to run into the same ignorance that I did before. From my research so far, I have come to the conclusion that not enough doctors are well enough informed on the subject.
3) I live in an area where there are fewer specialists and I haven't found a way to locate a good doctor in one of the larger cities nearby.
4) I was also focused on the mold in my home, one way or another, until that problem was solved--leaving me with the worst set of symptoms to combat, but helping me figure out the fungus connection.
The more research I do, the more worried I become about our ignorance of the problems caused by fungus. 30% of cases are deadly. Some of the common things that people are diagnosed with may very well be misdiagnosed fungus infections that will eventually lead to more complications and further lists of symptoms and more bottles of medicine for misdiagnosed maladies. It is possible that many cases of dementia are overlooked yeast/fungus infections, for example.
To my horror, as I read the list of symptoms and realize that my own father might have actually died of a fungus infection brought on twelve years previous to his death after his bout with colon cancer--for which he was given antibiotics. He always said that it was the cancer surgery that started all his problems and his decline. I saw the yeast in his mouth in the hospital after he broke his hip. I know it was there. I just didn't know what it could do and I trusted the doctors diagnosis first of dementia and then much later of Parkinson's.
It may have been the cause of his increasing inability to balance and therefore the cause of his broken hip. Ears are commonly infected. And the drooling (I experienced it last fall), the lack of concentration, the memory lapses and even his blindness may all have been caused by yeast or fungus (molds, too). And all those years that he was ailing and I was amazed at the amount of sugar he could eat! I was glad he could eat sugar. And as crazy as this may seem, I talked to his doctor about it and he had no concerns since my father wasn't diabetic. Craving sugar is a symptom and should have been a concern.
******
To carry on here: My closets, or my bedding, or my bath towel, or whatever I have touched or used must harbor the fungus and when humidity rises, the fungus becomes active. When the fungus is active it puts out mycotoxins (I'll check my terminology when I have a chance and correct this if I am wrong) that are virtually indestructible. Some can even be boiled without being destroyed (a mystery solved). At any rate, these are only examples to help relate what the problem is. I breath or eat these mycotoxins and then they overload my system (kidneys, liver and skin) and it can't remove them and this is what causes the symptoms.
The way I see it is that I infect my environment and then it infects me back. It becomes a vicious circle. My body fights it off only to get hit again and again from my environment. Moisture is my greatest enemy. Even the water in the sink drain can be infected and cause problems. Chlorine is my best friend. The fungus gets into everything I use and everything I touch. It is not easy to destroy, a hidden enemy that waits in dark shadows.
So, today I sit here with a dehumidifier next to me. I drink lots of water and eat lots of yogurt and try to avoid sugar along with a whole host of other special paranoid behaviors to protect myself from my almost microscopic enemy! Okay, I'll fess up! I have even used yogurt in my hair! Hopefully, I'll get well and eventually maybe I can even help others who suffer from the mysterious maladies the doctors don't diagnose. I have a lot of reading yet to do.
I have some good links and reading suggestions, but I've been sitting here too long for today. I'll try to share them with you in hopes that you can help somebody suffering from mysterious illnesses like I am.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Diary of a mad woman:
Okay, I'm going to give in and continue to write about this mystery that has thus far remained unsolved. My health is a preoccupation. It isn't a preoccupation because that's what I want to do, it seems that I am forced to. When I become lax, I pay by suffering. I like to be lazy, just for the record.
Now, I am going to write this as though someone is doing it to me. Most of the time I'm completely rational about it and I look for normal causes for my symptoms. But the "saltiness attacks" haven't triggered anybody's memory as to a cause so I haven't found help for them yet. I don't really believe that someone is doing it intentionally to me until something inexplicable happens and I can't dismiss the mystery. In this case it happens to be blood . . .
1) Like a red tide:
It is a long story that has taken up most of my week. Becuase I was stubborn, I ended up in the shower at 5:00 AM. It is the story of my life through the past six months.
