The Stomach

Christmas came and went smoothly, though it was a somber time. We got up early on Christmas Day and opened presents. I made eggs benedict as usual. Around 8 AM, Trent received a message from Kayla saying. “Merry Christmas, I love you, I miss you, and I wish I was there.” He told me about it later that day, and I asked, “Well, why isn’t she here?” He shrugged and replied, “I don’t know, why isn’t she?” We both shrugged our shoulders and carried on with Christmas Day.

Christmas turned into New Year's, and New Year's was quiet. I was having constant issues with my stomach, excessive bloating and nausea. It would come on sporadically—I'd be ready to go to my cardiac rehab class, and boom, there it was again. I'd be sitting on the couch, all ready to go, killing time and couldn’t go anywhere. I kept asking my doctor what was going on, but no one had any answers. I started wondering if maybe, all of a sudden, I was becoming sensitive to certain foods, gluten? I was in my 50's and maybe my body was changing. I had major surgery. Maybe I can't eat the same things anymore, so I started making a list of things I had eaten before the ballooning happened and eliminated them.

February 2024, I noticed one random day that I had packed on a lot of weight over the past few months—at least 40-50 pounds—clothes were tight and it was making the stomach situation, the ballooning worse than I felt it could’ve been—extra pounds makes everything worse when it comes to overall health. When I went to my doctor to address some of these concerns—she told me the Gabapentin causes weight gain.

I’ve been taking Gabapentin pretty regularly since September. Gabapentin slows your metabolism down. Among other things like enhanced fat storage, fluid retention and challenges with exercise. Yay, now I’m 50 pounds heavier with a protruding stomach and I can’t even get to the fucking gym—cardiac rehab. 

Every day, I felt like a bag of shit! The only thing consistent or constant in my life during that dark time outside of all the medical issues randomly popping up was my eyelash extensions. My lash girl, Shy. She was coming to my house consistently every two weeks. It may sound vain, but the rewards for me, having my lashes done, were intrinsic. It helped in a big way with my very low self-esteem, the loss of my identity and the depression I had fallen into. Not to mention, Shy is funny as fuck! She gets it, she’s an old soul. Always made me laugh, and if it wasn’t that, she would say something that made me feel seen. I looked forward to seeing Shy, she was therapeutic for me.

It wasn’t until recently that I started thinking: That’s what it must’ve been like to be under me, my tools, no doubt about it! I had a bond with several of my clients, and I always thought it was because I was just being me. Realizing now, yes, it was me just being me but it was also how I made them feel: heard, seen. It’s a big fucking deal!

The medication that was issued to me when I left the hospital post surgery was in the form of a blister pack. All of my heart medication was in the blister pack, and then I had four or five other bottles of pills on the side that I had to take at random times throughout the day.

Sometime in January, I took my dose out of the blister pack one day and noticed it looked different in my hand. Something was off. There were two halves of one drug in one blister. I figured out it was a beta blocker that had been mistakenly doubled up. I called the pharmacy and asked, "Hey, what’s going on? There’s an error with my medication in the blister pack." The pharmacy had switched owners, and my blister pack got fucked up.

I spoke to the original owner, who was helping the new guy with the transition. That pharmacy had been great up until then—I’d been using them for over 20 years. He apologized and explained the situation.

A few weeks later, I looked at my hand again, and a different pill was doubled up—this time, it was the blood thinner. So I was like, "What in the actual fuck is going on?!" I switched pharmacies.

The pharmacy I switched to? Within two weeks, I noticed my halves weren’t in half—they were whole pills across the board—blood thinners! I fucking lost it! I had explained why I was switching pharmacies when I started with them, that being my pills in the blister pack being all fucked up!

It turned out those two pharmacy owners were related—brothers—and retiring. The new owner of my usual pharmacy was the same owner of the one that was fucking up my blister packs, the one I had just switched to. The third time, the fucking guy, new owner didn’t even believe me—he legit came to my door that day to apologize, and he wanted to see it for himself. There ya go buddy—ta daaa!

Everyone had the misconception that I was delusional heavily medicated, was the term I heard, and for a time there, I was. But by mid-January 2024, I was awake! Fully aware of what the fuck was going on around me. I was tuned in like a two-year-old left to entertain himself on his mama’s phone!

