When a doctor tells you they're worried, there is little you feel other than a pure fear. At least, that's how it felt in my case. 'We think you may have Guillain-Barré Syndrome, a disorder that effects the peripheral nervous system.' I remember the word 'syndrome' resonating through my mind and the feel of my heart beating against my chest.
'What do you mean? Is it curable? What if its not this Guillian thing, what else could it be?'
'Well we can't be certain at this time, but the other possibility is Multiple Sclerosis, however we don't think it's that. Guillian- Barré is temporary in most cases, however there is a risk that the nerves in your diaphragm can be attacked, in which case you may stop breathing and then you will have to be ventilated'.
Stop breathing? I could die from this? Or MS?? Not possible, I was twenty three years old for goodness sake! As both doctors comforted me and explained more about GBS, my mind had switched off. When they left me alone I can honestly say I have never been more scared in my life. I was in Australia, completely and utterly alone with no phone credit and no Internet access, consumed in a deep dread. I asked one of the nurses if I could borrow the phone to make a call; how could I even begin to explain this to my parents who were 9567 miles and a 20 hour flight away?
I don't recall much of this conversation other than a cascade of tears from me and the calm reassurance of my Mum before I passed her over to talk to the doctor. I couldn't help but feel extraordinarily guilty for putting my parents through this, and the thought of them telling my brother and sister...it cannot be put into words. Writing this as I am now, five weeks later to the day and still in hospital, I can do nothing but cry as I remember those first few days.
Whilst in Proserpine Hospital, the doctors decided to give me a CAT scan to rule out any spinal injuries or lesions. During my initial examination they discovered I had no reflexes at all in my arms or legs, and as I went in to have the scan, I found myself wishing it was this GBS and not anything nastier. GBS was supposedly temporary, but I couldn't stop from thinking what else it could be; what if I had a tumour or worse?
After the scan I had time to calm myself and think. Practicalities first, then I could worry. I borrowed the phone and called the hostel who agreed to drive and bring my luggage to the hospital. I then called my best friend in Western Australia who I'd lived with for the previous six months, but in typical bad timing she had lost her phone the week before (as I was to discover later), and no one else would answer their phones. There was one other person I wanted to speak to more than anyone (other than my family), but he was in Canada and I didn't have his number. I resigned myself to wait for him to call me, knowing my parents would send him a message. Put in this situation I realised who was important to me, and the thought that I would not get a chance to tell the people I loved how much they meant to me was excruciating. I was so terrified that I was running out of time; how desperately afraid and alone I was. The numbness in my fingers and toes multiplied tenfold as my panic grew and I was using my inhaler (bloody asthma) regularly. Researching afterwards I discovered that 20-30% of GBS sufferers have problems with their airways, and I was one of the lucky ones to be unaffected. Obviously I was unaware of this at the time.
I waited. I was told I was being transferred at 8pm that night to Townsville hospital where I was assured there was a great neurological department. Whilst I was more scared than the time I had a 14th birthday house party, told my parents I'd invited twenty people and sixty showed up, I also felt calm. I was in hospital, the best place I could possibly be. Strength in me that I didn't know I had started to build; I would fight this and I would win. It was a bit like a cheesy X-Factor moment when I thought that if I'm honest. Even my own brain was telling me to settle on the cliches.
I began talking to the man next to me who ran a cattle farm, and he had an infected arm after a cow ran him down (good grief!). Having a normal conversation and his gentle reassurance made me feel a little better. In some ways he reminded me of my Dad; a friendly guy who'd talk to anyone. I knew my Dad would be looking at flights at home, and although I didn't want him to spend the money and time to fly out (I was still in denial and was waiting for the doctors to say 'Hang on, we've made a mistake! Really you are suffering from Lack-of-Cat Syndrome which can be cured by playing with kittens for several days, side effects being tiny scratches and furry clothes'), I of course just wanted my parents with me.
