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In May 1983 I
had 6 minor operation. I recovered quickly and carried on
with my life. After 5 or 6 weeks I suffered bouts of nausea
and often could not face my food. I went to the doctor, who
gave me the same medicine I gave my youngest son for his
travel sickness, and It did help a little.
During that
summer I had lots of things wrong with me, including
lethargy, tiredness, muscle weakness, and cramp, none of
which were bad enough to bother the doctor with, as they
were quite vague to start with.
I went to the
doctor when these symptoms worsened but as we have a group
practice I never saw the same doctor twice and was told a
couple of times that there was nothing wrong and that it was
probably the pressure of working and looking after my
family. I never did see my own GP during these early stages.
Being of Greek origin my skin had always been fairly dark
and I tanned easily in the sunshine but by the end of
September I was so dark it was untrue. I'd noticed that my
toenails, gums and lips had black marks on them.
By
mid-October I was really beginning to feel weak as I had
lost about a stone and a half {18 pounds} in weight and had
no appetite and I was so cold all of the time, but I looked
so well because of the weight loss and my tan, and the
doctors still had no explanation for my ailments.
I carried on
the best I could, now sleeping downstairs because I could
not climb the stairs, and if I rested all morning I had the
strength to collect my children from school and cook an
evening meal. When I look back I do not know how I ever got
through those dark months. I was convinced I was slowly
dying but somehow I managed to fool my family I was a lot
better than I really was.
November came
and I nearly went to meet my maker. I collapsed at my son's
playgroup, which was just minutes away from my house. I was
brought home and from then on things are a bit blurry.
I remember my
own GP coming out and taking blood samples and later I
recollect being in an ambulance and the barrage of tests
they did in the hospital. I know I cried because I could not
keep my legs still and I was so scared of what was happening
to me.
Finally,
sometime during the night I was told that I had Addison's
disease and that it was incurable but treatable with
steroids and that I would make a full recovery. I spent 2
days in intensive care and 10 days on a ward before I was
allowed home, just in time for Christmas.
At that time
I felt only relief because during the months prior to my
diagnoses I had been told that there was nothing wrong. It
was later that fear and worry took over as I had never heard
of Addison's disease before and I did not want to be
dependent on medication for the rest of my life.
I later found
out that by the time I got to the hospital I was very close
to renal failure and death was just hours away, I thank God
for those doctors, especially a wonderful Irish doctor whom
I am not allowed to name.
It was at
least 3 months before I felt really well and had regained
most of the weight I had lost, and then I wanted answers to
my questions-what will it be like living with Addison's
disease? How will it affect my life? Will my children
develop it? Many more questions and worries filled my mind
constantly.
continues...
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