Andrea will be interviewed on the BlogTalkRadio Cushing's Program on Wednesday, October 19 at 6:00PM
The Call-in number with questions or comments is (646) 200-0162
This interview will be archived at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/CushingsHelp and iTunes podcasts at http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/cushingshelp-cushie-chats/id350591438
From Andrea's bio: I first noticed something abnormal about my health in the summer of 2009, at age 23. I suddenly developed severe acne when I had had clear skin since I was a teenager, and I noticed more hair on my face and body than I was used to. In retrospect I realize that I’d also had bouts of weight gain, a buffalo hump and excessive sweating during my adolescent years, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
Around the same time I noticed the acne and hair growth, I also started putting on weight. I’d been on the thicker side for my height since childhood, so I decided to join Weight Watchers. Even though I was hungry a lot of the time, I stuck to the plan religiously and lost about a half pound per week. It was slow, but I was moving in the right direction so I stuck with it. I had bouts of fatigue throughout the process, but I would just assume that I needed to tinker with my diet – more protein, less protein, more fruit, less fruit, whatever. I tried a lot of different things, always focusing on getting adequate nutrition, but never had the energy that my Weight Watchers buddies seemed to have.
About six months later I finally went to my mom’s endocrinologist when I was visiting my parents in Texas. I was concerned that the acne and hair growth meant I had PCOS. All those tests came back normal, so the doctor gave me a 24 hour UFC just in case. It came back elevated, and she said I ought to follow up with an endocrinologist in New York where I live.
My next menstrual period didn’t come until 4 months later, and then they stopped completely.
My new endocrinologist in New York ordered more tests (you all know the drill). Over the next six months or so the 24 hour UFCs kept coming back high, salivary cortisols were normal or high, and one dexamethasone suppression test was kind of ambiguous. The doctor said that my urine volume was really high and might be screwing up the results, so I retested after limiting my fluid intake. That UFC came back normal, so I was instructed to follow up in six months.
As if on cue, the months following my normal UFC were great. For some reason I finally felt like I was bursting with energy. Beyond that, I had lost weight and even landed my dream job. At the time I assumed that the energy was from finally finding the right balance in my diet. The acne and hair growth were still there, but as far as I was concerned it was nothing that couldn’t be solved with some tweezers and makeup. Later I noticed in photos that even though I had lost weight, my face was much rounder than it had been before.
The nightmare began in January of 2011. I started feeling more anxious than usual. I began to cut more and more things out of my schedule because I didn’t feel like I had the mental energy to handle my normal workload. I had to take a Benadryl most nights to sleep. I started suffering from regular constipation for the first time in my life. My appetite increased markedly; I kept feeling less and less satisfied with my normal diet. I gave in and started rapidly gaining weight again.
After a particularly stressful week in February, I asked my mother to stay with me in New York for a little while, admitting that I had been feeling out of sorts. I figured I’d take a week off from work and just do fun stuff and I would be right back to normal.
The bouts of fatigue returned, this time so crushing that I didn’t even have the energy to make my own meals. I’ll never forget the day I attempted to go out for my morning jog, trying to convince myself that it was all “in my head,” and despite having plenty of cardiovascular and muscular strength, I could barely take a single step. I felt like the world had gotten bigger somehow, like I drank the shrinking potion from Alice in Wonderland.
At the same time, my appetite became so ravenous that I felt like I could gnaw my arm off 24/7. I also started feeling scatterbrained and having difficulty focusing. These were the beginnings of the cognitive symptoms that would prove to be the most debilitating of all.
My mother, god bless her eternally, suggested that the odd change in my mental state might have something to do with all those abnormal hormone levels from the prior year’s tests. I followed up with the endocrinologist again and had a very high 24 hour UFC. He ordered an MRI. My symptoms were getting worse, but my mom fatefully broke her foot and had to return to her home in Texas.
By the time March arrived I was so scatterbrained that I constantly felt drunk. Going to work was petrifying. My appetite was still insatiable.
Finally, the mood swings came. By “mood swings,” I don’t mean irritability. I mean that I became an ultra-ultra-rapidly cycling manic depressive. I would wake up at 3:30 in the morning giddy with energy, writing long, rambling e-mails to everyone I know, trying to go for a jog only to have to stop and dance to the music on my MP3 player in the middle of the Bronx. Then I would feel horrendously depressed mere hours later.