Time flew by. My CAT scan was clear and relief flooded through me. My luggage was dropped off and suddenly there was a crew to take me to the helicopter. I desperately looked around for some kind of reassurance; the Junior Doctor came over and took my hand and said 'You're going to be okay. I will call the hospital and see how your getting on in a few days'. I remember she squeezed my hand. 'You're going to be fine'.
Fine or not, it was time to fly.
Saturday 27 October 2012
Thursday 25 October 2012
Boats and Floats
'Bonjour Maman! Still having the best time, on my way to Airlie Beach now. Fingers and toes are still numb but sure allergy tablets will work soon! Hope it's not too nippy noodles there. Love love xx' This is the message I text my Mum whilst on the bus to my hostel from Mission Beach. I was completely exhausted from staying awake the night before, so I snuggled down to forget the oddness that was my extremities and went straight to sleep.
After checking into my hostel, with a surprisingly nice room, I briefly went online and had a cheeky search at some of the symptoms I was experiencing. Hmm...perhaps it's vitamin deficiency! After all, one cannot live off 'Fantastic Chicken Flavoured Noodles' (occasionally beef flavoured if I was going really crazy) alone; and somewhere I'd read online that pins and needles could be a lack of the correct vitamins. I went out and bought some milk, fruit and chocolate, although admittedly I doubted the chocolate would help. After munching down in my room I fell asleep soon after. The next morning was...stressful.
I was planning to sail the Whitsundays, but when I awoke I felt pretty horrendous. To save money I'd been sleeping in my daily contact lenses and my eyes felt awful, and as I went to take them out I realised my arms were a bit heavy; because I had no sensation in my fingertips it was a bloody mission to get them out. The girl getting ready next to me surely thought I had Tourette's I swore so much, and even showering was such a task! What the hell was going on?
I packed a bag with some difficulty, and as I was to find out later, life is very tough when you can't feel anything. Still, I put the rest of my stuff in the hostel storage room, and went to check in at the sailing shop; however, as soon as I walked in I burst into tears and explained to the very kind women all of the strange things that had started happening to me. Whilst I insisted I would still be fine to sail for two days and two nights, I did agree to get a doctors appointment, and I even scrounged a lift off the husband of one of the receptionists.
Feeling like I was making a fuss over nothing, I walked into the doctors surgery apprehensive and confused. It turns out I had no need to worry as the doctor assured me after a 'full neurological exam' (that took less than five minutes) that I was surely just suffering from 'stress and anxiety'. Now, I did try to explain that as a backpacker, the biggest worry I'd had the last two weeks was what I was going to do when my mascara ran out and whether or not to spend $5 on a hat. I was definitely not stressed. Still, I felt reassured so I left the surgery and hitched a ride back into town.
I picked up some supplies for the boat trip, in the form of goon and a six pack of cider, and started walking to the harbour. This ended up being a fairly arduous journey for my arms still felt strangely heavy, as if packed with lead, and we all know goon is no light weight. I feel here I should perhaps clarify the term 'goon'. It was first bought to my attention during my travels in New Zealand a few years before; apparently 'If you can finish a whole goon you're a man' (terribly sexist but there we go). It is basically a box of wine or perhaps a pre-mixed vodka, the equivalent of 21 drinks. Once you have finished your goon you can blow up the foil bag and use it as a pillow, which is often necessary after its consumption.
Anyway, I made it to the boat and got talking to everyone and merry times were had. I ended up discussing my numbness with a very lovely Norwegian couple and a German guy, and the general consensus was that I had a trapped nerve in my back. Plausible. When I awoke the next morning feeling pretty much the same, this explanation made more sense so I began to look forward to the day ahead.
