Yellow Bulb Spring Flowers
Post n°29 pubblicato il 26 Luglio 2014 da moncontbackrue
It was the second day, of the second month, of the second year, of the second millennium as I looked back on the first week of being in my new office. I was proud of what I had created. It was so totally me, everything about it defined who I am and what I think is beautiful. The rose walls, the Victorian botanicals, and children prints, the nearly foot thick soundproofed walls, the large office and the floral chaise beside the over-stuffed over-sized chair - all a part of my personally designed space. My husband of three years had been the instigator of my moving out on my own. He had been listening to my complaints about where I was for the entire time of our marriage and he knew that for me to be happy, I needed to be on my own. Finally, it had happened. It took thousands of dollars on credit, hours and hours of putting together paperwork and negotiating with my new supervisor, but after five months of planning, is was here. For the first several days of the week, I had only been able to move things in from my old office, since my old employer needed me to stay through the end of January. On Friday, February 1st I saw my first clients in my lovely office, and they, as I, felt warm, comfortable and happy there. Unfortunately, that week had also been a horrid week for me with my allergies. Environmental allergies had been the bane of my existence my whole life, earning me the nickname of "delicate Melody" growing up. As my allergist recently stated, "It's a wonder (I) am alive". Actually, I nearly died of them a few times, ending up in the hospital a five or six times with pneumonia before I was ten. By the age of 46 I had grown accustomed to them and found a way to deal with them. I was on weekly allergy shots, taking a decongestant and an antihistamine, along with a nasal spray every single day. That did not prevent runny noses or the occasional sinus headache, but I had my infections under control and seldom missed work for illness. But, this particular week had been a horrid one. Monday night I had the worst asthma attack I'd had in many years, I hardly slept. Tuesday night I was up all night sneezing so much that I could not sleep. Wednesday I got in to see my allergist and he gave me a shot of cortisone, which had always stopped such attacks in the past. Wednesday night I had a sinus headache that turned in to migraine and, once more did not sleep. By Thursday I was still miserable, and my doctor gave me a prescription for oral prednisone. By Saturday, the 2nd, I felt physically better, though still quite tired and confused about why my allergies had been so terrible that week. Oh, well, I thought, at least I am able to do something about it now. I liked that I had finally gotten help with my allergies and didn't have to just suffer with them as I had done for my entire life. The steroids would clear up this bout, and life would soon be back to normal. The following week I continued working in my beautiful office. My former employer had sent me a lovely bouquet of assorted flowers that absolutely crowned my Victorian waiting room with elegance. (I avoided breathing in their scent) On Tuesday evening as I came in from work, I complained to my husband that my ankles itched. I pulled down my socks and noticed a sprinkle of uneven red splotches all over both feet and ankles. Mike suggested I shower and put some cortisone on them, which I did, and it helped only mildly. We tucked away into bed, embraced in each others arms and fell asleep. Just as I nodded off, a pain hit my chest, then subsided. I moved to the other side of the bed as the pains kept coming, I began gasping as they hit. Mike was stirring and I didn't want to disturb his sleep so I crawled out of bed. I couldn't wall too well, the pain was to great. I finally got it together and got myself in to the living room where I grabbed a pillow and sat on the couch. The pain kept getting worse, it came in waves, hitting one right after the other like a contraction. Mike came apologetically into the living room and asked if he could do anything, and tried to get me to describe the pain. I wasn't very good at describing it, for it took my breath away between strikes. A few minutes later he was piling me in the car and headed toward the ER. In the ER I noticed the rash was now all over my hands, as well as my feet and ankles. They didn't give much notice to that. They immediately had me wired to EKG machines and then, gave me a whiff of nitroglycerine. The pain instantly stopped the pain. My head started to swim and my blood pressure fell to the point that I could not hold myself upright as they took x-rays of my chest. They gave me an IV of Benadryl, and the rash faded. That was a relief, the itching was driving me crazy. I don't know what else they gave me, but pain subsided some. I sent Mike home and to bed at about three AM and they decided at about seven to admit me to the hospital because they wanted me to have an "echo cardiogram" that day. Unfortunately there were no