By Audrey Geliga
PROMPT — Ask Me.
2023 was going to be a good year. My dad’s cancer was in remission. My kids were doing well in school. My husband and I were planning major house renovations. I was planning vacations-one of my favorite pastimes! Yes, this was going to be an exciting year! I was looking forward to 2023. This year had to be better than last.
You should know that I am an exercise freak. Well, I was. And I hope to be one again, but that is for later. One of the things that I love(d) to do was go for long walks. Usually 4-5 miles, but I was gearing up to start going for longer. Sometime in the spring of 2022, I noticed that I would sometimes feel off-balanced on my walks. It happened sporadically and I chalked it up to vertigo, allergies, or mild dehydration, since I didn’t often bring water bottles with me. Then, in December, it started happening every time I would go for a walk. And I started having frequent stomach pains as well. I thought it was because there is a family history of IBS and food didn’t agree with me. I am in my late 40s. Things start to change. Should I call the doctor? I wanted to see how this would play out.
My son’s 13th birthday came around the weekend of January 13th, 2023, and I had been feeling good for the last two weeks. We went into the city to celebrate. Two days later, I got violently sick. For a few days, I had fatigue, little to no appetite, and I was throwing up. I had no fever, but after five days, I decided to head over to Urgent Care. It was then that I was diagnosed with a sinus infection. I was given antibiotics. I felt relieved. I would be feeling better in no time. As someone who never gets sick, (apart from an occasional cold and allergies), taking antibiotics was somewhat foreign for my body. The first two days, saw no issues, but by day three, the antibiotics were wreaking havoc on my stomach. I barely ate. The nausea was overwhelming. On the final day of my medication, I tried to eat breakfast, and I violently threw up. I had never gotten this sick before. I insisted on going to the hospital, which my husband had protested, but he took me, nonetheless.
When I got there, they took my blood, did an EKG, and lung and heart X-ray and a vaginal ultrasound, as I was complaining of pelvic pain. The nausea continued to be unbearable. Nothing was found but a very tiny cyst on the ovary that the doctors dismissed. I was given prescription medication for the nausea, and six hours after I arrived, I was sent home. The medicine did not help with the nausea at all, but I did have some nasty side effects, including violent nightmares and a shuffled walk. After a couple of days, I called my GP, (who is also my cardiologist), and she told me to come off of it. Fatigue and nausea would not leave me. Abdominal pain and occasional headaches decided to join in as well. I wasn’t sleeping. Sleep wasn’t always my friend, but I would typically get six hours a night. Now, it was two hours. I hadn’t experienced sleep deprivation like this, since my daughter was born, 17 years ago.
Anyway, I told my GI and my GP, and they ordered me to come in for abdominal ultrasound and a CT scan. And so, I did. And the results came back negative, except for a tiny hiatal hernia. I was relieved but also frustrated. What was going on with me? I was so tired. I was losing weight, (which I needed to do, but not this way) and I wasn’t the happy and social being I had always been.
My GP wanted to prescribe something for my anxiety, so I could sleep. I was prescribed Xanax. Who was I? This person who didn’t even take OTC drugs for headaches or periods, was now taking another prescription drug in three weeks. The thought was unsettling to me. After a week, I was back at the hospital again, but a different one. I don’t know if it was the Xanax or a panic attack, but I woke up that morning and I couldn’t speak. Just gibberish was coming out of me. This was my birthday weekend, and I was looking forward to it. It had been especially special the last few years, because one of my sisters had bought a second home in The Green Mountains of Vermont and it was one of my “happy places.” A beautiful and serene escape, and I could be there. It left me sad and empty, that I was at a hospital instead, and this worsened the anxiety.
Anyway, I arrived at the hospital and because I was able to tell them about my speech, they labeled me with “stroke symptoms.” After a few hours in the ER, I was sent for an MRI, which was one of the worst experiences of my life. It was claustrophobic and the loud drumming, and high-pitched noises, wreaked havoc on my ears and my body for 45 minutes. I waited another hour or so before the results came back negative, and it was labeled as a panic attack. From there, I met with one of the hospital’s psychiatrists. I was crying out of pain and anxiousness and the whole thing felt surreal. Who was I? I had belonged to Positive Psychology groups. I had a certificate in Level One Reiki. What was happening? After a mere five/ten minutes of talking to this psychiatrist, he determined that I was “depressed” and prescribed me two antidepressants. I had told him that I wanted to try and combat this holistically, to which he instantly dismissed, and said that these medicines would have me “...feeling better in no time. They had minimal side effects. They would work.”
Well, that was not true, because when I got home, I looked up these antidepressants on the Internet and saw that they had a slew of side effects. One of them had actually been taken off the market, decades ago because of its side effects. That night I was an insomniac. The ER had been packed with a lot of people who had not been well off—the whole day and been a traumatic experience, and now I had drugs that I was scared to take. I wound up trying them the next day, but again, that lasted a week, as I felt uneasy taking two antidepressants. At this time, I started seeing a counselor, but after two visits, it was clear, she was not equipped to handle what I was going through.
