one woman’s journey navigating a new normal
I gripped the kitchen counter, my arms straight as a board trying to brace myself against the extreme pain that had begun shortly after eating last night’s small, plain meal. My stomach was as hard as a rock and bloated like I was four months pregnant. It felt like it was being tightly twisted and rung out like an old dish towel.
The loneliest people I see are those whose child (or children) are battling pancreatic disease. Their faces reach me like a beacon of despair, their pain hits me squarely in my heart.
As my disease progressed and my symptoms worsened, I became a “frequent flyer” at the ER - the term some ER staff use to refer to patients they believe are drug seekers.
Doctors are trained that when you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras. The doctors I’d seen were looking for a horse, but maybe, just maybe, I was a zebra.
It came in over my cell phone where my gastroenterologist was telling me that we needed to talk about removing my pancreas and a possible transplant - sooner, rather than later.
After six years of being seriously ill, in early 2011, I spent three months offline and out of my office recovering from extensive surgery. Truth be told, it was life-saving, life-changing surgery. And that made it non-negotiable.
You Don't Look Sick Blog 