We'll have to step back a few weeks, three to be more exact. It was the last time I remember being able to breathe easily if I opened my closet door. I remember that one time when I opened my closet door the scent of my perfume wafted out and I wondered if the clothes I'd worn to Church that Sunday were the cause. But then it seems that by the very next morning, I opened my closet to be met by the "elephant pen at the zoo" odor that is, quite frankly, killing me.
My initial response was to wash all my clothes using clorox. Yes, even my colored clothes. But the closet still reeked. The next step was to take everything out of the closet, but the closet still reeked. Do note that this same scenario has played out in two other closets already--except that the closet itself never reeked and laundering the contents of it solved the problem. This time, it didn't help at all to wash the clothes, bind the shoes into plastic bags and, finally, to remove everything from the closet.
My next step was to wash the entire closet--not once, but twice. And then to clean the carpet despite the fact that this carpet is about four months old and it couldn't possibly have any dirt in it yet. I spent three days this week doing that. Still, the closet reeked.
Along with that, my bed has been infected too. I've laundered all the sheets, I've cleaned the pillows and still, and this is why I was so stubborn last night, it makes me sick.
I will say this: It can't be chemicals because obviously it begins before the chemicals do. That is if you consider my own chemicals. I thought it might be some sort of pesticide, but it won't weather out--that's why there were three weeks before the infection culminated in the waste of so much energy and time on my part and why I ended up showering off at 5:00 AM. Chemicals will wash out, too.
No matter what this is, this stuff hits me like pepper. It takes over a closet or, as now, my bedroom in as single night. It reminds me of the red tide. It is a superbug that multiplies rapidly at random intervals and then does nothing more than bother me for several days until that random deluge, tide, comes in.
When I take a whiff--a single whiff, mind you--my vision gets blurry and I feel dizzy and begin to sweat. My mouth and nose feel as though something is drilling in--I envision little screw shaped bacteria. It hurts and tastes nasty, although the taste, I realized last night, is slight and indescribable. It makes me cough and sneeze. I know that I am not alone in this because my poor old dog is suffering the same way right along with me. Foolish dog! He stays right with me even when I am suffering to clean it up, choking and coughing all the time.
I can't be forwarned and avoid it because by the time I detect the smell of it, it is too late. A whiff is enough. It is very effective against me. And one whiff and it might be several days before the saltiness on my skin and in my nasal discharges and even in my mouth subsides. It also makes my lips feel funny, dry, sticky and somewhat rubbery.
To be continued . . . (if I can muster the courage)
Now, I am going to write this as though someone is doing it to me. Most of the time I'm completely rational about it and I look for normal causes for my symptoms. But the "saltiness attacks" haven't triggered anybody's memory as to a cause so I haven't found help for them yet. I don't really believe that someone is doing it intentionally to me until something inexplicable happens and I can't dismiss the mystery. In this case it happens to be blood . . .
1) Like a red tide:
It is a long story that has taken up most of my week. Becuase I was stubborn, I ended up in the shower at 5:00 AM. It is the story of my life through the past six months.
We'll have to step back a few weeks, three to be more exact. It was the last time I remember being able to breathe easily if I opened my closet door. I remember that one time when I opened my closet door the scent of my perfume wafted out and I wondered if the clothes I'd worn to Church that Sunday were the cause. But then it seems that by the very next morning, I opened my closet to be met by the "elephant pen at the zoo" odor that is, quite frankly, killing me.
My initial response was to wash all my clothes using clorox. Yes, even my colored clothes. But the closet still reeked. The next step was to take everything out of the closet, but the closet still reeked. Do note that this same scenario has played out in two other closets already--except that the closet itself never reeked and laundering the contents of it solved the problem. This time, it didn't help at all to wash the clothes, bind the shoes into plastic bags and, finally, to remove everything from the closet.
