My Story

THE BEGINNING

It started with the flu, a very bad one.  I remember taking a shower and feeling perfectly fine, then, all of the sudden realizing I was going to pass out while no one was out home to find me. I panicked and through myself out of the bathroom naked and covered in soap! My mom came home and found me passed out in the nude in the hallway and immediately saw how sick I was. Feverish, shaking, sore throat, pink eye, weak.  She tucked me in, nursed me back to health in the usual fashion, and I went to school a few days later.

I still felt weak.  I never missed an interval, skipped a lap, or drilled versus swam EVER (not my style), but I felt my stroke collapsing mid-pull the entire swim practice.  I moved to the back of the lane and decided to coast that day, give my body a break.  I went to my boyfriend's house to finish our AP statistics homework and hang out.  I couldn't quite focus on the problems. We turned on a movie, I felt my throat start to burn and felt weak again. I passed out cold. That never happened to me. Ever since I was a wee one, I had a problem sleeping at night. My parents had finally given up trying to force me to sleep and just told me to keep the lights out, but I typically was awake until 1 or 2 in the morning every single night of my life.  Always the last one awake at a slumber party, always awake and alert for movies.  A little red flag raised in my head, but I ignored it.

A week later I moved down a lane in swim practice.  I could barely stay awake until 9pm when I got off of work at the pool.  I skipped out on date night and girls night and whatever else came up. Sooooo tired. So weak. And my throat hurt.  Plus I kept passing out.  I decided to call it "passing out disease" and joke about it with my friends.

Three weeks, four weeks went by, I don't know... and no change.  I had been too busy with all of the excitement of finishing high school and the many things that had to be decided on (ie college) that I didn't analyze my weird symptoms that much.  My hair started falling out in big clumps in the shower.  My throat was constantly swollen and red. Then, one day, which I remember completely clearly, I started putting the pieces together over my after school snack.  Mom, I think I... I have mono.  It was a hard thing for me to admit for some reason, I was really embarrassed to admit that I wasn't able to handle this.  She looked annoyed at me and told me that she would take me to see Dr. Harpavat, the doctor I'd had since birth, but really what was the point? If I have mono, all I could do was rest it off anyways.  (My mother is a nurse by the way, she knows this stuff.)  True, I reasoned. Plus there were only a few weeks left until summer where I could rest, relax, regroup. I felt so much better.

Mono cured.


 COLLEGE

My dad insisted on driving me to college.  A grueling 24 hour drive across the entire state of Texas and the desert to Malibu, where I would attend Pepperdine (let's go waves).  If you don't know my dad, I don't even know where to start.  Let's just say I could easily make a site called S@#$ My Dad Says Volume 2.  He is the stereotypical engineer AND the stereotypical crude East coaster.  He decided that we were going to drive 24 hours without a single break and pay a surprise visit to some family down in San Diego.  He wouldn't let me catch even a wink of sleep and potty breaks were limited to when we needed gas.  When we finally got there all my aunt could say was Oh Mikey..., and all I could do was sleep.  I slept 24 hours in a row, and I woke up still tired. Exhausted.  My throat hurt. For the entire week I was there, I slept at least 12 hours a day.

Classes started, and things began well. My pre- med classes would be challenging, my schedule would be very busy, and there were so many Freshman and beginning of the year social activities to enjoy. I was stoked on meeting new people and adjusting to living in paradise.  By the second week, I wasn't feeling well.  I skipped on going out in favor of lying down with a book.  I calculated how often I could get away with missing class and slept through as many as I could.  I couldn't focus on anything the professors said, even when I sat in the front row.  I had always been notorious for putting the least amount of effort into school for the maximal payout.  Not really a studier. Just pay attention, rush through the homework, turn my brain on for the test, and voila.  But now I couldn't focus at all, I didn't get the homework, and I didn't have the energy to learn how to study.

