I received the rest of my test results on Friday. Thyroid and antibodies were normal, but my anti-nuclear antibody (ANA) count was still just as high in one test but lower in a second test. (They look at the count two ways). I am going to be referred to a rheumatologist (this time not a Cleveland Clinic one), and will have my platelet count tested again at the end of this week. I'm hoping it's above 19,000 and not lower.
My weekend was hell. I'm still on some paid meds, and had been working so much I didn't realize how close I was to running out of my key one. I placed the call Friday morning, but the only doctor who would normally handle the prescriptions was out getting married, so no prescription refill for me. Knowing I had to conserve what I had, I was basically med-free all weekend and it was a huge wake-up call. I am far from being cured.
On several occasions I debated in my head whether to head to an ER, but was in such a messed up state that I couldn't think straight and ended up staying at home all weekend, going from chair to couch to bed, with pillows and various positions, trying to get the pain in my legs and back to settle down with no success. I saved what little medication I had for the evening time so I could get a little sleep, which helped only a little on Friday and Saturday but luckily on Sunday evening I was finally able to rest successfully, only waking up a few times. I'm sure I drove Brad crazy, as I was literally unable to sit or lie still most of the weekend, desperately trying to get the pain to get to a level that I could tolerate. I was a useless wreck of a person, going crazy in my own mind as to why I was going through this torture.
One reason for my situation is physical therapy. I had no back pain when I started my sessions, but I do now. I find that further I get from my last appointment, the better I feel. Today is Monday, it's been five days since my last appointment and my back is finally not killing me like it was all weekend. It was like that last week as well; I had four days of torture (but I had medications to help), then on day four things settled down, I went to physical therapy and by that evening I was miserable again. So no more physical therapy for me, not unless someone can give me a good reason why.
As for everything else, I have no explanation. I saw the last 15 minutes of a show called Mystery Diagnosis on Saturday evening. Had never seen the show, but while Brad was upstairs decided to tune in. Ironically it was about a 40-some year old woman with similar symptoms and almost identical ANA results. It took her nine months for a diagnosis, but in the end she had an auto-immune disease called Scleroderma. She was undiagnosed the first time she saw a rheumatologist because she showed no outward physical signs of an auto-immune illness. I found myself in tears...the story hit too close to home. I felt horrible for her. In some ways I was jealous it only took her nine months of questioning and tests. In other ways I feared a similar fate, a diagnosis with no treatment options. I doubt I have what she has, but each day that goes by makes it more likely that the nickel wasn't the cause of my ills after all. The surgery took away the back pain (as long as I keep the physical therapy people away from me), but I'm still not right. My blood work proves that.
So while this weekend was a waste of time, this week I must get back to being productive at work and prepare for the long drive and back (all in one day) to/from Baltimore to see the spine surgeon for a follow-up. I'm hoping there might be someone he can recommend there, as I have little faith in the doctors in this town. I guess we'll see. At least they refilled my medication this afternoon, so I will actually be able to have a good night's sleep. I hate taking medications, but it's obvious that right now that is the only way I can be a semi-productive individual in society.
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