Whew!

Mmkay. So this may be one of my last posts. Wanna know why? Well, I'll tell you. I don't have osteoporosis. I know, right? Crazy, huh? Yep.

#1's DXA machine is just pure shit apparently. I don't want to say his technicians are idiots too, soooo. The machine sucks.

Wednesday I went to see the 'spert at UAMS. Remember how I said he'd only accept his own scans? It's for this very reason.

So while I was having the scan done, I asked Felicia, the technician, how often they actually have people come in with incorrect scans. She said, "It so very rarely happens... but it looks like you may be an exception."

While she showed me the fan-freaking-tabulous results, I started crying, prompting a huge hug from Felicia. She was so shocked at the results, she marched me out to her supervisor, who looked at my previous scans and the current one. She gave me and hug and I cried all over her too. Then she took me up to see the doc and I cried all over him too. It was a tearful morning to say the least. The 'spert then paraded me around the floor saying, "Wanna see what a healthy girl looks like?"

I really was impressed with the 'spert, despite my initial thoughts about him and the placement of his head (in his own ass). He took his time when talking to me, everyone in the department knew about my case, he asked well researched questions, was prepared (and even said he'd been reviewing my file for two weeks trying to figure out what I could possible have), and had an awesome bedside manor. While it took a crazy long time to actually get an appointment with him, that diagnosis (or the lack of one) was absolutely worth the wait.

He said I do have a touch of osteopenia in my lower spine and probably some in my fingers and toes as well. My hips, cervical spine, and wrists look just fine.

As much as I want to go blow up #1's machine, I won't. However, the 'spert is writing a VERY strongly worded letter to #1 letting him know he, his technicians, and his machine were completely inaccurate...twice, and a letter to #2 praising him for sending me over to UAMS for a "real" (non)diagnosis.

So. My bones aren't 87. They're 30. Just like the rest of me.

T minus 14 hours.

Ya'll wish me luck tomorrow! In my mind, I've made this appointment with the 'spert out to be a do or die, now or never, shit or get off the pot situation.

I'm just a smidge overdramatic. Sometimes. I'll let you know what he says. If anything.

Squee!

It's feeling real. I got my "patient itinerary" from UAMS. I have confirmed times. For a bone density test (that insurance is paying for... I have it in writing) and an appertmint with the 'spert.

Should I really be this excited? Hell fucking yes. I've gotten my hopes up before about getting a diagnosis and nothing came of it. NOW, if this shithead doesn't figure something out, I'll go nuts. Promise. I will. I can see it now... Local woman found wandering streets of downtown Little Rock... naked... begging... for calcium.

There'll be pics, I'm sure. I'll post them. When/if I get out of jail.

I wonder if it smells?

Guess what? The 'spert finally decided to pull his own head out of his own ass. Guess who FINALLY has an appointment? THIS GIRL! We'll finally see if #1's DXA is correct or not. Should we make bets?

Here's how this will work: I'll roll up to UAMS and have a bone density first. IF the bone density shows bone loss, I'll get to see the 'spert immediately afterward. If the DXA says I'm normal for my age, I won't see the 'spert, so instead I'll drive to #1's office for a good old fashioned ass chewing. That expression seems disgusting typed out, doesn't it?

Until then...

Well hello, stranger.

Mmkay. So. New insurance? Check. Call to follow up with #2's office so they can schedule my appointment with the 'spert? Check. Hear back from #2's office with appointment time? Nope.

Kathy deserves a vacation too and that's exactly where she is. For the whole week. Soooo. No scheduled appointment with the 'spert yet.

I have to admit, I'm really anxious to get this ball rolling now. I've put this off for long enough. I need to get serious about it. And get serious about getting healthy. One of my bestest friends is pregnant (again) and that has my uterus is screaming (again). I need to get these bones in decent shape. Soon.

de who?

So still no new news on the doctor situation. I'm changing insurances in the next couple of months so as soon as my new coverage kicks in, I'll be at the 'sperts office. Yay!

On another note, I do have another injury to add to my ever-growing list. Last week, I moved to a new apartment. Friday, however, my help flaked out and left me to do everything alone. Have I told you how hard-headed and stubborn I am? Did I wait 'til later when someone else could help? Nope. I trudged on alone. And what did I end up with?

Yep. A cracked radius and de Quervain's tenosynovitis. Oh yeah. Look that one up, baby. It's interesting reading indeed. Basically, it's severe acute tendonitis. My new (and not so fabulous ortho) decided the cracked radius isn't too much to worry about, even though my forearm is completely deformed. In fact, he's not even real sure the crack on the xray is a current crack or an old crack (even though I wasn't deformed before...). So why worry about something that could potentially worsen? Right?

So anyway. I'm splinted up for the next 6 weeks (minimum). If my cracked radius/tendonitis aren't better then, I'll have surgery to correct. That'll be way fun apparently. Dr. Ortho said surgery isn't bad, but the recovery is hell. Awesome. Because last summer's bunionectomy recovery wasn't enough fun AT ALL. That was only 8 weeks in a boot. IN THE SUMMER. Bleh.