By Thanksgiving break I felt terrible. I was shopping at the Galleria in Dallas with some girlfriends, when over the course of two hours, my throat completely swelled shut.  I had to force my inhalation to get some air in, and it was making my throat bleed.  My mom rushed me to Urgent Care. Not the one right next to my house, the one across town where she had heard there was a hot doctor.  Really? He ended up having to give me a steroid shot and antibiotic shot in the ass, so incredibly embarrassing.  But my throat calmed down within minutes.  During the entire history of my being sick, I have come to think of steroids as magic.  My body always responds well to them.  This bought me a reprieve through finals at school, but by Christmas break I was collapsing with weakness. I saw Dr. Harpavat, who gave me a mono test, which was negative.  She said that it did sound like mono, and sometimes the tests didn't come up positive for weeks after the Epstein Barr virus infected your body.

I rested all break, felt strong again. Fresh start for spring. I will spare you the details, the exact same pattern happened again.  It seemed like 14 weeks was my breaking point, and I would be lucky to make it through the entire semester.  My hair was falling out a lot again, too, but honestly at this point, I continued to ignore it. Towards finals week, my throat was KILLING me, so I went to the Pepperdine health center in search of some steroids.  You feel sick? Weak? I see.  It sounds like mono, get some rest.


Summer was ok.  In fact, it was fabulous.  I slept in every morning, did a light cardio workout with a few faithful workout buddies, and spent my days lazing around the pool "lifeguarding".  I felt healthy and balanced, and I forced myself into thinking that my freshman year had been in my imagination.  That I had struggled with school and with my health because I had a poor attitude and wasn't prepared to work hard enough to get through college. I was weak.

Sophomore year would be different.  I would work as a lifeguard, because for me a good pool was always home.  A great friend group, good exercise, being outside.  I would find a way to stay healthy no matter what. I would balance my life perfectly.  Lots of sleep, make every class, and get back into swimming shape.  That was the plan, and I started out on the right foot.  Almost a month went by, and I felt like my old self again. I felt smart in class, I lost the weight I gained my freshman year and felt energized by my swim workouts.  I bonded with the lifeguards and the other pool people, and I finally felt like I had overcome this silly little "sickness" in my head.

Then, I started slipping.  One day I was swimming 100's on the 1:30 (a benchmark for me knowing I'm doing ok in the water) and the next day 1:35's... then missing those... then barely making it through warm up.  Then exhausted stuck in bed. This was before my physical therapizing skills of taking objective measures had been honed, but I still had some concept that there was now tangible proof that I was not ok.  Clear signs that I was getting weaker, even though I was pushing myself harder. Could it be over training? No, I really wasn't pushing myself that hard. Why was it getting harder and harder to walk up the steps to class? (By the way there are thousands of stairs at Pepperdine, notoriously difficult climbs).  At least I didn't feel sick. I reduced my swimming just to be safe.

Then, I met a boy.  They always find a way to throw off the balance, and he did.  I got sick within a few weeks of seeing him.  I went back to Pepperdine health center for more roids, shoot me up. I also tried to summarize this nagging health history.  I see.  It sounds like mono, you can't get it more than once though.  Aw, your test is negative, but you still probably have mono... OR a virus similar to mono called cytomegalovirus.  Just rest.  I made it to Christmas break.  I was cooking some traditional Hungarian dios beigli when I my legs collapsed from underneath me.  I couldn't get out of bed for the rest of the vacation.


THROWING UP DISEASE

So up until this point, there was always a pattern.  I was getting used to the pattern and expected nothing less than barely making it through each semester for the rest of my college life, hopefully ending up with a degree... and then who knows how I would get by after that.   I wasn't at all prepared for things to get worse.

I had stopped drinking almost two years before this, and every time I tried even a little sip of alcohol, it didn't agree with me. Since I rarely made it out past 8pm at night, I just became the designated designated driver.  However, my boyfriend was taking me to a hockey game, Stars/Kings.  I was incredibly excited to see Mike Modano up close and personal getting checked up against the glass, oh baby, and I wanted to celebrate with some tasty beer.  He bought me one of the giant $12 Staples Center beers. I took one sip.  I spent the rest of the time in the bathroom vomiting and in my seat in excruciating pain, trying not to wince too much. He joked that I sure liked ORDERING beer.

I went to the movies with a friend.  I spent the entire duration of Kill Bill in the bathroom holding my stomach in agony, puking in the grand old toilets at The Bruin theater and then out the side of his brand new BMW. Ooops.  It started happening between once a day and once every two to three days.  An episode of painful vomiting became completely unpredictable and could last from a few hours to all day.  I couldn't eat much.  Anything greasy (like the Emril Aggassi meatballs I attempted to make) would leave me realing.  It didn't feel like the kind of throwing up one does when you are ill, it felt like I was being poisoned and I needed to remove it from my system. (Think: alcohol poisoning).  I couldn't function at all during these episodes, it was horrendous.

