So one of the hardest part about this relapse, has been adjusting back to a life where I really don’t eat effectively. I’ll be calling a gastroenterologist, and nutritionist, but I know the testing they’ll force me through will be miserable. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been scoped, and we never learn anything new. Major gastritis, the occasional rectal ulcer, and overall miserable inflammation. I know I have other ulcers, but I’ve never been able to manage getting scoped during a severe flare. While I realize it would be theoretically valuable I’m not sure what the actual point is. We know I have Behcet’s. Hell, the mention of potential vascular digestive disease, was noted years before my diagnosis, but never mentioned to me. The doctor actually wrote, “possible GI Behcet’s,” with a question mark, in my chart, but never informed me, or my primary care physician.
A few years ago I’d adjusted to the fact I didn’t eat much. I was losing dangerous amounts of weight, of course, but it hadn’t really even phased me. I didn’t feel hunger, or thirst. Often I’d go until the evening before realizing I hadn’t eaten anything, and had only had maybe one drink. As dehydration became an ongoing concern, I made sure to drink…but it took force for me to do it. Eating never seemed like an actual priority, because I wasn’t hungry. There were times when I’d eat a granola bar, and feel sickly full for the rest of the day. I’ve eaten breakfast, and thrown it up at bedtime.
When I’m home alone, I don’t really think lately about how I’m not eating much. I force myself to put Boost on some cereal in the morning, and then drink G2, or Powerade Zero throughout the day. I opt for those, not because I want to avoid calories, but because they’re not as strong flavor wise as full on Gatorade or Powerade. Lab work has shown that my potassium and calcium are barely within the normal range, so I make sure to go for electrolyte drinks whenever I can. I’m already noshing on Tums like it’s my job, so I’m not totally sure why my calcium is low, but I can only do so much.
In public, my inability to eat is a whole different matter. It’s embarrassing. I met a friend for the first time this weekend, and it was so awkward to take her to brunch with a mutual friend, or order in food, and have to explain to her that I couldn’t stomach it. I ate half a piece of plain gluten free french toast, and felt like I was full of razor blades. I later forced myself to finish another full piece, and a half of another half, before having to call a quits. This was after the benefit of Zofran, and carafate. Following that it took several hours before I was comfortable enough to move around, and ultimately some medical marijuana to prevent the nausea from consuming me that evening.
After a weekend on the go, my body was protesting violently. I was drinking as much G2 and Powerade Zero as I could stomach, medicating appropriately, but crashing hard. On Sunday we were all going to the botanical gardens, and I figured if we parked close, and only did the gardens, I could push through it. There ended up being an event going on, and I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the idea of walking through the park. I knew on the way back from the fountain, as I insisted I needed some sort of beverage or preferably an snow cone, that I wasn’t going to make it long. I’d accidentally left the G2 in the car, and even if I’d had it, my legs were just giving up the fight. Through the weekend I’d had neurological issues in terms of my heart rate and dizziness, but I’d managed with both medical marijuana, and some newly prescribed klonopin. (At night I use clonidine.) We all approached a shaved ice truck, but it was too late. I knew I was going down, and the only thing I could think of was to gracefully plop down in the shade under a tree, lay back, and try not to cry.
In the end my friend who was with me through chemotherapy, and everything else for that matter, came over, and noticed the tears in my eyes. The new friend was getting our drinks and shaved ice, and he assured me that it was okay. Nobody was judging me, and I would be back on my feet in no time. I just sat there, cursing my body for failing me. After a few minutes I was able to push myself into a sitting position, but I’d lost all feeling in my legs. They rewarded me occasionally with some muscle spasms, but remained totally numb. I was literally poking myself, and I couldn’t feel it. This was scary because while I’ve experienced the sensation of not knowing where my legs are, I’d never actually tried hitting or touching them to see if I could at least sense external stimuli. The answer apparently, in bad situations, is no.
Eventually I ate some ice, rolled a cold water bottle on my legs, and was able to walk to a bench with assistance. My new friend was sweet about the whole thing, and my other friend brought the car around. I was just embarrassed. I was also angry. I’d spent the prior week preparing for the trip with an ER trip, two doctor’s appointments, and IV steroids, as well as oral ones. (I’m going on a two week taper starting tomorrow). We knew I was flaring up, but I thought I had a handle on things, I just hadn’t known where the flare was headed.
One new sign of my Behcet’s has been the annoying development of something called lived reticularis. From what I understand they aren’t totally sure what causes it, but it’s found in patients with autoimmune conditions, and is thought to be an inflammation and/or spasms of the blood vessels near the surface of the skin. Unfortunately for me, mottled skin in the abdomen is also a sign of some pretty serious, and even life threatening conditions. It’s also not as common in the abdomen, as it is in the lower limbs, which made the whole thing a huge concern for my doctor. It was such a concern, that when I emailed her on a Sunday about whether or not I should make an appointment for steroid injections for my other symptoms, and mentioned the “rash” with an included photo, she immediately responded and suggested I go to an ER for an exam, and IV steroids.
I wasn’t that concerned, but went into the ER anyhow. I’d been having GI pain, and figured maybe it would be a good idea to get the damn thing checked out. Plus, Sunday nights are usually slower in the ER, more so than Mondays, and my primary care doctor was on vacation. The ER was slow…but because of my medical history, and the look on the triage nurse’s face when she saw my abdomen, I was taken back quicker than usual. I also saw a doctor while I was still finishing putting on the gown. Blood work was taken, IV’s were started, and a CT was ordered. During the blood draw I kept clotting in the tubing. My IV actually blew, filling my hand with saline, and requiring a second IV. At this point they were very concerned about my vascular system. They informed me, up front, that there was a good chance I was throwing clots in smaller vessels, or even in larger ones, and they were doing the CT to check for abnormalities, the blood work was for the same reason, perhaps even more so given my severe allergy to CT dye.
After the IV steroids, I cried. The rush from the steroids, combined with finding myself in the ER, facing potential admission to the ICU, was just too much for my tired brain to process. When you spend six months enduring chemotherapy, only to face such a potentially severe complication of relapse, a part of you breaks. Luckily for me, a 4-year-old who was in a car accident with her parents, was put in the room next to me, and she was hysterically funny. This kid took an airbag like a champ, apparently had an abrasion on her forehead from it, and was laughing saying, “Balloon go boom in car, right on face!” Her parents were crying, and this kid falls off the damn hospital bed, lands on the hard floor (I heard her), and laughs going, “haha I fall!”
That kid pulled me out of a panic attack, allowed me to find a way to get the TV in the room turned on, and settle myself down.
In the end my tests were normal, but I was given the option to stay if I wanted to stay. They couldn’t guarantee that the vascular pattern was totally benign, but I also wasn’t ready to stay in the hospital. I went home, promising to follow up with both my rheumatologist, and PCM. I saw my PCM three days later, where I was informed that livedo reticularis, in my case (as well as in the case of many others), is merely cosmetic. Since being on low dose steroids, the appearance has lessened to some extent, though it hasn’t totally disappeared, and has had moments when it is definitely worse than others.
Additional issues have included an overwhelming increase in fatigue, as well as a significant increase in heat intolerance. I’ve spent an uncomfortable amount of time laying on my bathroom floor after baths, and really need to get a shower head that detaches so I can wash my hair easier. I gave up standing in the shower a long time ago, unless it was to rinse my hair, but even that has become a rather dangerous endeavor.