beds on the cardiac unit. So they tucked me away in a corner of the ER waiting for admission. At about noon they finally had a bed for me. I spent the next day and a half in the hospital ruling out heart problems. The cardiologist said I would probably never need a cardiologist, but he gave me his card anyway. That night, two days after my attack, I was released from the hospital and told to follow up with my internist, saying that maybe I should check my gall bladder. I went back to work and still had no idea what had caused either my pain or my rash. On Friday afternoon I saw one of my "OCD" (Obsessive-Compulsive Disordered) clients. He had been on a tangent about the air quality in my office since before I moved. He really didn't like the idea of my moving, and had мейд all kind of demands regarding how I should do things to suit him. As an example, he insisted that I should have out-gased my carpet for two weeks prior to laying it down. He was most upset that I didn't plan to either make sure I had an air cleaner or spend two weeks waiting on the carpet to out gas. That day he added that, I was being really negligent because I had not done these things, insisting that perhaps my recent health problems were related to that? I was quite frustrated, but listened and assured him that it was unlikely since I had certainly never had any kinds of problems with air quality or carpet in the past. As I drove home I realized he was right. It мейд a certain kind of sense. My allergy attack that had begun the week that I had moved my things into the space, the rash, then the crisis of the chest pains. What a mess this was. What could have caused this? I logged onto the Internet and located information about chemical toxicity. It did sound like what was going on with me. The most likely culprit, like my client had suggested- the carpet or carpet padding. I also found that I was really, very fortunate, there was a center for environmental illness right here in Dallas. I мейд an appointment with Dr. William Rea for the following Friday. I didn't know what else to do. The bad news: I had to pay out of pocket for the costs, because they file no insurance. I was nervous about having to go through a doctor that may or may not have the answers. Mike was not convinced it was not a physical problem, and felt that it had to be ruled out. I called my allergist and insisted that I had to have something for the rash, it was unbearable. It hurt to distraction. He gave me a prescription for Doxipin, and Nexium and I started them that day. The next day the rash was nearly gone. I cancelled my appointment with Dr. Rea. I was more comfortable, and had stopped eating, so my chest pain had eased. So I went another week, and had a upper GI scheduled for the following Monday. That Saturday I was in the ER again after the pains ruined my day with husband. It was our first weekend alone for about six months, and we spent our first night alone in the ER. This time they ran GI tests of all kinds. I had EKG's again, chest and stomach X-rays, blood work (testing for liver and gall bladder problems) and, finally, an ultra-sound across my belly. Again, I was found to be in perfect health. They gave me a "pink lady" (a concoction for GI disturbances), prescriptions for a painkiller and phenergan. Still, there were no answers, just clues. Physical problems ruled out, I went to the Building manager and showed her the rash, and asked her to provide me an empty office in which to work until I could resolve the problem in the office. She was very empathetic and gave me the keys for an ugly, old empty office across the hall. I pulled my pillows in there and started seeing clients in there. Monday morning I had re-scheduled with Dr. Rea for that Friday. Still not eating, but the rash was gone so I felt enough better that I thought I might make it. The materials stated that I should stop my antihistamines a couple of days ahead of testing, so I stopped my Claritin and the Doxipin. The rash came back immediately. I spent the morning in my office, even putting my hands and forearm on the carpet itself for a few moments to see if it would trigger an allergic response. I got to the appointment that afternoon, and he had to cancel. God, that meant another day of the rash. I got in to see him the next morning and my hands and forearms were covered with rash. The carpet was most certainly the problem. Dr. Rea concluded that I had been hit with chemical toxins, and that I even had neurological signs of toxicity. He started me immediately on a routine of IV vitamins and minerals three times a week, and daily heat therapy. He wanted to start serious testing along with daily visits with him. I spent the next two and a half weeks in testing and therapy. I met with a nutritionist and the patient educator. Without the Doxipin, my rash cleared after the first week of therapy. Testing revealed only that I had Chronic Fatigue, severe Central Nervous System compromise, and failure of my immune system to respond to attack. I was found to be extraordinarily healthy, but of