It happened a lot in the morning. I ate a banana every morning. Clearly, bananas were poisonous to me. I stopped eating them.  Maybe it was the milk I had with my banana, maybe I was lactose intolerant. No.  Maybe it was my birth control, I took that every morning.  Even looking at it at some point gave me the Pavlovian response to want to vomit.  I'll stop taking it.  Nothing worked, and I couldn't figure it out.  Again, I was embarrassed to the point of trying to hide it from my roommates, my boyfriend, and my poor proffessors who were constantly forgiving me for being sick. I doubt they actually believed me at this point.  Sickness was limited, you are sick for xxx amount of time, you garner sympathy, and then you get better.

Finals week came around, and I needed my Juice.  Shoot me up again please.  I again mentioned my health history to the staff Pepperdine MD, and the response was great.  You must be pregnant. Clearly. Ugh idiots.

BED REST

My junior year I made a pact with myself: don't be weak, no matter what.  It's in your head. If you feel weak, swim faster.  If you feel tired, go to class and go to work and don't complain.  In fact, attend every single class.  Study for every test the full amount it deserves.  Stay awake until midnight at least on the weekends... actually watch the second half of movies, go to bars like a normal college kid, try to keep up with my very active boyfriend for once.  I would not attempt "balance", because that didn't work, and if I was going down collapsing at the end of the semester anyways... I might as well succeed in the meantime.

I didn't make it past mid terms.  I was baking again, my lifeguard friend had brought me fresh cranberries from New England, and I was making bread.  My legs gave out, and I collapsed on the ground.  I was the sickest I had ever been the next morning.  Could barely speak, had brain fog as if I were incredibly high, a fever, a sore throat, throwing up disease hard core... but I refused to miss class. My pact.  I caught myself closing my eyes in one class (something I have never in my life done, totally disrespectful... no matter how sick I was).  My exercise physiology professor wondered why I hadn't done a sub max treadmill test yet.  I can't walk, I really can't run. I'm so sick. I stumbled up about five billion stairs up to French class, late of course.  My french teacher was notoriously blunt. Maureen, tu est fatiguee? Porquois est ce que tu dormes maintenent?  Non, Madame Peterson.  Je n'ai pas fatiguee... je suis malade. Tres, tres malade.  Well if you are that sick, she switches back to English, go to the health center right now! I am... I am that sick.  I stumble down to lovely Pepperdine health center, and there is a huge line.  I mumble something about being sick, and they take me back immediately, ahead of everyone else.  The doctor comes in.  You are jaundiced.  Take this mono test.  And wouldn't you know, this time it's positive.  I am in shock, this is getting ridiculous, and my body is suffering. What is going on?  We are ordering more blood tests.  You are on strict bed rest for the rest of the week. Pepperdine will put you on a special status to have permission to miss all classes and your job. You need to take care of yourself right now. I can't believe you pushed yourself to this point, most people would be in the hospital.  This keeps happening to me. No, no it hasn't... you can't get mono more than once.

The second I left the health center, I stopped feeling sick. I felt perfectly fine. I just had heard horrible news, but I was elated because... I finally had PERMISSION to be sick. I had VALIDATION that when I felt crappy, there was a real, actual, physiological problem with my body.  Later that day, I got a call from the doctor.  My blood tests had come back, and my numbers were incredibly off.  My liver enzymes were so far out of the norm that she diagnosed me with monohepatitis, meaning the virus that causes mono had somehow infiltrated my liver and caused it to be swollen and not function properly.  It was worse than she imagined.  I needed blood tests every couple of days, if I felt any sicker I was to check myself into the emergency room immediately, and the nurse would have to call and check in on me twice a day.