I could spend a lifetime attempting to describe the pain of bipolar depression. It is beyond despair. Take the icky feeling you might get with a cold or a flu and multiply it by a thousand. I was so distressed I felt like my brain was on fire. Like I had been poisoned. It would get so bad that I couldn’t speak. I vomited just from the discomfort. Once I went to the ER, desperate for relief. All my vitals were normal. They just let me ride it out, like I was having a bad drug trip. Later, I described these feelings to my roommate, who said she felt that exact feeling while going through narcotics withdrawal.
One of the most interesting aspects of this experience was that every time I got a migraine headache (which I've had periodically for most of my life), my depression would lift or I would get more manic. Note that if I had a choice, I would take a migraine every day of my life over the pain of severe depression.
I went to a psychiatrist, and much to my dismay, he told me I was not crazy. He gave me totally ineffective herbal mood-lifters and told me to go back to the endocrinologist. I started taking huge doses of caffeine in an attempt to take the edge off the low moods. It worked temporarily, but the feeling always returned. I ended up back in the ER after experiencing a lovely phenomenon called “sleep paralysis” (Google it) for two hours straight, which understandably gave me a panic attack. I was put on benzodiazepines, which prevented another panic attack but did nothing to make me more comfortable.
Some interminable time later, my endocrinologist called to inform me that I had a 5mm adenoma on my pituitary gland. I wept with relief and my family made immediate arrangements to take me to MD Anderson for surgery.
Maybe if I had read some of the bios on this site I would have anticipated what was to come. Cushing’s patients never have it that easy. In my scatter-brained, benzo-doped, manic-depressive stupor, I showed up at MD Anderson for…more tests. There, both a 24 hour UFC and dex/CRH test came back normal. A few things about the dex/CRH test were not administered as planned, but the in-house testing results combined with my still-normal bodyweight convinced MD Anderson that I did not have Cushing’s, and was simply a total nut case. They sent me on my way.
Finally I returned to my mom’s endocrinologist, the same woman who had had the foresight to give me my first 24 hour UFC. She ordered another round of tests and sent me to a wonderful psychiatrist who promised to do her best to make me feel better while we waited for a diagnosis. A litany of psychiatric medicines (mood stabilizers, sleeping pills, stimulants, antidepressants) would each work for a few days or a week and then wear off. Eventually the mood swings turned into a persistent, mind-numbing depression.
In retrospect, the benefit of having my mood fluctuate so violently earlier in my illness was that the depression didn’t have time to take hold of my thoughts. It was painful, yes, but I was able to fight the feelings of hopelessness and self-hatred with logic and positive self-talk. Later on I was not only completely miserable, but also came to believe that my misery would never end. I’m amazed I lived to tell the tale.
By midsummer I had a few more elevated 24 hour UFCs under my belt and had gained enough weight to look more “cushingoid.” This time I went to Methodist Hospital in Houston. The surgeon there agreed with my endocrinologists that I had pituitary Cushing’s, but disagreed that my MRI showed a defined adenoma. Again, Cushing’s patients never have it that easy. Luckily this surgeon was caring and proactive enough to order an IPSS and schedule me for surgery, though he warned me that it may not cure my depression. I asked for the surgeon to remove my entire pituitary gland in the event that he didn’t find a tumor.
August 23rd, 2011 was the day of my rebirth. I can attribute my euphoria in the week after the surgery to the strong pain meds I was on for the CSF drain, but by the time they were out of my system I was astounded to find that my mood and thinking were absolutely 100% normal. I can once again think, laugh, smile, sleep, taste, and enjoy the company of others. Within three weeks I had enough mental energy to resume working from home.
No tumor was found, so my entire gland was removed. No amount of hormone replacement in my future can dampen the joy of having my self back, permanently, with no fear of relapse. I’m not even fully recovered from surgery and I’m feeling better than I have in quite a long time. Even the constipation and acne are gone!
It's disorienting and traumatic to have essentially lived with a temporary form of bipolar disorder, only to be cured of it as suddenly as it began. I fancied myself knowledgeable about mental illness before this, but I know now that you just do not fully understand it until you feel it first-hand. Luckily it all feels like a distant memory now. There must be a natural sort of psychological distancing that occurs with a traumatic experience like that.
As I posted on the forums shortly after my surgery, for those of you who may have given up hope, keep fighting! Take it from me that there are better times ahead.