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I also never really had to take charge of any medical decisions. Physicals were scheduled by my mom and sick visits were usually chaperoned by her as well. But now I was a certified adult, supposedly able to make these monumental decisions on my own. The biggest things I had done to date was open a checking account and vote in the presidential election and neither of those things carried the risk of death, for God's sake. But the doctor said I didn't really have another choice. Through a blur of tears, I signed the form and went ahead with the surgery.
I remember waking up in recovery to a diminutive male nurse who reminded me of the late actor Herve Villachez. However, I was certain this was no Fantasy Island because those almost always ended on a happy note. I remember seeing my mom and I remember the pain medication. Then I felt safe enough to sleep. The following day, my surgeon entered the room during early morning rounds. I was still a little loopy from the pain medication. He told me that when he opened me up the appendix looked fine which prompted him to look for the source of the pain. He attempted to free my intestines to check for holes or abnormalities that might cause the pain but had trouble dislodging them from their usual spot. Upon closer examination he said that they were not soft and pink like healthy intestines but rather were hard and had the appearance of "red cracked leather." Even though the diagnosis was the inflammatory bowel disease known as Crohn's disease, he removed my appendix so that we would never confuse the two again. The surgeon put me on an antibiotic called Flagyl and said I could begin eating again as soon as I had a bowel movement. While the surgeon was the doctor who had finally diagnosed me through his initial misdiagnosis, he was the closest any of my other doctors had ever come to pinning a diagnosis on this patient. My pediatrician had missed it when my ankles swelled unnaturally large for no apparent reason at age five; he originally thought it was poor kidney function but when it cleared up and never came back, he failed to offer a reason for it. Without doing any testing, a family doctor later dismissed my persistent diarrhea on the use of antibiotics for a recurring throat infection. In my teen years, an internist did blood tests for a swollen ankle and tender knee when X-rays failed to show the reason for the abnormal swelling. He said I tested negative for juvenile rheumatoid arthritis and lupus, thank God. When the swelling went away, he also gave up searching for an explanation. That same doctor was unable to offer an explanation for a fever I had about four months before I landed in the emergency room that February afternoon. My temperature had shot up to 105 and, although no cause was found, I was given a course of antibiotics "just in case." In case of what was never explained. My family also visited a different doctor, the internist who came highly recommended by a neighbor who fawned over the fact that he taught at a prominent medical school. This doctor took my symptoms of fatigue, abdominal pain and diarrhea and tested me for diabetes. When the glucose test came up within a normal range, he felt around my belly, asked me what my grade point average was. From this, he declared that I had irritable bowel syndrome, hence the fiber recommendation and the emphasis on stress reduction. This "method" of irritable bowel syndrome diagnosis, however, goes against the recommendations of the American Gastroenterological Association, which suggests that several tests be given to rule out other diseases like celiac, diverticulosis, diverticulitis, gall bladder disease and, surprise, inflammatory bowel diseases such as Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis. Click here to continue reading First Year: Crohn's Disease & Ulcerative Colitis. All information is copyrighted by Jill Sklar, 2002. All rights reserved. |