The next day, I woke up and it was like death.  The jaundice was bad. I was completely demented, and clear thoughts didn't register in my head. I was too sick to even be scared or concerned about it.  Someone had left a televison on and there was some sort of Father of Bride marathon going on.  I couldn't figure out why the scenes kept playing over and over, and I was somewhere between awake and passed out every few minutes, only getting up long enough to pee. I peed Diet Coke colored urine, and every muscle in my body hurt like I ran a marathon (trust me I know).  At one point, I caught the corner of my eye in the bathroom mirror and drunkenly thought "hrmmm cancer patient" and two seconds later.... "no.... me... It's me".  I started to cry but passed out in mid thought.  I didn't eat all day because it didn't cross my mind.  The phone kept ringing (my boyfriend, his brother, my mom, and the nurse) who were all trying to check in on me, but I didn't make the connection that I should answer it.

Needless to say, my next blood tests were even worse.  The doctor accused me of not resting and taking care of myself. I haven't left my bed.  You are a very sick girl, she said.  Those words hurt for some reason.  Someone had finally said it, I'm a sick girl. Ugh. Pepperdine upped my status.  Now, I would be on bed rest for the rest of the semester except for finals. My teachers would pass me based soley on previous grades and the finals, I was excused from my labs, my projects, my homework.  I needed a caregiver or I had to take a leave of absence from school... my boyfriend complied willingly... he had no idea what he was signing himself up for.

So, I sat around for months.  Never really got bored, because I was that sick.  Being awake and lying there was taxing. I barely ate anything, and I could feel myself gaining weight.  I hated looking in the mirror.  I no longer saw a pretty young athletic feisty intelligent woman, just a sick girl.  At one point, I made a bucket list: 100 Things to Do When I am Healthy.  I still have it saved on my Yahoo! mail account.  I would copy/paste the whole thing, but it was so mundane that I won't waste your time.  I put things like "do my laundry" on there. I thought it sounded so glamorous to be able to get up and do your own laundry, ha.  Some of the more interesting things included "walk up the stairs at Pepperdine without getting tired", then "do the Santa Monica stairs 20 times in a row", then "climb Half Dome". Have sex.  Jump in the ocean. Become a physical therapist.  I wanted to be strong one day, but I had stopped believing anything the doctors told me about only being able to be sick once. I just hoped this time I would make a full recovery.

Finally, I had some normal blood tests. I passed my finals. God knows how I was able to memorize hundreds of origins/insertions, innervations, and actions to every muscle in the body in the one week I had to study.  It just happened.  I had no intention of pushing myself the following semester.  I only had 15 units left to graduate, and could graduate a year early, but I signed up for 11 units.  I quit working at the pool and kept my private swim lessons business going (work smart, not hard), and I shied away from any vigorous exercise.  I just wanted to graduate alive.

I GRADUATED!

So, yes, I did graduate.  Early. And I got a full time job as a physical therapy aide.  I worked a lot, and my body had a new pattern.  Monday's I typically felt strong but by Friday at the end of the day I was feeling weak and often had one of several fun and exciting infections: pink eye, UTI, sore throat, ear infection, random fevor.  I would take it easy all weekend, and usually feel ok by Monday.  It was lame.  The ultimate goal was to go to PT school (my dream for so long), but how could I honestly sign up for a full graduate school schedule, a very physical profession, and expect to get through it healthy? I couldn't even remember what it was like to stop a workout because of that good, clean, tired feeling instead of sickness or to wake up without a sore throat.  That was like gambling with my time and money.

I got accepted to PT school, and I decided to see a new doctor, one that wasn't employed by Pepperdine to maybe answer some questions.  I gathered all of my medical records, wrote out a pretty detailed description of my history of symptoms, and made an appointment with a doctor in Malibu.  The questioneer at the beginning asked me to check off symptoms... well yes... I've had jaundice, vomitting, abdominal pain, sore throat, etc, etc, etc.  The doctor walked in and rolled his eyes and laughed.  You can't just check off everything, what's your problem? Well, currently I am not feeling anything out of the ordinary (for me), but I am afraid of getting very sick again.  I brought my medical records and my history that... Stop.  You are fine.  Woman just get depressed.  Take this depression survey.  I teared up.  I'm not depressed??? Yes you are, see you are crying.  Because this is humiliating.  Just take the survey.  Ok... yes it shows you are not depressed, but I still think you are depressed.  Want some medication?  I walked out.