Funny how, when I was in a fucked-up mental state—a delirium for months—some people never seemed to notice. But as soon as I was on the ball, they started questioning it.

That was 10 months post surgery. Could you imagine coming out of open-heart surgery all doped up on Hydromorophone and your pharmacy was fucking up your daily dosage! I remember the nurse in the hospital explaining my medication to me as I was being discharged. However, I was in a mental state, a full blown delirium. The words were going in like Charlie Brown—whomp whomp whomp! I just saw the weekdays and the blisters, popped them, took them and took the others from the pill bottles as needed. Time, my watch was my best friend. Two of those medications in the bottles were antibiotics and Aspirin for the swelling in my chest; take 2-4 times a day until they ran out, that was easy enough. 

I never looked at the labels, the instructions, not once. I wasn’t capable of comprehending more than what was already thrown at me, I was going home with an infected wound, in airplane mode. I knew I was to pop one blister open in the morning and take another dose—pop open the other blister with the day of the week marked on it, 12 hours apart. Oh, and to—”Take with food.” 

Before that, my medication was sorted at the hospital and given to me in a cuplet by the nurse as directed. I didn’t have to think about it.

That life was all new to me and I wasn’t mentally stable in April—not at all—and not for months after to be properly on top of it. It’s a fucking wonder that I happened to look at my hand that day and notice an extra pill, the half.

In life, some people are like, “Trust the process!” Sometimes, you are the fucking process—your interception! Being on top of your shit, vigilant and proactive when it comes to YOUR health, because, believe you me, nobody cares more about your health than you do or should!

After they fucked it up three times. I said, "No more fucking blister packs for me—just give me my meds, all of them. I’ll figure it out, I’ll deal with it myself." I remember that day like it was yesterday. That’s when I pulled up my fucking socks and started emerging into whom I was to become.

Twice a month, I play pharmacist!

I started researching every single drug I was on—what it does, why I’m on it, and what its side effects are. I started reading up on all of it. That whole entire year, 2024, was all about health and history for me—learning. I was Googling everything and pretty much diagnosing myself as I went along with all the issues that were popping up. Because, just like with my eyes, all the things that were falling apart or changing with me had the doctors dumbfounded. They’d never heard of any of these issues.

My family doctor—I can understand she’s not a heart surgeon or a cardiologist—but I’m the only one, after heart surgery, with multiple issues? Issues that nobody’s ever heard of before?! I certainly couldn’t have been the very first person to experience all of this shit. Or was I? I find that highly unlikely!

I’d get one thing under control, and boom, some other shit was going on.

At some point along the pharmaceutical journey between September and January, there was a miscommunication between my cardiologist and my family doctor with the dosage on file at the pharmacy with one of one of my medications, the Amiodarone—the toxic one. It was doubled up. I don’t know whose error it was—It didn’t matter, but I was on that double dose for about a month when my family doctor caught it, prior to when my stomach started doing its thing. I took that into consideration and thought maybe that’s what was causing my stomach to act up. I turned into a fucking sleuth!

The blood thinners were the reason for my constant headaches. I take two extra-strength Tylenol 2–4 times a day for headaches—sometimes they are wicked and Tylenol doesn’t cut it. The Amiodarone, as I’ve already explained earlier in the blog, is a heavy duty drug and pretty toxic. A lot of people can’t tolerate it, and I’m lucky I’m not one of them because, ultimately, it’s that drug that’s keeping my heart rate in check! The issues people primarily have with Amiodarone are respiratory. I wasn’t having respiratory issues, but what I was experiencing was major constipation, gas, my stomach ballooning out with pain, and nausea.

Nothing could be determined at that time by anyone. On the days I went to see my doctor, I wouldn’t have any symptoms.

At the same time my stomach was acting up, I was getting zapped in the chest, and that was also a major concern for me. I have implants, and if the wires were poking into me, the right implant was in danger. Something needed to be fixed. At times, the pain was excruciating. I had complained about this initially six weeks post-surgery, when the surgeon prescribed me Toradol for the pain and told me it would go away—and then again in September.

I had an ultrasound done in September and a mammogram. Nothing turned up, so we did it again in January. Still, nothing showed up.

