Isn’t it funny how something small can make such a huge impact? For around 2 years I experienced intense, intermittent, sharp, abdominal pain and diarrhea. Over the course of those two years I saw numerous doctors and even sought treatment at the emergency room a couple of times. Despite examinations and a colonoscopy showing abnormal findings, I was advised to reduce stress as the cause was most likely IBS due to anxiety.
I thought to myself “could I be anxious?” Well, sure. I just started a new job as a nurse in a cardiology practice, I had a lot to learn and master there. I just started becoming pretty ill with Dysautonomia, but at the time my doctors were still searching for answers for its cause. So even though I was angry with what I was told, I just carried on. Perhaps it was all in my head.
For years I would have these episodes of pain. So much pain that I can recall the foods I ate prior to experiencing such- roasted red peppers, Hershey’s bars, pizza, broccoli rabe, pizza, more pizza. I love pizza. Not a single doctor advised me to alter my diet. Not a single doctor really did much more than tell me I was an anxious person in perfect health and promptly leave the room.
So, because I was told it was all from anxiety I did the best thing I could at the time, I went to cognitive behavioral therapy and started taking Prozac. Both methods of treatment are great, however they never got to the root of my issue as it was a different organ which was malfunctioning.
About two years later I was still not recovered and actually experiencing pain so often that I continued to work right through the episodes. I was the only nurse in my department at the office I worked in, and as I had recently transferred to the position, I did my best to not miss any time due to illness when possible. All through training I was in agonizing pain, probably brought on from eating fatty treats with my coworkers. On the last day that I experienced the pain I tolerated it for 5 hours straight, saw patients, and worked right through it. I even bought lunch for my medical assistant. I asked to leave 15 minutes early to go home from “probably eating something bad for lunch.”
I finally had some relief when I got home for around 20 minutes until it started again. Something deep inside me flashed that this was an emergency and that I needed care immediately. Now, I’ve worked through intense SVT episodes, lack of oxygen perfusion and several other issues which would warrant a trip to emergency services on their own but never had I experienced that inner voice which screamed something was wrong. The pain was so intense that it warped my perception of reality- I’ve never experienced anything like that and I hope to never again. I do not remember my ride to the emergency room, but I know my husband drove me there. I do not remember telling the staff I thought I was having a heart attack, that I am a cardiology patient, and it was “finally happening,” but I remember the intense epigastric pain which radiated to my chest and left arm.
Then I met the nurse practitioner that ended this journey. She listened to me. She heard the agony in my voice and thoroughly examined me. And honestly, checking a gallbladder isn’t very time consuming or hard to do at all. The Murphy’s sign is performed by placing pressure on the organ and rebound tenderness (me shouting) upon its release indicates gallbladder issues. It is often followed by an ultrasound or CT scan. I am endlessly indebted to her skill, compassion, and patience. She is the sole reason I was referred to surgery to end my pain. Not only did she help with my chief complaint, but she asked me what she could do to support my Dysautonomia while I was in the emergency room and once I returned home before surgery. She stated she thought that POTS was just a cover for anxiety until her friend became so ill with the condition that she could no longer practice medicine, acknowledged that most doctors thought she was “crazy,” and that many doctors probably brush my health concerns aside as well.
5 weeks later my gallbladder was removed and I felt immediate relief waking from anesthesia. I have no recurrent symptoms.
The actions of my nurse practitioner in the emergency room changed my life. I got IV fluids, nausea medication, and pain medication because I asserted myself and stated that I needed them. And my needs were met. Never before had I demanded my health was addressed appropriately, although she did not require such verbiage with her diligence. I always took thorough patient history and listened to my own patients, you don’t earn the nickname “the therapist” from the other nursing staff for not doing so, but my sense of duty was renewed because of her. When met with a defeated patient I listened more effectively, I taught them the value of explaining symptoms with as much detail as possible, and I advocated harder.
Isn’t it funny how actions so small such as performing a Murphy’s Sign changed both my health and improved my nursing approach?
Dysautonomia Daze 