I'm your average run-of-the-mill 20-something(ish) gal. I grew up on a small farm, in a small town, and went to a small school. I left my small town for a not-so-small state university, and finished my undergrad degree, rather successfully as a student-athlete, in the typical four years. I stayed at said state university for my master's, met my fiance, and headed 23 miles up the road to begin my doctorate at yet another state university.
A few months into my doctorate, I got sick. Well, actually, my leg got sick. Mid-April of 2009, my right thigh started to hurt; it felt as if I had done a massive weight-lifting workout the day before--but, umm, I hadn't. I had been an athlete (read: runner and jumper) for years, and although I tried to keep with workouts---I certainly was not lifting like I had been in college--so, it certainly was not an over-zealous workout gone awry. No bruise showed up--which was good, because I could not (for the life of me) remember running in to anything. I let it go for over a week because...truth be told, I hate doctors. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the doctors because "my leg hurt."
So, of course, I went to the doctors anyways. I was having bad headaches at that time too--I figured I would be able to kill two birds with one, uh, doctors visit. Wrong. I guess these state university health centers only allow one complaint at a time--and lucky for me, I picked the leg. At this time, it was a bit swollen and hurt like hell. Still no bruise. This poor doctor had no idea. Blood clot? Maybe--but that would have required an ultrasound to diagnose, and he did not want to have me pay out of pocket (or, rather 20% of the cost out of pocket)...so, he sent me to get some blood work (which nearly made me pass out), and let me go with a prescription for extra-strength Ibuprofen....I think I still have it laying around here somewhere....
(Here's the before shot. My right inner thigh, by my knee, is swollen.)
By the time I got home, I could hardly walk. D (my fiance) had to all but twist my arm to get me to go to the emergency room, but I conceded. Six days later I was home.
I was admitted to the hospital shortly after my arrival to the ER. Truth be told, I could tell no one had a clue what was happening to me. I finally got that ultrasound...but, no blood clot. I also got X-rays, an MRI, and last, but certainly not least, a wonderful muscle biopsy (which I was awake for...).
(Pretty colors, huh?)The final diagnosis? Autoimmune Focal Myositis. (WTF?)
(It really is a looker)So, essentially, my own body did this. Uh, thanks, self. How kind of you; you shouldn't have.
We made a trip to the Cleveland Clinic for a second opinion. We ended up with the same diagnosis--but not a single person, doctor, nurse, internet website could explain why or how this happened, nor could they tell us if it would happen again. Awesome.
It took about a month for me to begin walking somewhat normally; even now my leg gives out on me from time to time. I watched my amazing, well-trained, supportive runner's leg atrophy. Actually, I watched my whole muscular system diminish right before my eyes. The day I went into the hospital was the day I said goodbye to my "normal."
This was nine months ago. I never bounced back. Never. Over the past nine months, I've lost my energy. I've lost my muscle mass. I've lost my strength, and my will to fight to get it back. I've lost a lot of hair, and a lot of weight. My Internist asked a few weeks ago, "Based on how you used to feel, how far away--on a scale from 1 to 10--do you feel feel from that now?"
My answer? "It's been so long since I've felt normal that I don't even know what normal feels like."
Perhaps this is my new normal.
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