We split into two groups and got dropped off on Whitehaven beach, one of the many small and stunning islands that make up the Whitsundays. We started on our way to one of the lookouts but I soon fell behind. I believe this is the first moment I got scared; walking was hard. I was struggling to walk up the path stairs but I was determined to make it and eventually I reached the top where everyone else was waiting. The view was spectacular, and if I had been feeling normal I would've been grinning like a cat. Instead I did my best to get some photos, whilst the girl behind me was moaning that we had to be up so early. I wanted to scream 'I can hardly walk and we are in one of the most beautiful places in the world and you're moaning because your tired! What is wrong with you?!' That is something I really despise in travellers; there you are seeing something wonderful and they're complaining because they haven't had their morning coffee or a shower. Crazy.
We then walked across the whitest sand I've ever seen, but we walked so far I was genuinely worried that I wouldn't be able to make it back. At this stage I had to ask one of the girls to tie up my hair because my arms just wouldn't lift that high. In hindsight alarm bells should've been ringing...it's not every day you find it hard to walk and your toes and fingers go numb. But I'd seen a doctor and he said I'd be fine! Lucky for me the Captain moved the boat our side of the island so after a long rest whilst everyone else explored (and after a shallow swim in my stinger suit...I wasn't missing out!) I made it back to the boat with everyone else.
That afternoon we had the chance to snorkel the reef; how many opportunities would I have to do this in my life? I donned my stinger suit and got in with the help of a float and some flippers and saw some truly awesome fish. Big ones, small ones, electric blue ones, many that didn't even look like fish. It was great, and being in the water I felt weightless, a sweet relief after feeling more and more like my body had been possessed by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Then I had to get back to the boat. Shit. I was flipping my flippers as hard as a could but my weakened limbs couldn't handle the current. Crap! Thankfully the Captain saw me and got Liam, the guy in charge of us, to collect me in his raft and I weakly held onto the sides whilst he towed me back. The Captain had to practically drag me up the ladder.
That night, try as I did to join in the fun, I went to bed at 8am. I had a feeling goon was going to help me no more. By this stage I couldn't even turn off the light in my cabin as it was too high, and I was afraid. A fretful nights sleep ensued, and I had those really annoying dreams where I needed to pack and move things but couldn't quite move my body. I was unaware at this point how close to reality these dreams would be...I'd have preferred it if my dream of turning into a polar bear catching fish had come true, but what can you do?
I called my parents the next day and they gave me the second best piece of advise they'd ever given, the first being 'Never turn down an invite!' This time it was simple. 'Go to hospital'.
Another couple I'd made friends with during this voyage had a camper van and very generously drove me to Proserpine Hospital pretty much as soon as we got off the boat. I thanked them and walked into the emergency department. Well, I stumbled, as my legs were behaving worse than the time I attempted a yard glass of vodka, and a nurse half carried me straight to a bed.
Surely they'd quickly exam me, decide a drip of antibiotics would do the trick and then I'd be merrily on my way. Instead they examined me, went away whispering and then Dr Tracy said this...'We're worried'.
After checking into my hostel, with a surprisingly nice room, I briefly went online and had a cheeky search at some of the symptoms I was experiencing. Hmm...perhaps it's vitamin deficiency! After all, one cannot live off 'Fantastic Chicken Flavoured Noodles' (occasionally beef flavoured if I was going really crazy) alone; and somewhere I'd read online that pins and needles could be a lack of the correct vitamins. I went out and bought some milk, fruit and chocolate, although admittedly I doubted the chocolate would help. After munching down in my room I fell asleep soon after. The next morning was...stressful.
I was planning to sail the Whitsundays, but when I awoke I felt pretty horrendous. To save money I'd been sleeping in my daily contact lenses and my eyes felt awful, and as I went to take them out I realised my arms were a bit heavy; because I had no sensation in my fingertips it was a bloody mission to get them out. The girl getting ready next to me surely thought I had Tourette's I swore so much, and even showering was such a task! What the hell was going on?
I packed a bag with some difficulty, and as I was to find out later, life is very tough when you can't feel anything. Still, I put the rest of my stuff in the hostel storage room, and went to check in at the sailing shop; however, as soon as I walked in I burst into tears and explained to the very kind women all of the strange things that had started happening to me. Whilst I insisted I would still be fine to sail for two days and two nights, I did agree to get a doctors appointment, and I even scrounged a lift off the husband of one of the receptionists.