So here I am. Typing very freaking carefully, since technically I'm not supposed to use my thumb for any reason whatsoever and I'm a dedicated "home keys" user from way back.

'Til next time...

Graphic Content Ahead.

So this blog is mostly dedicated to mah bones, but I have a shitload of other health problems we can talk about while the 'spert is extricating his head from his ass.

Gastroparesis is a fun part of my life. Do ya'll know what that is? The vagus nerve tells the stomach when to empty into the intestines. In patients with gastroparesis, the vagus nerve is damaged and doesn't tell the stomach to move the food through to the intestines. Period. Typically, it's seen in diabetic patients, anorexics (which my ass is clearly NOT), or people with direct trauma to that area. They still haven't figured out why I have it. I had a doctor one time who took great pride in pointing out my case was idiopathic. I'm pretty sure he just liked saying the word.

Basically, I throw up. A lot. And violently. But before I throw up, my stomach expands and I look 6 months pregnant. I have severly painful burps that can wake the dead and generally last longer 15 seconds each. This can go on for hours. When I eat things that make me sick, the food will sit in my stomach for 4-6 hours and then I'll throw it back up. Whole. Completely undigested. I saw an entire pickle a couple of weeks ago. Fun, huh?

So foods I see again: any raw fruit (specifically the skins, which are the best part especially when covered with salt), vegetables (spinach, lettuce, pickles, corn, and cucumbers are the worst), red meat (no matter how it's cooked), and any sort of whole grain or seedy things (this ranges from sesame seeds on buns to the seeds of strawberries). And olives. I'm a Grey Goose martini, extra dirty, extra olives kind of girl. Not being able to enjoy the olives KILLS ME.

So it's safe to assume I'm a chicken/pasta/potato person. If those things are on the menu, that's what I'm eating. However, I've learned to manipulate it. If I know I'm eating a hamburger in the evening, I'll eat something for lunch that I know will digest easily. That way, by the time I eat the hamburger, my stomach will be completely empty. I won't be adding an undigestable item on top of an undigestable item. Days when I eat "bad things" at more that one meal make for sleepless, painful, nasty evenings.

Alcohol makes this condition tons worse. Alcohol paralyzes nerves anyway, so one that is semi-nonfunctioning becomes even more lethargic and ridiculous. I'm not an alcoholic by any means, but I enjoy a good drink (or three) on the weekends, which is also when I tend to eat things that are bad for me.

#2 thinks my gastroparesis plays a large role in my osteoporosis, but he isn't blaming it entirely on my diet (or lack thereof). I guess we'll see. Someday.

Props to #2.

So I'm ridiculously impressed with #2. If anyone in Little Rock needs an internist, may I recommend Dr. Jack Fendley at NLR Diagnostic. He and his nurse, Kathy, are freaking awesome.

Kathy called me today to let me know that she sent the 'spert ALL my records, past scans, and a letter explaining that 'spert had to fill out the insurance pre-authorization forms before they'd cover my next (unnecessary) scan. The frightening thing, Kathy told me not to expect much. Her words about the 'spert, "He's a piece of work, so I wouldn't hold your breath on these pre-auth forms." Dr. Fendley personally called the 'spert to try to explain to him how seldom someone like me comes along. I mean, according to Dr. Fendley, I'm like, medical journal quality. Who the hell would pass that shit up?

So basically, my medical history is the carrot. Isn't that kinda screwed up? They have to dangle something so freakish in front of a 'spert so he'll agree to cooperate.

Gah.

Square 1.

So #2 had no new results. All the blood tests came back normal. He now wants me to go see the 'spert. However, the 'spert will not see me unless I have a diagnosis of osteoporosis, which I do from my first doctor. But the 'spert won't accept bone density scans from outside offices. This means he has to do another on in his office, it has to be positive, and then he'll see me. Guess how many bone density scans insurance will pay for in a year? One. And my one was less than a month ago.

Shoot me now. So. I basically have to pay out of pocket for ANOTHER scan if I want to see the 'spert.

Part of me just says, "Eh. Screw it."
The other part of me says, "You will want kids some day. Figure this shit out now."

I'll let you know which part wins...

What is tenterhook anyway?

Okay peeps. T minus, I don't know...some hours (?) 'til the doctors appointment that could change my life forever. How's that for some unnecessary (probably anti-climactic) drama?

Tomorrow morning we'll see if #2 is smart or not. I know you're all waiting on tenterhooks to hear wtf my deal is.

No fear, babies. Hopefully tomorrow will be the day. #2 will be the man. I have faith. He will give me an answer and a diagnosis. I can feel it in my 87 year old bones.

No news is good news, right?

Monday a week ago, #2 told me the results of my blood tests could take up to 7 business days to come back from the lab. I haven't heard from him yet. Based on that and the fact I have an appointment with him next Thursday to discuss the results, I'm assuming either a.) he doesn't have the results back yet b.) the results show something horrifying and he doesn't want to tell me over the phone or c.) the tests showed nothing and I'll be seeing the 'spert next.

All three options are equally obnoxious and annoying to think about. I can't imagine people who actually have horrible things wrong with them and have to wait on results to tell them if they're dying or not. I cannot imagine.

Pity, party of one. Pity?

