Weak

Waking up after my first nights sleep in Townsville Hospital I had a chance to really think about what was happening to me. It was Monday morning, I had strange tingly numb sensations in my hands and feet, I could hardly lift my arms and walking was a struggle. I admit, I felt sorry for myself. I remember thinking about my family and how worried they would be; and the chance that whatever was happening could get worse and I could even stop breathing...I couldn't quite take it all in.

I felt sick from fear and turned down an uninspiring breakfast of cornflakes. And then suddenly the day started. Four neurological doctors closed the curtains around my bed and began to introduce themselves, doctors that I would quickly become familiar with.
The thorough exam that they then conducted that day and there after many times a day for the first few weeks, became something that I knew backwards. They would start with my arms most times, seeing how high I could lift them, how well I could flex from wrist to elbow, how tight my grip was as I squeezed their fingers. On day one, I could still lift my arms off the bed by a few inches, however my grip was incredibly weak and my wrist to elbow flex had no control; my arm would flop inwards towards my torso.

They would then move down to my legs to see if I could bend and lift them, which again I could do at this stage, albeit with much effort and little strength. I remember being pleased that I could still wriggle my toes, although pushing my feet into their hands and then pulling them up towards my body was a massive chore. One of the doctors carried out the tests the others would be making notes. I was baffled by the way they recorded the results with numbers and words I didn't understand, although I would begin to understand their scoring system as the week continued (believe me when I say it was not as simple as 10 being strong and 1 being weak!)

The next step would be to use the reflex hammer. Still no sign of any reflexes in my arms or legs. The doctors murmured. They then used the pointed end of the 'hammer' to scrape the sole of my foot; could I feel that? Yes, but faintly, as if through layers and layers of thick skin. "Natasha, we believe that you are suffering from Guillain-Barré Syndrome but we need to do some further tests. GBS is a disorder that affects the nervous system and causes temporary paralysis. Your respiratory muscles can be attacked which is why you must tell us straight away if you find it hard to breathe or swallow.' I'd heard this the day before but it still didn't make any sense to me. I desperately wanted someone with me who could comfort me and tell me I'd be okay.

The doctors continued to explain more about GBS and asked me if I had been ill prior to experiencing these sensations, as it is usually caused by a viral infection, even something as simple as a cold can trigger GBS. The strange thing in my case is that I was not unwell before my toe went numb. I had no cold, no fever, no sickness. Each case of GBS is unique and there is still a lot unknown about what actually causes it, but to not be ill beforehand was unusual.
They explained that in the afternoon they would do a lumber puncture to test the fluid in my spine to help confirm their diagnosis. I welled up. I'd heard and read of the term 'lumber puncture' before and it was another thing to worry about.

That day I saw so many different people and repeated my symptoms a million times over. Time was doing that strange thing where it speeds up and suddenly it was time for the lumber puncture. Thankfully I had two nurses to hold my hands and distract me as I was manoeuvred into a foetal position. Two of the doctors I'd met earlier were back and one explained that he was going to inject me with a local anaesthetic into my lower spine which would numb the area. I whimpered "Please distract me" to my nurses, and they reassuringly chatted about this and that, their children and their normal lives, something that already felt far from my new reality.

After the anaesthetic I was told another needle was going in to try and get some of the fluid out. It didn't work. He pushed the needle in further and I could feel a dull pressure, stabs of pain and I began to cry. "I'm sorry Natasha, we're going to have to get you to curl up as tight as you can and we're going to have to numb the area and start again". I tried to be as brave as I could be, feeling like a small child. He started again. For what felt like a long time he poked and pushed into my spine until I heard him say it was working and the fluid was coming; I was so relieved when it was over and I had the sweet relief of morphine injected into me. Unbeknown to me at the time, that would not be the only lumber puncture I was to have that week.

As the day continued I progressively got weaker, and from being able to walk with assistance to the toilet, I could only do a stand transfer to a toilet chair. I didn't know that this was to be the last day I was able to stand for five weeks. Pain that had been hovering in the background began to breakthrough; the tingling in my hands began to burn cold, again a sensation that would strengthen over those coming weeks.

That night I was told the fluid taken from the lumber puncture could not confirm the diagnosis of GBS, however they were going to start treatment that very evening as if it was this as it could do no harm to begin. They hooked me up to begin administering intravenous immunoglobulins (IVIg) which would neutralise harmful antibodies and effectively stop the GBS from spreading further. I was told to expect to get physically worse despite the beginning of this - they were right.

I went to sleep that night focusing on one saving grace...the next day, my Dad would arrive.