Category Archives: Health

New criteria redefine ME

What are you, kidding me? Good news in the land of ME/CFS? Surprisingly: yes.

Every patient has her own nomenclature for her illness, because “chronic fatigue syndrome” has stuck around so long as a garbage diagnosis, and myalgic encephalopathy/encephalomyelitis has never been solidly defined. But now we have both a name and a set of criteria that make solid sense and should greatly aid research efforts.

The International Consensus Criteria was developed by scientists from 13 countries, after exhaustive research. (For a good summary and analysis, see this article by Kimberly McCleary, president and CEO of the CFIDS Association.) Here are some very important points.

1. The illness is defined foremost by the symptom that disables so many of us: post-exertional malaise, now with an even more specific name, post-exertional neuroimmune exhaustion (PENE). This is major. The popular perception of ME has been that it’s all about fatigue, due largely to the term “chronic fatigue syndrome,” which is both vague and misleading. Yes, we are certainly fatigued, but it’s because of PENE.

This is why all that “we can cure fatigue” quackery is so wrong at its very foundation. They intentionally conflate CFS with “fatigue,” which is shooting at the wrong target. I’m actually in the mood now to go pick a fight with one of them, like Teitelbaum, by asking “how does your fatigue product address neurosensory, perceptual and motor disturbances?” (Of course treating fatigue is part of ME, especially for people with milder cases who need help through, say, a work day.)

2. The definition of ME here is specific, yet flexible enough to allow for the range of symptoms that patients experience. The criteria call for a certain number of symptoms in a certain number of categories, all fitting inside the three broad categories of neurology, immunology, and energy production. All current patients can learn whether they meet the criteria for ME, and people who don’t know anything about it can be given a solid diagnosis by their doctor.

This means that one of the biggest problems with ME/CFS research — how the patients are identified as having it — has just been reduced quite a bit. Researchers will be able to use the consensus criteria to replicate each other’s studies, something that has been difficult in the past. People can find out if they’ve been misdiagnosed in some way, since ME symptoms can mirror so many other illnesses, including mental ones.

Now don’t close this page in a fit of red-hot fury or anything; I have the same disgust for Simon Wet Parsley* that so many of us do. But it is certainly true that patients with major depression and even bipolar disorder have been misdiagnosed, in both directions. This is unquestionably good, because those patients can likely get much better treatment for their illness. Additionally, people who have self-diagnosed ME/CFS because they feel tired all the time can now rule it in or out, and get the proper treatment for a different problem or illness, if needed.

3. It’s true that this consensus has only just been published in the Journal of Internal Medicine, and it may certainly end up being debated on both a large and a small scale. But a great deal of the animosity surrounding XMRV rests so squarely on the vagueness of defining criteria, so this is in any case a great step towards removing some of the argument. If you have been reading any ME/CFS discussions lately, that’s a Herculean victory.

I recognize that my excitement about this consensus comes partly from the fact that it’s designed and worded in a way that matches my own educated guesses about ME/CFS. I’m not completely unbiased — and please, if you have a different take on this, do post a comment as I personally have not heard any naysayers yet, and I want to know what problems, if any, exist with this. I remember reading the news of the original XMRV paper, and feeling cautiously optimistic. This, on the other hand, made me joyous. So my predictions are premature, but I don’t think they’re impossible.

Patients who match the criteria now have an excellent rebuttal to any “It’s all in your head” they might receive. It’s also an answer to another chestnut, “You just need to get more sleep.” It’s probably too optimistic to hope that some patients may also quit turning to quacks and snake-oil salespeople, now that the diagnosis/treatment situation has been better clarified, but what the hell, I hope this too.

I’ve called my illness “chronic fatigue syndrome” because of the impression that patients whose symptoms are predominately immune fell into that category, while “ME” was for people with predominately cerebral symptoms. I was partly right about the focus on brain dysfunction, but have learned since that many of my immune-seeming problems are in fact due to just that. (Insert joke here.)

Going through the criteria was surprisingly emotional for me. It’s one thing to fall into a vague category of patients; it’s another to show objectively that I meet the criteria for a much less vague illness. There were symptoms listed that I have in spades but haven’t previously seen described so perfectly, such as “recurrent feelings of feverishness with or without low grade fever,” under the category of “Loss of thermostatic stability.” In a sense it was like having someone validate my symptoms, some of which I’m prone to think are all in my head. By the time I was done reading and rereading the paper and the criteria, I’d decided to identify myself as having ME from now on, while referring to the illness in general as ME/CFS.