I was not depressed. The more I thought about it, the more surprised that I had never been depressed over this.  I had been tired, confused, in total denial, annoyed, mostly just plain sick, but never had bothered to feel sorry for myself.  I wanted to feel proud of myself for avoiding the big D-P-N, but I knew that it had less to do with the strength of my character and more to do with the fact that there was never time to sit around and be depressed.  Necessity kept me going, nothing else. So, there I was desiring to enter into this "medical profession" and "help" people, a full believer in science and the medical community and yet no one could answer any of my questions. Kind of ironic. I fell back on what else I believed in: my body.  My body always did better with absurd amounts of sleep.  I felt healthy when I was actually able to get good nutrition.  Exercise helped, as long as I didn't try to be an athlete... that was too much. Emotional stress and work were rough on my body.  Being cold always made me feel sick.  Swimming was absolutely terrible for me.  So I took these things, and came up with a plan.

I quit my job.  I took the three months before school off even though I could hardly afford it.  I never set an alarm, I woke up when my body told me to.  I ate a very strict gluten free diet, with a much higher protein content than I had ever eaten before.  I exercised very very lightly.  If one day I walked the Santa Monica stairs, it might take me four days to recover to the point where I could do it again.  Patience, not athleticism.  I read a lot of books, that kept me calm.  I vowed to stop swimming (for now).  And what do you know? For the first time since high school, I felt... completely normal.  I like to compare it to having a cold.  You get so used to all that horrible drainage in your nose and sinuses that breathing becomes something you notice.  Its so bad.  Then one day, you wake up and you can breathe perfectly clear and you marvel about how awesome the simple gift of breathing is.  Then a few hours later, you are back to the normal human condition... breathing is just a regular task and you lose that appreciation.  So for me, I was in that incredible glorious "I can breathe!" mode for... almost a year.

PT SCHOOL BABY
I can stay up late and study, sweet!  I can go out and drink with the girls, yay!  I can exercise hard, yesssss! Everything made me happy.  I was so passionate about PT school, too.  This was so good I could pinch myself.  Besides the ridiculous workload and thankless hours away from my family and friends... life was perfecto ;) It took me awhile to realize this was real. I was ok, and I wasn't fragile anymore.  Huh, I guess that's all in the past.  At least I appreciate my health.  All of these other young wippersnappers have no idea how lucky we are.

MY PHYSICAL
I had to get my annual physical at the gynecologist.  The second I walked in, she said you are soooooo healthy.  Whats your secret? I cringed.  She took my resting pulse and blood pressure.  Wow, sooooo healthy. Ugh she was pissing me off.  Every other word was about how "healthy" I was.  If she only knew what I've been through.  I took all of the usual tests, and she asked if I would also like a blood test for "AIDS, etc".  I thought it would be a good idea considering a past roommate had worked at an AIDS blood testing center.  So a week later, my doctor called. She didn't leave a message. I called the office, and they wouldn't put me through to her.  Something was wrong. I knew it. I kept telling everyone, something bad was happening.  Did I have cancer? I couldn't be preggo? AIDS?! What the hell was her problem, why wouldn't she answer me?  Finally, one sunny, mid seventies, Friday afternoon as I was stuck westbound on 10 freeway after a half day of classes, she called.  We have received your test results.  You... ... are not healthy.  You have hepatitis C, there is no cure, it's an STD, and it is deadly. Do you have any questions? No. Click.  I hung up.  I called my mom, my boyfriend, I was dizzy. WTF?!  And why wasn't I paying attention to the hepatitis lecture at school? Isn't that what Pam Anderson has... great.

My best friend met me immediately at Paradise Cove, a beach and restaurant in Malibu.  It was a perfect beach day.  My version of church.  She sat with me for several hours.  I don't remember what we talked about, just a blur.  I was so happy to have her there.  She knew what to say.

Then, I went home, got online, and pulled a Maureen.  I purchased every single book on Hepatitis C on Amazon.  I downloaded hundreds of articles off of Pub Med.  I went to every single website, blog, link that google would bring up.  It didn't take long to realize that this is what I had always had, the roller coaster began again.  I felt depressed.  It was like asking me to swim a ridiculously hard set... 10 x 100's and then when I finished the last one, saying ooops, I meant 11.  Or like running a marathon and being told upon finishing that unfortunately you are going to have to turn around and keep going. I can't. I'm too exhausted. Why bother?