This began my realization of how messed up the American Healthcare System can be. It has some major flaws. A person who knew me for ten minutes was deciding my mental health and wellbeing. And that I suppose is partly my fault. I allowed myself to be influenced by this person. Prescribing medication is a lot easier and quicker to do, than having to do talk therapy or additional tests. And that itself has flaws. I had called twenty psychologists that were listed in our insurance plans and only one got back to me. And she couldn’t help me. Even of those doctors who were listed, no one was taking new clients and so how do people get the help that they need without going into debt? I would up finding a licensed social worker who I spoke with once a week, for about two months. She was lovely, but once again, I had realized that I needed more. I wasn’t getting better mentally. The anxiety was still there, as well as sleep deprivation.
So now it was March 2023 and my family, and I were desperate to see me leave my house, other than for medical situations. Maybe all of this was stress and anxiety, and walking and being in nature, have always been calming and therapeutic for me. So, one day, my husband and I journeyed to a local park, and it took less than five minutes for me to feel it: immense chest pain, then back pain, and then horrible pain in my front teeth. I kept telling him I had to stop. He pushed, telling me it was stress and I had to overcome it. After about forty minutes, I couldn’t do anymore. When we got home, I felt better. But then, a few days later, at a different park, I got the same feelings. And rather quickly, it became a situation, where I couldn’t even go up and down my straits, without feeling it. And it was happening when I was sitting, too. This was over a span of about two weeks. I called my GP, the cardiologist, because I had been scheduled for an endoscopy and colonoscopy later that week, because of my stomach pain, and she told me to cancel it. She wanted me to come in and do a stress test, as a precautionary measure. She also wanted an ultrasound done on my heart.
So, a couple of days later, I went in. The ultrasound was done first. That came back negative, with no issues on my heart. Next, came the stress test, which I struggled through, and could not finish. That came back abnormal. So, two days later, I was scheduled for a CTA scan, which would show pictures of my arteries and how they were doing. All of this was nerve wracking, and every day, my anxiety felt like it was getting worse.
The night before my scan, I thought I was going to die.
I woke up at 3am to an immense pain in my chest. My left arm and upper back were hurting. I had unbelievable abdominal pain. My lower front teeth hurt. I wanted an ambulance. I wanted my mom. I cried for her. I had never felt anything like this before. My husband said it was a panic attack. It lasted for an hour. It was not a panic attack. But I wouldn’t know that, until after my CTA scan results came in.
My right artery was 99% blocked. I needed a stent immediately.
I was hysterical. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want to die. How could this happen to me? I am only 48 years old. Yes, my cholesterol levels had been high for years. But I thought I had time to fix them. My husband held me and told me that everything was going to be okay. He is my rock. When I had a blog about being a Special Needs Parent, I wrote a blog post, specifically about how he was my rock. So, he’s always been.
I am fortunate and glad that I didn’t have to face this alone.
Two days after that call, I ended up at the hospital for my stent procedure. I still wasn’t sleeping, because now that I knew I had something wrong with me, I was really afraid to close my eyes, for fear of dying. I was a nervous wreck and it showed. I had strangers coming up to me and talking to me, trying to reassure me that everything was going to be OK. The surgeon came out to talk to me. The nurses said I was in “the best hands.” And then I was wheeled away.
When my daughter was born, sixteen years ago, it was an Emergency C-Section, because my water had broken, she was breached, and she was coming out fast. My husband said I was shaking intensely and my face looked terror-stricken. Two years later for son, I was more prepared, and it wasn’t an emergency. Anyway, as I was being wheeled away, he said that I looked that way again and he felt helpless this time around, because he couldn’t be with me. He just watched me go. The procedure did not take long. It was, for the most part, painless. I was happy from the drugs. I ate all my dinner, even though it was hospital food. The procedure happened at 6pm and I was set to be discharged at 10:30pm that night. As the drugs wore off, I started to feel pain. Pain in my groin, (where the incision occurred), pain in my chest and in my arm. The doctors did an EKG. It came back slightly abnormal. They decided to keep me overnight. Did I want Xanax? No. After my brief stint with Xanax and antidepressants, I wasn’t having any of that. Anyway, I briefly got to see my children and my husband, as they were allowed to come up for about ten minutes.
It wound up being six of us in the Recovery Room that night. I did not sleep a wink. The woman next to me kept complaining about something different, all night long. Another patient was vomiting all night, and someone else coughed all night long. The security alarm kept going off. It was horrible. And I couldn’t move. It felt like an eternity. Finally, when morning came, I was tested again, and given “all clear” to go home. I was so happy to be leaving that place.
For one week, I was miserable. Because the surgery was through my groin, I couldn’t really move—it was painful. I had a lot of bruising, too. So, my doctor wanted to keep my movement at a minimum. I was exhausted and I felt trapped.
After a week, my pain went away.