Although nothing at all has really changed, it feels a little like a change in identity. A change that I deeply appreciate.

* Real name Simon Wessley, the much-maligned U.K. doctor who insists that the etiology of ME/CFS starts in the mind. He’s close; it does start in the brain, but not the thinking part of it. Apparently his name becomes far more apropos when translated into and then out of another language, and thanks to Linda for pointing this out!

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An open letter to my worst doctors

To my first endocrinologist: Thank you for teaching me to do my homework.

When I came to you, it was after a lifetime of good health, during which the simple things that went wrong with me were easily diagnosed and treated by any medical school graduate. I wasn’t prepared for you. After a first examination, you told me I probably had Graves’ disease, which you did not bother explaining until I asked you to. You sent me for a nuclear medicine test that I later found out was unnecessary and may have harmed my eyes.

Worst of all, you over-prescribed me so much methimazole (a drug that inhibits the thyroid’s function) that I spent my first year as an interpreter in a complete state of zombiehood, minus the cravings for cerebellum. The dose that eventually got me back to healthy thyroid levels was one-twentieth of the amount you prescribed, and never subsequently altered.

During this frustrating and painful time, I found patient communities on the web — not just for support and commiseration, but also where experienced and knowledgeable patients were able to help me figure out exactly what was happening to me. I learned how to read my own labs, and why some of the numbers weren’t as useful as others. It was at this point I dropped you  and went in search of someone who wasn’t apathetic and incompetent.

So thank you for helping me learn how to find good information about medicine on the Internet, as well as connecting with other people in similar situations. Not only did I learn that yes, I can “fire” a bad doctor, but my mother learned from my experience and stood up to her own uncommunicative physician about a serious problem.

To my sports medicine doctor: Thank you for teaching me some qualities I won’t accept in a physician ever again.

When I came to you, for the first time in quite a while, it was perfectly understandable that you misdiagnosed me. I presented with nothing but joint stiffness so bad, I had to take time off work as I was unable to sign.

During my little sabbatical, I started to wonder whether the strange lacy red rash on my arms from a week ago or my subsequent bout of fever had anything to do with my joint problems. The first thing I did was type a few symptoms into the CDC’s search box, and the first result was human parvovirus. It matched exactly. I did a few more searches and all the information lined up.

When I brought this to you about a week later, that’s where you screwed up. You chuckled and said “You can find just about anything on the Internet.” You were supremely confident while you patronized me — even when I explained that my information came from the CDC. You couldn’t imagine a scenario where I had correctly diagnosed myself, which I guess was the reason why you protested testing my blood for antibodies. I’d already learned that many people develop those antibodies without getting sick, so it wasn’t a diagnostic test, but was still used to bolster evidence for the illness.

Thanks to that endo up there, I didn’t let it go. My information didn’t come from the website for “Billy Joe’s Bail Bonds and Medical Advice,” for the love of Mars. I felt (mostly) confident that my request was reasonable. And so you reluctantly agreed to do the test. And my, didn’t your tone change between that visit and the next one, when you informed me that I did in fact have the antibodies. The snotty condescension was gone now. I did appreciate that you apologized to me for the earlier brush-off. But boy, did I learn what kind of physician I needed: one who considered me a legitimate participant in my own healthcare, not an ignorant customer or a hypochondriac. One who didn’t feel the need to puff up like a pissed-off peacock when a patient brought her own information to bear. Oh, I’m sure you get a lot of crazy self-diagnoses. But by patronizing instead of listening, you wrote me off as a stereotype.

If the examination room is bigger on the inside, you have nothing to worry about.

To my third endocrinologist: Thank you for teaching me about physicians’ limits.

What happened? We started out so well. Despite learning through experience and numerous anecdotes about the odd behavior of people in your specialty, I was very happy with you…up to a point. Two points, really.

You were shocked — pleasingly to me — by how badly I’d been overmedicated, and started right away to correct that. You made it seem like you were on a mission to cure my thyroid. I also very much enjoyed how you always sat down with me and explained my lab results without patronizing me. I had learned a lot (for a layperson) about endocrinology by then, and you didn’t blow off my knowledge in our discussions. And I certainly did improve under your care.