Feeling like I was making a fuss over nothing, I walked into the doctors surgery apprehensive and confused. It turns out I had no need to worry as the doctor assured me after a 'full neurological exam' (that took less than five minutes) that I was surely just suffering from 'stress and anxiety'. Now, I did try to explain that as a backpacker, the biggest worry I'd had the last two weeks was what I was going to do when my mascara ran out and whether or not to spend $5 on a hat. I was definitely not stressed. Still, I felt reassured so I left the surgery and hitched a ride back into town.
I picked up some supplies for the boat trip, in the form of goon and a six pack of cider, and started walking to the harbour. This ended up being a fairly arduous journey for my arms still felt strangely heavy, as if packed with lead, and we all know goon is no light weight. I feel here I should perhaps clarify the term 'goon'. It was first bought to my attention during my travels in New Zealand a few years before; apparently 'If you can finish a whole goon you're a man' (terribly sexist but there we go). It is basically a box of wine or perhaps a pre-mixed vodka, the equivalent of 21 drinks. Once you have finished your goon you can blow up the foil bag and use it as a pillow, which is often necessary after its consumption.
Anyway, I made it to the boat and got talking to everyone and merry times were had. I ended up discussing my numbness with a very lovely Norwegian couple and a German guy, and the general consensus was that I had a trapped nerve in my back. Plausible. When I awoke the next morning feeling pretty much the same, this explanation made more sense so I began to look forward to the day ahead.
We split into two groups and got dropped off on Whitehaven beach, one of the many small and stunning islands that make up the Whitsundays. We started on our way to one of the lookouts but I soon fell behind. I believe this is the first moment I got scared; walking was hard. I was struggling to walk up the path stairs but I was determined to make it and eventually I reached the top where everyone else was waiting. The view was spectacular, and if I had been feeling normal I would've been grinning like a cat. Instead I did my best to get some photos, whilst the girl behind me was moaning that we had to be up so early. I wanted to scream 'I can hardly walk and we are in one of the most beautiful places in the world and you're moaning because your tired! What is wrong with you?!' That is something I really despise in travellers; there you are seeing something wonderful and they're complaining because they haven't had their morning coffee or a shower. Crazy.
We then walked across the whitest sand I've ever seen, but we walked so far I was genuinely worried that I wouldn't be able to make it back. At this stage I had to ask one of the girls to tie up my hair because my arms just wouldn't lift that high. In hindsight alarm bells should've been ringing...it's not every day you find it hard to walk and your toes and fingers go numb. But I'd seen a doctor and he said I'd be fine! Lucky for me the Captain moved the boat our side of the island so after a long rest whilst everyone else explored (and after a shallow swim in my stinger suit...I wasn't missing out!) I made it back to the boat with everyone else.
That afternoon we had the chance to snorkel the reef; how many opportunities would I have to do this in my life? I donned my stinger suit and got in with the help of a float and some flippers and saw some truly awesome fish. Big ones, small ones, electric blue ones, many that didn't even look like fish. It was great, and being in the water I felt weightless, a sweet relief after feeling more and more like my body had been possessed by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Then I had to get back to the boat. Shit. I was flipping my flippers as hard as a could but my weakened limbs couldn't handle the current. Crap! Thankfully the Captain saw me and got Liam, the guy in charge of us, to collect me in his raft and I weakly held onto the sides whilst he towed me back. The Captain had to practically drag me up the ladder.
That night, try as I did to join in the fun, I went to bed at 8am. I had a feeling goon was going to help me no more. By this stage I couldn't even turn off the light in my cabin as it was too high, and I was afraid. A fretful nights sleep ensued, and I had those really annoying dreams where I needed to pack and move things but couldn't quite move my body. I was unaware at this point how close to reality these dreams would be...I'd have preferred it if my dream of turning into a polar bear catching fish had come true, but what can you do?