LITTLE MO
I didn't get out of bed that week.  I went through fits of crying.  No one knew how to help me.  My parents were freaking out, my boyfriend was beside himself, and my friends just left message after message on my phone.  I didn't care about PT school, I'd just drop out.  The last thing you do in grad school is miss a class, and I missed days without so much as a phone call. I didn't care.  I didn't move.  The sadness was overwhelming for me.  Then, someone figured out a way to get me up. My precious little Moana was a perfect ploy.  Mo slept with me all day in bed.  Maureen, you need to get up and walk Moana. You need to feed him.  I think he just tore something up (bad puppy).  It forced me out of bed.  A friend who had been through their own life/death health problem took me aside.  Every day will be horrible, you will feel very sad.  Until the day that you wake up and for some reason are ready to take this head on. Grieve, and then fight. Trust me.  When that day came, I went back to school. I started my life again. I made the necessary doctors appointments.

HEPATITIS C AKA THROWING UP DISEASE

Hepatitis C affects an estimated 1.5% of the United States population.  The most common methods of transmission are heroin needles, tattoos, blood transfusions before 1992, and through exposure in the hospital setting. (I had zero of these risk factors). It is a blood born disease, not an STD.  Married couples where one partner has been affected and who have unknowingly been having unprotected sex for decades have less than a 1% chance of having an infected spouse.  More likely they were infected through something else in their daily routine. It is a very new and sneaky virus.  In 15% of people, they have such a small exposure to the virus that they get very ill and never have it longer than the average flu. Lucky.  Then there is everyone else who gets it. In 80% of the people it does chronically infect, the body doesn't even recognize that it is being attacked. It's a very small virus, in fact, it can not be viewed under any microscope yet. This, plus the fact that it is "new", means the immune system doesn't recognize it.  Slowly, over time, it attacks the cells of your liver.  These people rarely know they have it, and likely drink (which for whatever reason is the worst thing ever). They find out they have it 20 years later in complete liver failure... surprised as hell.  Very few people are ever tested for it.

The other 20% of those chronically infected have a very odd reaction... their body goes crazy.  This 20% tends to be the healthiest portion of those infected: women, younger people, non druggies.  Their immune system goes absolutely insane attempting to fight it off.  The actual amount of liver damage is typically much less because of this, but it is common to have rheumatoid arthritis, heart problems, lupus, and just about any other immune condition to a serious extreme.  These people are often misdiagnosed with everything from chronic fatigue syndrome to.... dun dun dun.... mono.  But alas, only .04% of people with chronic hepatitis C can fight it off themselves each year. So this hyperbolic immune response is still mostly ineffective.

There is now hope for people with HCV (that's the lingo).  A combination of Ribaviron and Pegylated Interferon can decrease the total amount of virus in your body to undetectable levels, for good.  All you have to do is inject yourself with chemotherapy every week for six months to a year with chemicals that destroy your body and send your immune system into crazy mode giving yourself the flu and bringing yourself into severe anemia, fatigue, and near deadly poisoning.... and you have a 50-75% chance of getting good results.  Vomit.

Despite my doctor's claim that it was deadly, only less than 5% of those infected actually die from the disease.

(That's the basics, but there is so much more....)

Wikipedia's summary


How immune health relates to HCV

Autoimmune conditions associated with HCV

Research on common autoimmune conditions associated with HCV

Common symptoms

Why Red Bull gives me wings


RESULTS
After waiting months to see a specialist, and have tests run, and learning a lot firsthand about prejudices against people with disease (I'm a good, nice girl?), I got some answers.

My liver looked absolutely beautiful in the ultrasound.  I could, from my own diagnostic imaging crash course, see the clear perfusion in my portal system.  My liver function tests were.... normal... meaning I wasn't currently out of whack.  And then the big results... how much of it was in blood?

None.

I had fought it off! I found out on one Friday afternoon when we had several amputee guests visiting our campus who all had positive outlooks on life.  One girl could outrun some runners in our class with her prosthetic limbs.  I found out on a break from class, and I collapsed in the hallway.  Derek Fisher might be Mr. .4, but I am .04. Incredible.  I strongly believe those 3 months off of work, listening to my body changed my entire life. More roller coaster.