But I was tired. From months of insomnia and these new medications I was taking. I didn’t want to do anything. A month after the procedure, I had a follow-up with my doctor. She wanted me up and moving. She prescribed me an antidepressant that was to help with sleep, because I was napping during the day and early evening, and then I would be awake for most of the night. She wanted me back to a regular sleep schedule. I was still so anxious, and in the midst of this tiredness, I started to feel dizzy. My ears, nose, mouth, and vaginal area were dry. My stomach ached. My hair was thinning out. My mouth hurt. I went to three different dentists to figure out, “my white tongue.” I went to two EMTs and a dental surgeon. They couldn’t figure out anything. I was given more antibiotics, (funny how they have no problem giving out drugs, even if they have no idea what is going on). Finally, my mom recommended her dentist. I paid him a visit. While he couldn’t explain the white on my tongue, he had told me that one of my teeth was rotting. He took a picture and showed me. It looked disgusting. How had these other dentists and a surgeon, missed this? After a visit to an orthodontist, it was determined that I needed a root canal. A crown would not be enough. This was May 2023.
As we approached June, I began to feel worse in regard to my fatigue. I had just started therapy with a psychologist my sister had found, who specialized in Neuro Feedback Therapy. This therapist was different. I really liked her. She talked with me. She talked to me as a human being. After a few sessions, I started sleeping better. I wanted off the antidepressant, and my doctor said it was ok. Around the same time, I began my cardiac therapy rehab. For about a week or so, I was feeling good.
Then, I started having pelvic pain. I was urinating constantly, and there was discharge. I went to the store and bought a home test for a UTI. It said I had one. I had never had a UTI in my life. I called my gynecologist. I got tested and she confirmed I had one. Again, I was put on antibiotics, but it kept coming back and I was sent to a urologist, who when the test came back, said that everything was clear. I was confused. She placed me off of antibiotics, as they were making me nauseous, and as far as she was concerned, I didn’t have a UTI. What was going on? The pelvic pain had elevated, and it was now horrible. Two ultrasounds, (at different practices), were done and nothing showed up. The nurse at my gynecologist’s office asked if I wanted to get an MRI done, “for peace of mind,” I could. So, I scheduled one. This was now August 2023.
Endometriosis and Adenomyosis. That was the results of the MRI. My uterus and the surrounding areas were destroying me. And so, it wasn’t all in my head. “A relaxing bath, a cup of tea, a massage, etc…” was not what I needed. Doctors telling me to try and find ways to calm myself. Prescribing multiple prescription drugs for my head. All year long I had dealt with doctors telling me nothing was wrong with me, when in fact, there were a few things going on with me! My body was trying to tell me, and these doctors were dismissing it!
I suppose there was relief in the fact that I had some validation. Endometriosis had a slew of symptoms attached to it, and it was what I was experiencing. There was also the matter of my very heavy periods and loss of blood. I was anemic and having to take two iron supplements a day. So, I scheduled a meeting with surgeon/specialist. All of this was foreign to me. And when I had an episode, it was scary and discouraging. I just kept thinking that there is so much more I need to accomplish and to see.
Fast forward to July 2024…I haven’t written in my journal since then, I realized, and I think it’s because I’ve been so busy enjoying my life. That feels weird to say after the hell that was 2023. I say words of gratitude every night before I go to bed. I appreciate everything that comes with each new day. I have been back to exercising since the beginning of May, and I feel great—I’ve even lost 10lbs and hope to lose 15 more. I have been taking vacations and day trips, and spending time with family and friends. I will even start a new job in September—It’s been 16 years since I have worked. I am excited and nervous, but I am joyful too.
But, I also worry too. I have moments of “what if” and I have been told that it is both normal and acceptable to feel these moments from time to time, after having such a traumatic year.
I am also angry. Angry that I was wrongly labeled and treated. I know that I’m far from the only woman to experience this. I am not allowed to walk into a hospital or doctor’s office and be weepy and emotional, for then I am depressed and whatever else they think is wrong with my head. Holding on to anger for too long, is not healthy, though. As a mom to two children with Special Needs, I have had all the feelings, and I turned that into being an advocate. And while I will never stop advocating, my children are teenagers, and are beginning to advocate for themselves. My health battles last year have pushed me into a new direction—An advocate for Women’s Health and Rights. I just have to find the path that will work for me.
It is one of the reasons why I wanted to share my story with the Journal of Expressive Writing.
Life has taken on a whole new meaning. I can’t take back past mistakes and regrets, but I can move forward with mindfulness, hopefulness, love, happiness, and kindness.
And never take anything or anyone for granted, because In Just One Sleep, your life can change.
Audrey Geliga is a a wife and a mother to two children with Special Needs. She has been a Special Needs Advocate for the last 13 years, actively taking part in speaking engagements and authoring a blog about being a Special Needs Mom. Audrey has also written several children’s books and is a Reiki practitioner. Last year was the worst year of her life, with various medical incidents. From that experience, she has decided that she want to become an advocate for women’s health. She is thriving now and looking forward to going back to work this Fall after 16 years. Before becoming Mom, Audrey used to work in the television business. She writes from Floral Park, New York.
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