I called my parents the next day and they gave me the second best piece of advise they'd ever given, the first being 'Never turn down an invite!' This time it was simple. 'Go to hospital'.
Another couple I'd made friends with during this voyage had a camper van and very generously drove me to Proserpine Hospital pretty much as soon as we got off the boat. I thanked them and walked into the emergency department. Well, I stumbled, as my legs were behaving worse than the time I attempted a yard glass of vodka, and a nurse half carried me straight to a bed.
Surely they'd quickly exam me, decide a drip of antibiotics would do the trick and then I'd be merrily on my way. Instead they examined me, went away whispering and then Dr Tracy said this...'We're worried'.
Monday 22 October 2012
Numb
Life was sweet. After working as a waitress for six months in Mandurah, Western Australia, I was finally travelling alone. Forty three days of hiking, beautiful scenery, adventure and of course the inevitable consumption of goon. Then back to England for two weeks with my family and friends, on to Nepal to do Base Camp Everest, travel India with two of my best friends and finally fly out of Sri Lanka three months later. Yup, life was sweet. And then my toe went numb.
I was on the Greyhound bus on my way to Mission Beach after a mental week in Cairns (involving the aforementioned goon, swimming in lakes and down waterfalls, meeting a bunch of cliche travellers etc etc) when I became aware of a numbness in my little right toe. Odd, but I wasn't concerned...I was backpacking so I had no worries! As soon as I got to my cute little hostel I jumped in the pool and went to explore the beach, and by 'explore' I mean I found the beach, lathered myself in sun cream and slept like a king. When I awoke I realised all the toes in my right foot were numb. I went back to my hostel and had a chat with the receptionists to see if they had any advice or had heard of this before. After all, this is Australia, everything here can bloody kill you. But no, we all agreed it was weird but probably nothing to worry about; I mean, I could still wiggle my toes so all good.
I went to bed that night pretty chilled, until I woke around 2am and realised all of the toes in my left foot had gone numb as well. Shit! I leapt out of bed and found the obligatory couple all hostels have, making out on the couch with South Park blaring out in the background. 'Help! I'm trying not to freak out but all my toes are numb and I'm alone and I don't know what to do and I'm sorry to interrupt but fuck what's going on!?' Turns out they were German. 'Huh?' I went back to bed.
The next morning I jumped up, put on my runners and went straight outside for a jog. Believe me, this is not normal behaviour! My jogging tends to be the sweaty, red faced and gasping for breath kinda jog; not anything like those women who run with their swishy neat ponytails, serene half smiles and of course those ridiculously pert, unmoving breasts...I mean, come on, who are these women!? Anyway, back to the jog. As I was 'running' to try and kick back the feeling in my toes, I realised my left hand had started to tingle and numb as well. Never have I ran so fast, desperate to get back to the hostel to talk to someone. The kind female receptionist from the day before drove me to the nearest pharmacy (I was backpacking and was not going to shell out 80 bucks for a doctor!). The pharmacist listened to my, then tearful, concerns. He smiled at me and explained that this was probably an allergic reaction to something and if I took some anti-histamines I'd be just fine. Relief flooded through me. Of course! Why didn't I think of that?
Later that day I went out and bought six cheap Dutch beers in celebration; although I felt exactly the same and in fact my right hand was starting to go numb as well, I was sure all would be well and surely beer was nothing but a great idea. I had a really fun night with people in the hostel but decided to have an early one to get well and ensure I woke up in time for my bus. I had been in bed for five minutes when Jakes, a 6ft 6" Swede, came over to my bed and said 'Tarsha, do your want to go to the beach and make a bonfire?' Erm, yes! We gathered essential supplies (beer, blankets, guitar etc) and strolled to the beach. Now whilst the fire making failed it was a warm night, so we sat amicably under a night full of shooting stars chatting away like old friends. Jokes were made about my lack of sensation in my fingers and toes, for now everything was completely numb, but we hadn't a care. As the sun rose we toyed with the idea of skinny dipping...Jakes had an infected leg, so was I just going to do it alone? Sod it! I stripped and ran straight for the sea, feeling free and hopeful; perhaps the combination of sun rise and salt water and joy alone would heal me! Unfortunately as soon as I swam in I saw a ginormous crab and ran straight back out, but still, it felt good.