Then I became euthyroid (neither hypo- nor hyper-). This should have improved my health greatly, but it didn’t. I still had fatigue, sometimes crushingly so. Our visits seemed increasingly pointless. You developed a motto: “Your thyroid is fine so you should be feeling fine.” It took me probably more time than it should have to realize that you weren’t saying “Let’s look into this some more”; you were saying “My part here is done and I can’t and/or don’t want to go any further than that.”

I realized this was a perfectly reasonable limit for a specialist, and since then every time I’ve seen one (and that ain’t a little), I’m prepared for the point where they really can’t help me anymore.

It was the second point that offended me. The last time I saw you, not only had I been confidently diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) by a new — and current — GP, it had also begun to get worse. When I started seeing you, I worked in the same city, so appointments were a breeze. Then I took a job that was further away, but it was still doable to drive out to you. By my last visit, however, I had to drive an even greater distance, and then of course back again, which had become extremely difficult for me.

Then came the surprise. After that visit, I called for my test results, and was told no. I would have to schedule an office visit to get those numbers. I questioned the nurse receptionist: I had been diagnosed with an illness that made another office visit onerous and likely to cause  my symptoms to flare up. Could I not in this case simply get my results? No, I was told, the doctor wanted to sit down with me as usual to go over them. The receptionist tried to tell me that it was the rules, but I’d received test results over the phone plenty of times before, including being told that I had early-stage cancer. So that story became “it’s the doctor’s rules.” I asked if I could leave a message for you about this situation.

You never called me. And when I called back to find out what happened, all I got was the requirement to come in for an office visit. A visit I would have to pay for both physically and financially. My test results were being ransomed for those costs. I couldn’t believe that a doctor — they care for patients, right? — would not budge on this point, would not show the slightest bit of compassion for my situation. I didn’t believe I was asking for anything extraordinary at all. And in the end, instead of wasting energy being pissed off trying to negotiate this, I decided that your terms were unacceptable, not to mention greedy and unkind. And I was taught not only about physicians’ practical limitations, but also their moral ones. Never did get those test results, not even in the mail.

***

Since all of this, I haven’t had any big problems with physicians. I can tell easily during the initial interview whether we’re going to work well together, and on my end I’ve also modified my own conversation patterns and expectations. When I look back at all these situations, I realize that a great deal of the problems rested on my not being an informed patient, not advocating for myself, and taking everything at face value. That would have helped greatly with that first endocrinologist; it definitely came in handy with the sports medicine guy.

So I am really and truly grateful that my negative experiences have produced positive results that will last me the rest of my life. And because I don’t want to leave on this note, I also want to thank the good doctors, the GPs and specialists who really want to help me, but usually can’t. My “CFS doc” has been amazing. I so appreciate the mutual respect of everyone who’s tried to get to the bottom of all my weirdo health stuff. In no way do I take this for granted — how could I, when I know full well what the alternatives are?

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Weekend sendoff: When am I?

Thanks for sticking around despite my not posting in over a month. I’m not just dropping in to reassure you once again that I have no current plans to stop blogging, either. Newly Nerfed needs a little work, cosmetically as well as under the hood, and I’ll be making those changes as well as perhaps blogging more.

(There may or may not be a very hectic time in my near-ish future, so I don’t want to make any promises. And I’ll tell you about it once I can. No, I am not pregnant in any way.)

As I started to update the blog, I began wondering whether I could really still call myself newly nerfed. My health problems cropped up in 2003, and I finally had to stop working in 2008. And now it’s almost three years of reading, keeping up with research, and writing. Aren’t I now just…nerfed? I’ll be writing about that next week.

This month has flown by in a muddled memory of stress and uncertainty, excitement and good times. Life brought many distractions, including other writing projects and obligations…which are another reason I can’t promise consistent posts here. And that’s not bad at all; it’s just that having to prioritize my energy, I let a lot of it got sucked up into April without too much left for personal blogging. May may be similar.

If you haven’t already read it, I send you off with my guest post for SaveYourself.ca, a Canadian blog about managing pain. It’s about maintaining a romantic relationship when struggling with chronic pain and illness. (It’s not as depressing as it sounds.)

If you have already read it, well then, here’s a clip from The Sarah Jane Adventures. After Lis Sladen‘s death this month, it takes on a new level of meaning. (Which is more depressing than it sounds.) Goodbye, our Sarah Jane.

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