So, I had a test on Monday to finally, definitively prove that I have gastroparesis, rather than simply having a diagnosis of exclusion. I got the tentative results today, and that they’re that my digestion does seem to indeed be a bit slow. That’s fine. I was hoping maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t turn out that way, but that’s okay. However, then the nurse said she needed to talk to the doctor about something, to double-check the test. Never a good sign.
Reglan is a drug for treating gastroparesis, and not a reason or this particular reaction all by itself. I was going to look into the option of drugs as a last ditch option. However, Reglan is the one and only drug I have found online for this condition that had a universal response of “OMG WTF HOLYSHIT DON’T DO IT!” Why, you ask? Not only because it usually doesn’t seem to help, but also because of this little side note on this drug, courtesy of the U.S. National Library of Medicine :
“Receiving metoclopramide injection may cause you to develop a muscle problem called tardive dyskinesia. If you develop tardive dyskinesia, you will move your muscles, especially the muscles in your face in unusual ways. You will not be able to control or stop these movements. Tardive dyskinesia may not go away even after you stop receiving metoclopramide injection. The longer you receive metoclopramide injection , the greater the risk that you will develop tardive dyskinesia. Therefore, your doctor will probably tell you not to receive metoclopramide injection for longer than 12 weeks. The risk that you will develop tardive dyskinesia is also greater if you are taking medications for mental illness, if you have diabetes, or if you are elderly, especially if you are a woman.”
Now, I’m not elderly, but the simple fact I have XX chromosomes is clearly a risk factor, as well as the fact that I’m bonkers (especially if I ever need to go back on meds again). Uncontrollable tics? I fucking flail and twitch enough, you goddamn bastards, I don’t need any fucking help. In short, go fuck yourself and your dangerous, debilitating drug. One of the few things I like about myself on the outside is my face, and that’s not even all the time. I’ll be goddamned if you take my fucking food, my sense of normalcy in life, and what little I can occasionally like about myself with it. Go to hell. Go to hell and fucking die.
Thus, I’m in the market for a nutritionist. If any of you know good resources for such things, please do hit me up with some linkage. The regularly scheduled blogging, rather than the “boo hoo, I’m sick” diary will start back up soon.