That morning I clamoured onto my bus to Airlie Beach, euphoric from such a fun night. Yes I was alone and this numb business was odd, but I was sure it was nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong I was...
I was on the Greyhound bus on my way to Mission Beach after a mental week in Cairns (involving the aforementioned goon, swimming in lakes and down waterfalls, meeting a bunch of cliche travellers etc etc) when I became aware of a numbness in my little right toe. Odd, but I wasn't concerned...I was backpacking so I had no worries! As soon as I got to my cute little hostel I jumped in the pool and went to explore the beach, and by 'explore' I mean I found the beach, lathered myself in sun cream and slept like a king. When I awoke I realised all the toes in my right foot were numb. I went back to my hostel and had a chat with the receptionists to see if they had any advice or had heard of this before. After all, this is Australia, everything here can bloody kill you. But no, we all agreed it was weird but probably nothing to worry about; I mean, I could still wiggle my toes so all good.
I went to bed that night pretty chilled, until I woke around 2am and realised all of the toes in my left foot had gone numb as well. Shit! I leapt out of bed and found the obligatory couple all hostels have, making out on the couch with South Park blaring out in the background. 'Help! I'm trying not to freak out but all my toes are numb and I'm alone and I don't know what to do and I'm sorry to interrupt but fuck what's going on!?' Turns out they were German. 'Huh?' I went back to bed.
The next morning I jumped up, put on my runners and went straight outside for a jog. Believe me, this is not normal behaviour! My jogging tends to be the sweaty, red faced and gasping for breath kinda jog; not anything like those women who run with their swishy neat ponytails, serene half smiles and of course those ridiculously pert, unmoving breasts...I mean, come on, who are these women!? Anyway, back to the jog. As I was 'running' to try and kick back the feeling in my toes, I realised my left hand had started to tingle and numb as well. Never have I ran so fast, desperate to get back to the hostel to talk to someone. The kind female receptionist from the day before drove me to the nearest pharmacy (I was backpacking and was not going to shell out 80 bucks for a doctor!). The pharmacist listened to my, then tearful, concerns. He smiled at me and explained that this was probably an allergic reaction to something and if I took some anti-histamines I'd be just fine. Relief flooded through me. Of course! Why didn't I think of that?
Later that day I went out and bought six cheap Dutch beers in celebration; although I felt exactly the same and in fact my right hand was starting to go numb as well, I was sure all would be well and surely beer was nothing but a great idea. I had a really fun night with people in the hostel but decided to have an early one to get well and ensure I woke up in time for my bus. I had been in bed for five minutes when Jakes, a 6ft 6" Swede, came over to my bed and said 'Tarsha, do your want to go to the beach and make a bonfire?' Erm, yes! We gathered essential supplies (beer, blankets, guitar etc) and strolled to the beach. Now whilst the fire making failed it was a warm night, so we sat amicably under a night full of shooting stars chatting away like old friends. Jokes were made about my lack of sensation in my fingers and toes, for now everything was completely numb, but we hadn't a care. As the sun rose we toyed with the idea of skinny dipping...Jakes had an infected leg, so was I just going to do it alone? Sod it! I stripped and ran straight for the sea, feeling free and hopeful; perhaps the combination of sun rise and salt water and joy alone would heal me! Unfortunately as soon as I swam in I saw a ginormous crab and ran straight back out, but still, it felt good.
That morning I clamoured onto my bus to Airlie Beach, euphoric from such a fun night. Yes I was alone and this numb business was odd, but I was sure it was nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong I was...
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