Stage 3 Kidney Disease

health

After months of procrastinating, I was finally able to convince Abe to make a doctor’s appointment, just as a regular general check up, as one should generally do from time to time.  He has very mild asthma, and needs to keep an inhaler on hand,  the one he had was nearly empty.

Since we moved, it made sense to choose a doctor that was closer to us and one that offered convenient hours, due to our busy schedules.  A little research, and we found one close and decided to give her a try.

He went to his appointment and got the refill for his inhaler.  They took blood, which is normal, did a general check up, went over a brief history, and all seemed well.  He liked the doctor well enough for how little he would ever see her.

Overall, it was pretty uneventful.

Until about a week later when we got a letter in the mail.  I assumed it was thank you for visiting note that usually comes after visiting a new physician, and it was.  But it also included his blood work results, and a paragraph stating that Abe had stage 3 kidney disease.

Just like that.  A little sentence, hidden in the fluff of “thanks for coming” and the test results.  Not a call, not a suggestion for more tests to confirm this very serious diagnosis, just BOOM.

What do you think I did when I read that?

Did you guess “Google the heck up out of stage 3 kidney disease”?  Because that is exactly what I did.  And then I sobbed.  For hours.  I was a hysterical mess.  And Abe hadn’t even seen this diagnosis yet.

When Abe read the diagnosis, of course, he too was upset.  He was just told he had a serious illness in an informal letter.

Shouldn’t the doctor have called to discuss this major diagnosis?  Shouldn’t she have offered more testing and solutions instead of just dropping this major bomb on our family?

We sat in silence for a good while, and then we started brainstorming.  I had mentioned that in a renal diet plan, (yes, I went so far as to start looking up renal diets and supplements, and anything else I possibly could, I was desperate!  Abe is my world!) protein is greatly restricted.  He thought for a moment and then wondered out loud if the protein powder he had been supplementing with could have raised his creatine levels, giving a false “high” reading on the blood work.

Back to Google I went, and do you know what?  The protein powder he was using had a creatine boost in it!  Further research showed that it was common for these supplements to give false high levels in blood work.

A glimmer of hope!

He stopped using the protein powder immediately and began drinking more water to help flush his kidneys.  He also scheduled a repeat visit and requested a new blood test to recheck his levels.

I am very happy to say that his levels are completely NORMAL!!  The doctor took back her stage 3 kidney disease diagnosis.

But should she have even diagnosed that in the first place?!

There are specific tests that should have been ordered, steps taken to verify her findings before giving out the death sentence.  And perhaps a phone call was in order?

This whole ordeal caused a lot of stress and worry that was 100% avoidable.  It is just another reminder that you cannot blindly accept everything that is said to you, even by doctors.  You have to be an advocate for yourself and for your loved ones.  Do your research, ask questions, and when things don’t add up, demand new tests and see different doctors.

Your doctor works for you, so you should be able to trust them to try and care for you to the best of their ability.

Apparently this doctor never heard the phrase, “do no harm”.

Stay healthy, friends.  And I hope you never have this happen to you or your loved ones. What a terrifying experience, worrying about losing your soul mate!

Happy Birthday Noah!

My little Noah Bean is officially 3 years old today!  He was our Clomid baby, after our miscarriage.  It took nearly two years to get pregnant with him, and once we were officially pregnant, it was the scariest nine months of my life.

We suffered through secondary infertility after losing our third pregnancy.  It came out of nowhere and left me feeling broken.  Yes, I had two perfectly healthy, gorgeous, wonderful children.  I was lucky, and I knew that.  But after losing the pregnancy, well, it just leaves a hole that doesn’t ever seem to get filled.

I made myself and Abe crazy with charting and herbs and anything I could find to try and help us to conceive.  After countless hours spent researching through books and Google, I self diagnosed myself with PCOS and made a doctor appointment that confirmed my suspicions.

My doctor offered me hope.  She prescribed the Clomid after extensive testing and ultrasounds, and told me that if at any time I wanted to see a specialist, she would be happy to refer me.  She felt confident that she could help me, and her hope was enough to keep me going.

It was the fifth round of Clomid that was magic.  That, and I changed the days I took it.  My doctor prescribed days 5-9.  Through research, I read several studies that suggested days 3-7 might work better for women with PCOS.  Who knows, maybe it was just a coincidence.  That was the month I got that BFP.  That is also when the fear set it.

Every tiny little cramp or twinge had me rushing to the bathroom, expecting to see blood, expecting to lose my baby.  I prayed and begged God all day, every day to just please, please let me keep our little bean safe.  I bargained, I pleaded, I was a hot mess.

I started spotting.

Words can not describe the fear I felt.

My doctor ordered an ultrasound to ease my mind, and while the tiny baby, flipping around on the screen made me breathe a little easier in the moment, I did not enjoy my pregnancy in the least.  I was just too scared.  I’d like to say the fear went away when I was pregnant with Sara, but it didn’t.  Pregnancy is a terrifying time for a woman who has miscarried.

