Photo: Will Adler
Trouble Ahead, Trouble Behind
After my first stint in Cottage, I was cut loose to the freedoms of the outside world just before Christmas Eve. Believe me when I say, a hospital is a damn fine place to have your life saved, but it is no place to actually heal. It was a crisp and cool Monday evening as I made my way across Bath Street toward my wife’s car. My step was shaky but resolved, the smell of a recent rain flared my nostrils, the orange hues of a blooming bird-of-paradise more vivid and complete than anything I had seen in days.
At that time, my primary diagnosis was something called transverse myelitis, a fairly uncommon and mysterious neurological affliction hallmarked by lesions inside your spinal column, and one that is diagnosed no more than a thousand times a year in all of America. I was on lots of medications, but I felt good and was confident that the worst was behind me. I rolled the window down and hung my face out into the wind on the way home like a dog. By Christmas morning, after attempts at weaning myself from my meds spiked my previously abating symptoms, I knew I was not fated for such a quick fix.
The next few months were, in hindsight, an incredibly peaceful time as I made my way out onto the tundra of medical mystery. I began seeing a Chinese medicine practitioner and acupuncturist, a decision that has been among the most physically and emotionally beneficial that I have ever made. I gave up alcohol and caffeine and gluten and dairy and sugar and meat and nightshade vegetables (a diet my friends like to call the “no fun” diet). I began meditating and daily visualization exercises. My more traditional doctors started me on intravenous blood therapies and off-label uses of other medications. Progress was slow, but with time, I was back at work and steadily reducing my drug dosages. I think back on these winter months, and my mind’s eye sees a low light shining through my living room window, a hot cup of tea steeping next to me, and my dog, Danger, asleep on the rug. Before I knew it, spring was in the air, but answers, despite the improvements in how I felt, remained elusive.
By mid-April, I was able to go on short hikes and even surf a little bit again, two things that have long been paramount to the health of my spirit. I was buoyed by these developments but felt in my core that all was not well. I had hit a wall it seemed, one where I could continue to step down my medications without getting much worse but also without getting much better. My stomach bothered me most mornings, and fatigue gnawed away at me no matter how much I rested. I figured this to be par for the course considering my situation, and, falling back on old patterns of behavior and ego-driven resilience that had served me well over the years, I pushed on despite the growing voice inside of me telling me that things just weren’t right. The power of the mind to both heal and hurt depending on what you choose is truly amazing.
And so it went until late June, when, during a sweeping battery of tests ordered on the six-month anniversary of my initial hospital stay, it was determined that I had become anemic. Unfortunately the doctors hadn’t been looking for anemia, so they weren’t sure exactly what type I had; another round of lab work was ordered. With Fourth of July festivities unfolding and work duties calling, I dragged my feet on getting the blood study, waiting until after the holiday weekend.
During my lunch break on that aforementioned and fateful Tuesday, I went in for the tests, and before the day was done, my primary called with the news — I was even more anemic than I had been just 10 days prior. In fact, I had become dangerously anemic, and an immediate trip to the ER was recommended. I will never forget sitting alone in my office in a queer disconnected state staring out at my coworkers as his voice rang in my ear. “There are really only two explanations for something like this, and neither is very good,” he said. “You are either internally bleeding or something like an advanced cancer is going on.” Turns out I had both.
