Violently ill? O. What Chronically ill Ironic Progress!

One aspect of the chronically ill life which I will never ever adjust to is the 'ah. a test made you violently ill? This is an excellent development!' Those are the times when my admirable (or so I am told) patience gets dangerously low. The feisty part of me wants to scream, 'Let me stab you with testing needles and show you some progress!'

I know just how she feels!

The worst example being when my doctor, who is normally excellent, decided to do neurotransmitter testing. Basically, you inject little bits of specific neurotransmitters and slowly increase the dose. Once you get sick (mind you most people have a tiny headache or feel a little nauseous) they inject you with different amounts until finding the neutralizer.

I have never reacted normally to a single one of these tests. For the yeast, under the tongue drop test, I got sick on the 1:10000(?) dose. The one they tell you it's almost unheard of to get sick on. Yeah. Except if you are me and eight minutes into the testing time start throwing up violently with pain/tingling/numbness spreading from the legs up. Thankfully the doctor refrained from any comments on this one other than shock over my fast reaction.

Back to the neurotransmitter testing which was actually round two. The first test time was supposed to test three different neurotransmitters one right after another. I got through one before getting sick and needing to get neutralized. So I was not precisely keen on trying the next round a week later. However, I want to get better and if this would help them discover the problem, I would do it.

I had several lovely needle holes in me from injections before the storm hit. One minute you are talking to the nurse saying 'eh I feel a bit weird.' The next I was laying on the floor crying (it is almost unheard of for me to cry from pain) because someone was bashing my head around. I was struggling to breathe, throwing up every time I moved (literally. I didn't know such a thing was possible.), violently shaking, and begging for someone to block out the light which felt like it was burning into my eyes.

Heck. I was laying on the floor unable to do more than lift my head (vomited while doing so) when the doctor appeared. 'Ah. Excellent reaction! We are really making progress at a diagnosis!' and smiled like I was going to agree before walking away. If I hadn't been so sick I might yelled at him 'Let me stab you with needles of this shite and I'll show you excellent progress ya bastard!'

Thank goodness he did not reappear or I might have tried to aim my vomiting at his shoes. The nurse, who is wonderful, actually could not find a neutralizing dose. She looked about to cry when I started begging her not to give me any more of this. She finally ended up giving me a different drug to stop the reaction entirely. I think she could not take a moment more of my misery. In fact, she swore to never do another of these tests on me.

By the time it was over I was to tired to snarl about the doctor's antics. My father was the one who kept muttering about 'why am I paying all this money to make you sick?' I used to defend my doctor by pointing out how we actually were supposed to find a dose to make me feel better. Instead I was just nodding and going 'I have no idea.'

I don't think the full testing effects hit me until I got home. Alright. I knew I would look pretty awful. Who wouldn't after such an experience? At least I had remembered to put my hair up to avoid vomiting in it. The part which made me choose vomit in the  hair over it was looking at my eyes. The reaction had been so awful I had burst blood vessels in them. Lovely. I had to visit the eye doctor in a few days. Now I would have to explain what I was doing to cause all those ugly red areas which horrified my mother to no end.

At my last visit my doctor mentioned doing the same injection reaction test for an allergic reaction to a specific substance. He was hasty to point out being hesitant about the procedure. I was more than hesitant about it. Especially if there was going to be smiles about me being sick and promises of this looking like good progress towards a diagnosis. The decision is 'up in the air' because everyone in my family is a bit divided. If I decide to do it then I'm laying down some ground rules. No smiling. No positive attitude. Best to wait in the shadows and watch me from afar.