SOUTHBAY


Yes, the South Bay gets it's own chapter :) Again, it was time for me to be ecstatic about life (although confused).  This time, I lived in the greatest of beach towns of So Cal.  Finishing school, getting a job, joining volleyball classes, making a great group of friends, drinking the nights (and days) away.  People always compare it being on permanent vacation, permanent adult spring break, never never land, and how can anyone argue that point, really?


My friends also happened to be the most active, feisty, athletic group I have ever known.  Throwing down marathons, triathalons, pier to pier swims, you name it in between games of flip cup and long 12 hour days of beach volleyball.  It inspired me.  Maybe I can... ?


I did, for awhile.  I noticed that I wasn't feeling so hot.  Then I got a rather unfortunate concussion.  The next day (Fourth of July Eve), I had some passing out disease and a little throwing up disease.  Uh oh.  I went to Urgent Care.  Can you please run these tests? Sure. Would you also like some Vicodin? I'm not allowed to have Vicodin, my liver history.  Just take some with you anyways. Ugh.  Anyways, the tests came back positive.  I had the als;kdfjalsfj virus in my body again, and I was in denial.  I didn't do the things I should have done.  I drank, I went out, I played excessive amounts of volleyball.  I wasn't as upset this time, in fact, I was fully functioning, although struggling to make it through the work week.  I read the most current research on HCV that had been published within the past year.  It turns out that numerous studies had now been done on people that had had no trace of the virus in their bodies (whether by the poison meds or by spontaneous clearance like I had) and that who got the virus again after their immune systems crashed from the cancer (or cancer meds).  Basically, the virus never goes away, it just gets conquered.  You have to maintain a healthy immune system, no abusing the body, if you want to stay healthy.  I guess the same rules everyone else has, but more urgent.


I made some changes.  No more drinking, limit my hours of play time fun, lots of sleep.  The thing was, I really wanted to run a marathon, too.  My mother strongly disagreed, long distance endurance training is tough on a "healthy" person's body. Way too risky, not wise.  I rebelled.  I believed that there was a way to slowly train, to not push myself too hard, to listen to my body in a way that would not run down my immune system but that would be part of the healthy balance I needed to hopeful conquer that stupid virus again.  Weren't we all "born to run"? There were entire weeks I didn't get to run because I felt sick.  I never ran fast.  I wasn't even sure I would actually make it race day, but I just liked the mentality that it gave me.


A week or two before the race, I got some good news: virus gone.  Will it stay gone? Yes.  How do you know?  Statistics are pretty clear.  Can I drink? You live in Hermosa effing Beach honey. Thanks doctor! Now it was time to kick it into gear.  I planned a lot for the race.  Getting enough protein the day before with quinoa.  Getting tons of sleep the days prior.  Having megadose packets of Vitamin C waiting for me at the end (one of the only times I believe in such high amounts of vitamins).  Lots and lots of caffeine to carry me through.  I didn't run that fast, I survived a bout of dehydration for which I am still angry and bitter (ask and I will share the story)... but I finished.  Healthy.  The next day all of my muscles hurt like hell... but I felt healthy.



AND NOW...
I left out a few details.  I do have some immune symptoms.  I still get tired more easily than I think most people my age do, but how can I say that I am a "sick girl" when I can run marathons, get my doctorate, and look and act fairly healthy?  I decided to continue to make positive changes towards my future to protect my health.  I do believe in balance and in listening to your body, it's nothing magical or kooky.  It's not just some hippie ideal.

I am starting a new path with physical therapy where I will make my own hours, be on my own schedule, and have my independence.  I will be successful without working myself into the ground.

I started swimming, still surprisingly rough on my body.  I haven't hit 1:30's yet, but I have made it through an entire practice or two.

And I wanted to start a blog that did include my story, so you can see where I am coming from, but of which whose main purpose will be focused on all aspects of health and wellness coming from my background as sick girl and physical therapist.

Thanks for taking the time to learn about my journey, and I can not even mention how many awesome human beings have inspired me throughout this... I have alluded to some of you, but honestly, I am a lucky girl.

"I am a part of all I have met" - ALT

Thank you!


Love,
M

After climbing Half Dome

Graduation Day, Doctor of Physical Therapy