My next step was to wash the entire closet--not once, but twice. And then to clean the carpet despite the fact that this carpet is about four months old and it couldn't possibly have any dirt in it yet. I spent three days this week doing that. Still, the closet reeked.
Along with that, my bed has been infected too. I've laundered all the sheets, I've cleaned the pillows and still, and this is why I was so stubborn last night, it makes me sick.
I will say this: It can't be chemicals because obviously it begins before the chemicals do. That is if you consider my own chemicals. I thought it might be some sort of pesticide, but it won't weather out--that's why there were three weeks before the infection culminated in the waste of so much energy and time on my part and why I ended up showering off at 5:00 AM. Chemicals will wash out, too.
No matter what this is, this stuff hits me like pepper. It takes over a closet or, as now, my bedroom in as single night. It reminds me of the red tide. It is a superbug that multiplies rapidly at random intervals and then does nothing more than bother me for several days until that random deluge, tide, comes in.
When I take a whiff--a single whiff, mind you--my vision gets blurry and I feel dizzy and begin to sweat. My mouth and nose feel as though something is drilling in--I envision little screw shaped bacteria. It hurts and tastes nasty, although the taste, I realized last night, is slight and indescribable. It makes me cough and sneeze. I know that I am not alone in this because my poor old dog is suffering the same way right along with me. Foolish dog! He stays right with me even when I am suffering to clean it up, choking and coughing all the time.
I can't be forwarned and avoid it because by the time I detect the smell of it, it is too late. A whiff is enough. It is very effective against me. And one whiff and it might be several days before the saltiness on my skin and in my nasal discharges and even in my mouth subsides. It also makes my lips feel funny, dry, sticky and somewhat rubbery.
To be continued . . . (if I can muster the courage)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Gosh! It has been nearly a month since I posted!
All is well--or better, at least. Ike is off at drum and bugle corps for the summer and the house is quiet for a change.
No trumpet. No melophone. No guitar. Complete silence. I really must complain.
The house is clean. The carpets are vacuumed. The bathroom isn't sweating from one of his long hot showers. His bed is temporarily disassembled and nobody cares. I dragged all his amps out of the living room and lined them up in his bedroom. *sigh*
We've also adopted another wee kitten. She hasn't got a name yet. Spunky . . . Loopy . . . Tiger . . . Tornado . . . I say that God sends me the difficult cases. She came to me half dead. Two days later people couldn't believe she'd been sick. She can fall asleep in mid-play. I thought about drawing a picture of my hand covered with bandages from all the play punctures she is giving me, but I'm not very handy with a mouse.
Mr. Dickens is depressed. Here he thought life was good, he ruled the roost for once. He is terrified of a six week old kitten! But he'll bark at full grown cats at a distance.
I've been thinking of going back to the daily entries where I dally with the fictionalization of my mysterious illnesses. Health has a tendency to become such a preoccupation, but I do have a great idea, I think.
No trumpet. No melophone. No guitar. Complete silence. I really must complain.
The house is clean. The carpets are vacuumed. The bathroom isn't sweating from one of his long hot showers. His bed is temporarily disassembled and nobody cares. I dragged all his amps out of the living room and lined them up in his bedroom. *sigh*
We've also adopted another wee kitten. She hasn't got a name yet. Spunky . . . Loopy . . . Tiger . . . Tornado . . . I say that God sends me the difficult cases. She came to me half dead. Two days later people couldn't believe she'd been sick. She can fall asleep in mid-play. I thought about drawing a picture of my hand covered with bandages from all the play punctures she is giving me, but I'm not very handy with a mouse.
Mr. Dickens is depressed. Here he thought life was good, he ruled the roost for once. He is terrified of a six week old kitten! But he'll bark at full grown cats at a distance.
I've been thinking of going back to the daily entries where I dally with the fictionalization of my mysterious illnesses. Health has a tendency to become such a preoccupation, but I do have a great idea, I think.