By January, I was four CT scans, one MRI at least six echocardiograms, two ultrasounds, and two mammograms in! Surprised I wasn’t fucking glowing green!

Nobody knew what was happening with me, yet I was in fucking pain—with the stomach issues and the zapping. I kept Googling questions about the wires in my chest but got nowhere.

By March, my stomach was fully fucked. My chest was getting worse, and there was no relief in sight. The stomach issues started occurring more frequently and getting worse. My stomach became the priority, and the zapping had to go on the backburner. Gravol, Gas-X, Pepto—nothing helped.

One night, it was so bad I just said, "Fuck it," and went to Toronto General Emergency—again.

It was late at night, and outside of my health situation, I have to say it was another great experience. No students, no fucking about. They took me in right away and took good care of me. Having had open-heart surgery eight months prior to showing up at emergency kinda makes you a priority.

They did a CT scan, bloodwork, and I waited. The doctor came in shortly after my CT scan and pretty much told me that I had a perforated esophagus—a hole in my fucking stomach at the bottom of my esophagus—a peptic ulcer.

I have always had GERD; stomach acid issues and was already on medication for that— to keep it under control. 

That medication doubled. The ER doctor told me I had to go to my family doctor and get tested for H. pylori—a bacterial infection that commonly occurs with the ulcer. Why they couldn’t do that bloodwork at the hospital baffled me! It’s not something they’re set up for—it’s not an ER thing. I went home, changed and went straight to see my doctor as the day before turned into one very long ass day! Then there were concerns about whether the test was even covered or not. More delays. And straight up, after reading about that H. pylori shit, I wanted fucking antibiotics right then and there and it wasn’t happening!

My family doctor wasn’t in that day. I saw an assistant, a student, or a newbie—I hate that shit!!!

There should be a huge red flag on my file “NO STUDENTS” for me! I’ve been poked and prodded more than my fair share throughout my life— I just wanna know what the fuck is wrong, fix me and let me go home to heal. I have no interest in being fucking studied or observed while I’m in pain, by a newbie who has tunnel vision! I ain’t the one! It’s gonna be bad—for everyone involved because I’m not having it! 

They wouldn’t give me the antibiotics until the bloodwork came back, and it was a full seven days to get the H. pylori results. I wanted the antibiotics so at least I’d be seven days in—on the mend by the time the results came back as that shit takes months to heal. I was up all fucking night in pain and got nowhere!

I went upstairs to do the bloodwork in tears, and my stomach acted up. It was full-blown—I was nauseated and in pain. Turns out there were additional instructions required on the requisition that the student missed. The doctor overseeing my case—not the fucking student—came to the second floor where I was waiting and submitted it to reception on my behalf.

I thanked her very sincerely, in tears. They would have called my number and that would’ve been another roadblock I’d have to deal with—go back downstairs and wait some more. At that point in my physical healing journey, ANYONE who did anything like that to help me was a huge deal to me. I was alone on this medical journey, and it was taking a toll on me emotionally.

I went home and slept. Sitting around thinking I had that bacteria festering inside me was fucking with me mentally! I was grossed out! I stopped eating solids that fucking day— for six weeks. For six weeks, I would eat things like miso soup, applesauce, yogurt, fermented foods and smoothies, lots of smoothies containing all the things!

Everything was 4-6 ounce portions in a small ramekin bowl, sipped slowly 4-6 times a day. No, nobody told me to do that or suggested it. I have a daughter with Crohn's Disease—it seemed like the smart thing to do—give my innards a break.

Ironically a day or so after that day I had a social visit from my girlfriend Jen. Jen has all kinds of homeopathic knowledge and is well versed in Gut Heath. I didn't even know Gut Health was a thing until that day!! She put me on and if you don’t know about Gut Health, by the time you’re 50—ya better learn! That shit ain’t no joke! 

In my opinion, ANYONE taking a large amount of medication should be well aware of Gut Health! It should be a required info session taken before open-heart surgery. Proper diet and Gut Health are NOT the same! There’s a lot more to know when it comes to taking 7–10 different medications than just “Take with food!”

All that medication, along with my stomach acid, blew a fucking hole in my esophagus! I was grateful I didn’t contract the H. pylori bacterial infection that often comes with it. That shit is nasty!