course, quite ill. Of course, I had to pay out of pocket for all the expense. I spent over four-thousand dollars and have yet to discern how much insurance will pay, if any. I continued working, working my clients around my therapy and working late in the evenings. My stress level was now out of хэнд, along with my health. I have stopped therapy, but Mike is building me a sauna so that I can continue heat therapy at home. I still feel fatigued, have dizziness and severe congestion, but I am better. The fatigue is not so overwhelming as it was a couple of weeks ago, and the rash is gone. Yet, I feel lucky. The stories I have heard from others make me feel grateful. Many of them suffered for years before they figured out what was wrong. I am grateful for my client, who, in this instance, was disturbingly accurate. I am grateful for living in an era of the Internet where so much information is rapidly available. I am grateful that Dr. Rea and the Environmental Health Center are here in Dallas. People come from all over the world to be treated by him, and he's in my backyard. I try to hold on to those on bad days. Mike pulled all the padding out of my office about a month ago. He pulled the carpet out last week. We laid a small piece of residential carpet out on the floor last week, but by Thursday I had begun to react to it, too. So he rolled it up Friday. The plan is to let it air for a couple of weeks in our garage until it's had a chance to out gas, then I will try it again. It may be that I will never be able to tolerate carpet again. For now, the bare concrete looks awful, but it causes me no problems. Maybe I'll find some safe paint and just paint the floors, forgetting carpet, wood or anything. Another component of the problem, we discovered, was (as my client insisted) the air quality. I am a body psychotherapist and my clients often produce a lot of sound. To make my new office work, I had to put up heavy duty soundproofing. We мейд sure that the sound was locked into the room, with no holes. We had the walls go up all the way to the roof. The room was a virtual sound box, no sound could get out. We trusted the ventilation system in the building would be adequate to manage the air. We were wrong. The air never re-circulated, but stayed in the box. All the gasses of the paint, the carpet and the padding remained in the office with me as I practiced that first week. The building manager only last week discovered that the air conditioning had not been running twenty-four seven as it was supposed to be, and kicked it in last week. That's closing the barn door after the cows got out. According to people I have talked with at the Center, about 15% of the American population today suffer from some kind of chemical sensitivity, but by the year 2050, that number will increase to 60%. That is, millions of unsuspecting Americans will go through some of what I have experienced, or worse. Many of the people I have talked to have nearly died from some kind of chemical toxicity. The bizarre thing is that most of this does not fall under the purview of the Environmental Protection Agency- they deal only with outdoor air pollution. Basically, there is NO protection from indoor air quality problems and no consumer resources other than to sue. Of course, this is powerful and it has reduced the amount of chemicals in indoor construction remarkably over the past twenty years. But reduction to "acceptable levels" doesn't fit every circumstance or every person. It's frustrating to note that most people (including myself prior to this experience) intuitively assume that being "chemically sensitive" is mostly a psychiatric or emotionally based somatic problem. I am a "mind over matter" person from way back. I read The Power of Positive Thinking at the age of 14 and know that my reality is impacted by how I think and feel. None of that prepared me for the chemical attack that I underwent in my lovely new office. Of course stress and emotional problems weaken us, that is certainly undeniable. Yet, even though this is true, the fact is that we all are vulnerable to this kind of attack. You never know when your particular barrel of stress, allergy and nutritional deficiency will be hit with a chemical that your body cannot fight. Have empathy for those of us that are already hit. The next time, it could be you, or your daughter. You never know. Melody Brooke, MA, LPC, LMFT is an author, speaker, workshop presenter and counselor. Melody holds an MA in Counseling and Guidance from Texas Womans University. She is also a Certified Radix Practitioner, Right Use of Power Teacher and InterPlay Teacher. Melody's 19 years work with individuals, couples and families provides her with a unique approach to solving clients problems. Her life-altering book, "Cycles of the Heart: A way out of the egocentrism of everyday life", is based on her experience helping people resolve their relationship difficulties with themselves and others. To find out more about InterPlay and "Cycles of the Heart" go to . 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