A little over three months ago, I rejoiced in thinking that the worse was finally behind me. I had spent a substantial amount of time in a chemo like therapy that ripped me to shreds. Throughout the duration of the treatment I forced myself to keep a positive outlook no matter how bleak things may actually have been. In the beginning I regressed as each week passed, and it was pretty demoralizing. Then, it suddenly happened, it was as if a light switch that had been turned off for a year was suddenly flicked on. I woke up and no longer felt as if I was dying. There were no longer periods of regression, as each day wore on I was improving more and more. Eventually the improvement was so apparent and dramatic that we felt comfortable enough to pull me off of everything and let me return to the normal life that had eluded me for some time.
I was excited at the prospect of being able to move on and put the tortuous memories of what had occurred behind me. For once, I was able to tell all the people that had constantly kept up on my situation some good news. It really was as if the most massive weight in the world had finally been lifted off of my shoulders. Unfortunately, as quickly as the situation had improved, it corroded once again at that same pace. Within a couple of months everything that I had worked so hard to beat had come right back. but this time with an even greater ferocity.
This is where the circus began. I wanted answers, I had expended all financial resources and energy into this thing. At first, my doctor had came back and said it was still side-effects from the treatment and it would eventually improve, but it never did. Months wore on, and I was not showing any signs of recovery. In actuality, it had gotten even worse. The fatigue had risen to the point where it was unbearable. I experienced severe light and sound sensitivity. Throughout these past few years, I could always make due with my iTunes or a book I enjoyed. But I no longer had the focus or initiative to make my way through any novel and listening to music had become an arduous task. Due to the sound sensitivity and constant ringing in the ears, music was no longer pleasant. Instead it had morphed into this chore, anything I tried to listen to now just sounded like loud metal objects clashing into each other.
I was entrenched in the medical maze once again, and this time words like Parkinson's or MS were thrown my way. I thought to myself, "When does it end?" As I started to talk to people who were more in-tune to my situation it had become pretty clear that my physician had pulled me off the meds way too soon. A relapse was all but inevitable for the time frame he had kept me on everything. Without getting too much into specifics it is essentially common knowledge that when you find something that works for the patient (we did) you keep them on that medication for two months after all symptoms have resolved, not pull them off as soon as improvement is shown.
When I went back to my treating physician at Envita with this information he became a bit defensive. Suddenly our discussion had taken a wide turn left and had approached a place I didn't think was possible. The man I had entrusted the last six months of my life vented himself into a fiery harangue in which he accused me of possibly having a spell casted on me while I had been traveling. This "spell" that had been put on me was a major contributing factor to my current predicament. He then proceeded to give me the name of a minister who could perform an exorcism upon me. Lets also not forget, his speech wouldn't have been complete without incorporating a few "Finding Jesus" anecdotes. No, this is not an exaggeration, as crazy as this may sound, it all happened. When he had finished, I was at an utter loss for words, I basically had to pick my tongue up off the floor from disbelief. I simply thanked him for his time and walked out the door.
To have bought into everything someone had sold you upon, only to come to the realization that it was a huge mistake and that said person may be mentally unstable was absolutely dejecting. I came home and decided it was time to accept my losses and quit. I had given it a fair shot, but there was nothing left of me to give. I couldn't handle anymore disappointment. The fact that I had had the carrot of a normal life dangling in front of my face only to have it snatched away before I could enjoy it was too much for me. In fact, it probably made the entire situation worse.
The past few weeks, friends and family have worked on talking me into giving it one more shot. However, I am running on empty, I really don't have much left to give. I'll be moving to Michigan in a couple weeks to re-start on a treatment that will probably be brutal once again. I wish there was a happy ending to this story, I truly do wish that the next post had been about me reacclimating to a normal life. Sadly, I've had to come to the realization that nothing in this life is guaranteed and everything can change before you're even fully aware of what's happening. One of the main reasons I probably continue to push on is because before this I exhibited pretty self destructive behavior. It almost seems wrong that something like this would possibly be the thing that takes me down considering everything else I've done. If I'm going to leave this world it should be from a mistimed jump off an airplane, not from a damn bug bite and a doctor who believed he was the second-coming of christ.
