Two years ago, two very big changes had just occurred in my life: I had just moved abroad to teach English in the town of Zaragoza Spain and I was also very sick. Two years later, I am still sick, and I can tell you it has turned my little 20 something life upside down. My health saga started with a simple sinus infection. After navigating the complex bureaucracies of the Spanish government and health system I somehow made it into a doctor’s office. Through my broken Spanish and many hand gestures I finally communicated I had a sinus infection. They gave me an antibiotic and sent me on my way. Simple.
I gradually felt better throughout the next weeks and I was thrilled to get back on my feet and begin enjoying my life abroad in Spain. However, as soon as I stopped the antibiotic the tingly pressure began to slowly return to my face along with a great feeling of defeat. This pressure persisted and worsened throughout the next couple weeks and I felt myself getting fatigued again. Soon I was back in the doctor’s office and loaded up with antibiotics again, this time they gave me an “everlasting” supply. “Just keep taking them until you get better,” they told me.
Day after day I took the little white pill and day after day I would come home from teaching absolutely exhausted, my face still full of pain and pass out on my bed. At this point I had been on antibiotics for about two months with zero improvement. I was exhausted and depressed as hell, so finally after many tearful skype sessions with my parents, I decided to come home for Christmas. I was confident an American doctor could sort me out.
I found myself in an Ear, Nose, Throat doctor’s office; my doctor examined a CAT Scan that revealed my narrow facial bones were trapping the infection inside my head.
“I am confident that you can get better with medication Katie,” he told me and once again I believed it. They sent me home again with more antibiotics, in addition to a heavy dose of prednisone, the strongest type of steroid medication to reduce swelling. Every day I took the little white pills and jammed my face full of salt water saline rinses and no improvement.
Surgery was my next step. My ENT informed me that they were going to do a quick procedure, patch me up and send me back to Spain. “2 weeks recovery tops,” my ENT informed me. Fantastic! My months of misery would be over soon. In the procedure, I would be awake under some heavy doses of valium. They were going to stick balloons up my nose, break my facial bones, take them out to allow the infection to drain out of my face. It sounded awful, but at this point I was willing to do anything to rip this horrible thing of my face. I joked with my friends that it was really just a small nose job I would be getting. If Paris Hilton could handle it, so could I!
The procedure did not work. So I had more surgery, more little white pain pills, more anesthesia, more everything. Throughout this whole process I felt like my body was being bombed. Every time they hit me with another surgery, another round of antibiotics, another round of painkillers, my body felt like a tornado was ravaging it’s way through it. I know this feeling is not an uncommon one. The myriad of chronic and terminal illnesses in our society has led Western medicine to produce aggressive medical procedures and surgeries that may work, but at a great cost. Looking back on this experience what truly baffles me is that no one was educating me about what else I could be doing to take care of my body or the possible side effects. I remember asking my ENT if there was anything else I could do to help my immune system and he literally told me, “No, just eat some ice cream.” Eat some ice cream!!!? Knowing what I know now, this was probably the worst advice for an ill patient struggling with a sinus infection.
Finally, the two procedures did manage to get that darn infection out of my face, but I felt absolutely awful still. I distinctly remember my ENT telling me that I was good to go back to Spain and sitting there in disbelief. My face was incredibly inflamed from the surgeries, my body was still weak and fatigued. I basically felt like a rag doll that had been torn apart and sewn back together. My doctor had deemed me “better,” but I did not feel any better, in fact I may have felt worse. However, I decided against listening to my body and went back to Spain. Some may have called this stupid, but it felt impossible that anything else bad could happen. My doctor assured me that my health troubles were over and that I would be healthy and trouble free for a long time.
A month later in Spain, I was sick again. This time it was my tonsils, swollen and painful for weeks. Fatigued and fevery is how I spent my last month in Zaragoza. Once again I came straight home to my ENT. “One more round of antibiotics should do the trick.” I sat there in disbelief. “Oh and we should probably remove your tonsils.”
It was at the end of this round of antibiotics that my stomach absolutely freaked out. Whatever I put in it, it rebelled with extreme indigestion. Bloating, burping, belching, heartburn, you name it. My body was completely traumatized from the countless rounds of antibiotics, anesthesia, pain killers, surgeries, etc. I removed my tonsils amidst all of this digestion misery because I thought I was already so miserable I might as well just add to it. Probably not the smartest decision looking back, but my doctor was insisting that I would be able to return back to my normal life just after this one last procedure.
Gastroenterologists didn’t believe me when I told them I couldn’t eat. They insisted nothing was wrong with me, I just needed to take probiotics and eventually I would return to normal. Weight melted off of me like butter. By September I was under a hundred pounds. A little weight loss was something I had always wished for, something that I will never wish for again. Every day I woke and felt like my body was withering away. My once strong legs were turning to bone, my ribs had begun to stick out. It felt like I was walking around in someone else’s body, not my own. I remember intently observing other people eating during this time in my life and feeling raging jealousy. What I would give to have my old weight back and eat normally, just for one day!
This was when my self-education and naturopathic journey began. I was determined to cure myself using natural remedies, so I began researching and reading every book, article, or blog out there related to digestion. If doctors couldn’t cure me, I was going to cure myself. I plunged myself into the world of digestion and learned so much about different stomach disorders, gastritis, dyspepsia, ulcers, c. diff, etc. and set to work at the supplement store and diet restrictions. Unfortunately, dealing with a tonsil surgery recovery in the midst of all this, I found myself having to eat pureed chicken instead of the milkshakes I was promised, but nonetheless I stuck to my strict regime. I even took a whirl at juicing cabbage! A stinky endeavor my mother will never let me live down. I caved a little bit to Western medicine and began taking an acid reducing medication, omeprazole, a Protein Pump Inhibitor (PPI) that basically stops the acid producing mechanisms in your stomach.
But I couldn’t cure myself in time to return to Spain, something that I had been holding out for all summer. Dragging my skinny little 95 pound body overseas, would have been truly stupid, so I began looking for other options.
chronicles of the Sick 20 Somethings 