I don't usually get too bogged down in my health. Or lack thereof. However, I'm having a pity party tonight. Why can't I just be like other 29 year olds? What the hell did I do to deserve 87 year old bones? Why I can't I be thinking about keeping babies bouncy and happy instead of keeping my damn bones intact?

My Daddy called this afternoon to check on me and to see if I've gotten back any test results. I haven't. I appreciate that he calls, I really really do. I cherish the relationship I have with both he and my Mother. However, I hate the fact that he calls to see if I know why I have osteoporosis. It should be me making that phone call... to my 70 year old grandmother. Not Daddy calling his not quite 30 year old child. I hate to sound ungrateful. I'm so lucky to have parents who care about every detail of my health and life. I wouldn't trade them for anything. But it just sucks to get that phone call. It kind of put things in perspective this afternoon.

And I know this isn't that serious of a health issue. It's not like I'm dying or anything. I don't have some incurable disease that I have to suffer through. I just have bad bones. I can't have kids in the foreseeable future. I can't go do anything too physical, because I run the risk of breaking a hip. I can't act like a normal healthy 29 year old, because I'm not one.

Just a few weeks ago, a older friend of mine told me her doctor diagnosed her with osteopenia. She asked for my advice. Not because I have worse bones than she does, but because of my education and experience keeping older adults healthy and active. I told her this diagnosis isn't a life sentence, that she can slow or reverse the damage. I told her all the right things to do. I suggested to her what supplements to take, how to exercise, what to eat to get the maximum benefit. But am I doing any of these things for myself? No.

This is just ridiculous.

When The Google Attacks.

#2 suggested several things that could be causing my osteoporosis. If your mind works like mine, you'll understand when I say I wish he hadn't told me those possible diseases/syndromes/deficiencies that could be the culprit for my shitty bones.

Me and The Google have found entirely too much information on the interwebs. Every time I look at another possible explanation, I have every one of the symptoms. Literally. Every. Single. Symptom. I even read some of them to The Hubs. Without me saying a word, his response was, "Holy shit. You have all those." And it's always the worst case scenario. Naturally.

I hate The Google sometimes. I can hardly wait for #2 to call with those test results. Until then, no more self-diagnosis. Promise.

Definition: 'spert.

What is a 'spert? Well, this is a 'spert.

Bones be damned!

Damn it all. I've aged three years since July. Well, not all of me. Just my bones. They are now hovering around 87. Fun, huh?

I did see a new doctor today, one who took 9 vials of blood... I look like a drug addict right now. Both arms have track marks. But I'll forgive him. You see, Doctor #2 (to be referred to as #2 from here on out) actually offered reasons for the osteoporosis instead of just drugs to treat it.

So right now, I'm being tested for hyperparathyroidism, celiac disease, and various vitamin deficiencies. Even if this doctor doesn't diagnose me, he's already got the next person in mind. Apparently there's a hidden, reclusive doctor here in Little Rock who specializes in osteoporosis research. #2 said this other guy (we'll call him the 'spert...I'll explain later) would love to get his hands on me if all these tests today come back negative. So 'spert is lined up if #2 can't figure me out.

What started off as an extremely shitty day, has actually turned around.

Postponed.

Me and the 84 year old bones now have to wait til Monday to find out of if we're having a birthday or not. The blizzard of this week has caused a backlog at my doctor's office and I'm not a priority. Damn it. I guess actual 84 year olds with the flu are slightly more important than me...

So. Until Monday...

The Introduction

Howdy peeps. If you're a reader of my other blog, then you know I struggle with numerous health issues. I wanted to start this separate chronicle to document my (young) life with osteoporosis. I regularly break toes, but yesterday, after a slight sledding incident, I'm typing this with a broken finger. I feel like this blog will be more of a medical history chart than anything else. If I break it, you'll read about it. Exciting, huh?

For those who don't know me, I will warn you. I'm a sarcastic, Southern girl with a mouth like a sailor, who doesn't always follow proper sentence structure when writing, and who has a love affair with the comma and the word So. I will never mention my name or where I'm from, but I will tell you I currently live in Little Rock (which is about 500 miles away from any osteoporosis specialists).

So. Hello. My name is Little Miss Mushy Bones and I have osteoporosis. (Insert your collective AA-type welcome here.) I was diagnosed last year after a fairly routine bunionectomy was slightly more complicated than planned. While attempting to screw my bones back together, my doc realized my bones were too soft/brittle/thin to hold the screws in place. This prompted a bone density scan, which showed severe bone loss. On that fabulous ol' 2 to -5 scale, I'm a -4. Awesome right? My least favorite physician (out of about 6) bestowed my nickname upon me after the foot surgery. Little Miss Mushy Bones. She came thisclose to getting smacked... LMMB, my ass. I'll show her some mushy bones. In her face. Oh. And did I forget to mention? I also think violent thoughts when it comes to certain doctors. But I'm Southern and gawd knows I'll never actually do anything ill-mannered in public. But I'll talk behind her back as much as possible.

So anyway. Tomorrow will be my 6 month follow up scan and we'll see if my previously aged 84 year old bones have gotten younger...or older.