Noah was due on Halloween.  My doctor originally planned on inducing a week early, but she was on vacation that week.  Go figure.  We ended up going in a week later, where my giant, healthy baby was born.  (He was over 9lbs, ouch!)

The labor was long, and I had a nurse who told me my uterus was too weak to push out a baby, that I needed to prepare myself for a c section.  Well, my uterus happens to have that Latina attitude, thank goodness, and we proved her wrong shortly after she said that.  Neener, neener.

And now, the pictures.

How itty bitty do Matt and Bella look here!?  This is when Grandma brought them to the hospital to meet their baby brother for the first time.

On his way to his very first doctor appointment!  We brought him a cute 0-3 month outfit to wear home from the hospital, assuming it would be large on him.  Well, at nearly 24 inches long, he barely fit into it!  He was a big, healthy boy!

He was the happiest little baby, always smiling and giggling.  That was before he turned two.  He redefined the terrible two’s.

He looks so innocent here.  Looks can be deceiving.

My Noey.  He was supposed to be a Halloween baby, and I think he knows it!  He is obsessed with all things spooky, it is definitely his favorite holiday!

Happy Birthday, Noah!  We survived the terrible two’s, you are getting less and less evil with your baby sister, and you are awesome!  We love you to pieces, you brought happiness where so much sadness once was.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Self Diagnosis

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You know those crazy people who avoid going to the doctor at all costs and anytime they have anything wrong with them at all, they simply Google the heck up out of it, self diagnosing themselves and making a plan of action based on their short internet research that they think somehow qualifies them to do so?

Yeah.  I’m one of those crazies.

See, sometimes I am pretty good at it.  I can look up symptoms, do the research and if need be, even tell my doctor, the one I avoid at all costs, what I think I am ailed with.  Sometimes it completely backfires and my hypochondriac tendencies come through, convincing me that I am dying from a rare tropical disease that I must have picked up from the mysteriously tan senior citizen that obviously just returned from a cruise to an exotic locale, infected with xyz and therefore infecting me.   No really, my brain works like that.

So what crazy self diagnosis have I come up with now?  Well, I’m pretty sure this one is right on the money.  It all started back in May when the boys got pink eye.  (Funny side note here.  I titled that post “You can’t get pinkeye from someone farting on your pillow.  Probably.”  Do you know, that is one of my most popular posts that bring people in via search engines?  Everybody is dying to know if the old myth is true.  Funny.  Also, if that’s how you got here and you are wondering that very thing, the answer is no.  Fecal material introduced to your eye can, however, cause pinkeye.  You’re welcome, and no, that’s not how I got pinkeye.  It’s also caused by bacteria and by viral infections like the common cold.  That is what is most common.  The more you know…)

The boys got it, and a few weeks later, I got it.  It was bad.  And gross.  I used the eye drops, wore my glasses, pitched my old contacts and case and even pitched all of my makeup.  I used Lysol religiously and cleaned sheets, towels and pillow cases like nobody’s business.  About 10 days later, after the infection was completely cleared up, I put in a fresh pair of contacts.  By the end of the day, I had what appeared to be pinkeye.  Again.

What the what?!

Repeated my original plan of action.  Meanwhile, no one else in the house was ever infected.  Also, I noticed it was different this time.  My eyes weren’t crusting over, but they were very heavily tearing.  Also, I still had discharge, but it was white, not neon green.  Tmi?  Well, you’ve read too much to go back now, haven’t you?

Wore my glasses for what felt like forever, mostly because I hate to wear my glasses.  Just two days ago, I put a fresh pair of contacts in.  Again, my eye became irritated, only this time, it hurts.  Like crazy.  Like, I woke up last night at 1 am, and was unable to sleep all night because of the gritty, painful sensation in my eye.

Call me crazy, but that motivated me to call the doctor.  But first, Google.  What I believe I have is GPC or Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis.  It can happen from several different irritants, and perhaps it is linked to the original case of bacterial conjunctivitis aka pinkeye.  What happens, is the eye lid becomes irritated and forms these little bumps that is essentially a rash on the inside of your eyelid that spends it’s time scraping the bejeezus out of your cornea.  That would explain the crazy pain.  Wearing contacts can aggravate it further, which would explain why I keep getting “pinkeye” over and over again despite my OCD cleaning and disinfecting.

So now what?  Well, I am calling the doctor as soon as the office opens.  There are drops that can help, and in the meanwhile, I will need to wear my glasses for several weeks until the GPC heals.  Afterwards, I should be able to wear contacts again, but most definitely for shorter periods of time to reduce the chances of this lovely condition ever returning.

Like how I already have myself diagnosed, treatment plan in place?  I’m not a doctor, I just play one in my head.  I could be wrong.  I guess.  All I know is that I would like my eyeball to not hurt.  And be all red and icky.  Yes, that would be nice.  So, very reluctantly I will be going to an actual doctor today who will hopefully make it all better.  I will update later today because I know you will be worried sick about me.  Well, you might be curious anyway.

Here’s hoping your day is filled with far less eye pain than mine!  Lucky duck.