In 2011, I realized I had Cushing’s Syndrome. I was a 30 year old male with several complications: swollen feet, swollen legs, stomach looked 9 months pregnant, hair fell out, memory loss, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, diabetes, mood swings, depression, urination every hour during the night, bright pink stretch marks, etc.
After changing my doctors several times for misdiagnosis, I was finally tested for Cushing’s Disease/Syndrome. I contacted the National Institute of Health and doctors advised me to come in immediately. I survived 2 months living at NIH, while doctors ran several tests to determine if I had Cushing’s Disease or Cushing’s Syndrome. I had Cushing’s Syndrome and my tumor was found in my right adrenal gland.
After sucessful surgery, I did not have the energy to get out of the bed for almost a month. I was taking almost 10 pills per day including cortisol, high blood pressure medication, potassium, etc. I lost 40 pounds after surgery going from 208 pounds to 168 pounds and after 6 months, I was taken off all medication. I beat Cushing’s Syndrome and Diabetes!
Now, I am 32 years old. I am in great shape and finally got my life back. I do not have any complications. The only sign of Cushing’s Syndrome are the stretch marks and a scar from removing the tumor from my adrenal gland.
I just wanted to meet other people going through a bad disease and help out if possible. I am here if anyone has questions or just want to talk.
I am the mother of a young woman who has been ill for over fifteen years.
As a very young woman – at her 21st birthday and engagement party, she was a size ten and in very good health. She was a healthy child who grew up in a home where sound nutrition was practised. This is an endeavour she has carried into her own married life, leading a very healthy lifestyle and preferring organic food.
She has never smoked, drunk or used any illicit substance. She ought be very healthy.
Over the past few years she has been increasingly ill. Extreme fatigue, massive weight gain, in the upper body and around what used to be her waist. She has the classic moon face, with no distinguishable jawline or cheekbones. She has a great deal of fat around her neck and a defined ‘buffalo hump’.
She has had a variety of ‘tests’ done by conventional pracitioners, with a diagnosis of Poly Ovarian Cystic Syndrome. I believe she has Cushings and have encouraged her to seek alternative help. She has ‘given up’ on doctors as she feels as if she has been treated with disdain. She has a remarkably positive attitude and a husband who is very loving and supportive.
She does not have the ‘stretch marks’ of Cushings, but my understanding is that that is not a prerequisite. I have become increasingly concerned about her each time I visit, which is at times, with a few months between seeing her and cried all the way home after the last one, such is the increasing change I see in her.
I am concerned the outcome will be fatal and have finally encouraged her to see another doctor here. I want to take her to a doctor who is holistic in their attitude, something that seems hard to find.
She is now 40 and nearing the end of her potential child bearing time. I am sad for her that a misdiagnosis and frustration at achieving no result, will not only potentially be fatal, but that the goal of motherhood for her, can not be achieved.
No formal diagnosis yet. Self-diagnosis by overhwhelming clinical suspicion, including CT scan evidence of growing left adrenal adenoma.
Clueless endrocrinologist who has missed the diagnosis for the whole two years I have been consulting her, including missing an acute state caused by prescribed Prednisone that resulted in my being pushed into her office in a wheelchair. She didn’t even comment on that. :-O
I am booked in to see another endocrinologist in late January – the earliest appointment I could get. Meanwhile I have some fairly serious symptoms that are getting worse. I hope I make it to surgery.
Hi. I’m a patient of Dr. F and a member of the Cushing’s Help and Support FB community.
I have a pituitary microadenoma and am still doing all kinds of testing to see if it is active. I’ve gotten two clinically high indicative Cushing’s test results so far–midnight serum cortisol of 14 and 24 hour uring 17OHS of 11.5.
My story spands over 20 years and may sound familiar to many with Cushings who read this. The first clue came when I was diagnosed at 19 yrs old with a thyroid tumor. The tumor turned out to be both solid and cystic… Cushings is a cystic disease.
Shortly after my thyroid surgery, I developed difficulties with having regular menstrual cycle. I was diagnosed with PCOS… Cushings is a cystic disease.
In the following years, I went up and down with my weight until I finally was 80lbs over and unable to lose any; I slowly lost my hair; I developed stretch marks in my abdomen and chest area; and I developed hypertension, diabetes, and bad cholesterol problems at a young age. I went to my doctor for help and was told I just needed to lose weight.
My symptoms kept getting worse with time.
In July of 2003 changed jobs and was hired by Dr Johnny Delashaw, Neurosurgeon @OHSU. This was a day of blessings in more way than one. Accepting this position brought changes to my professional career and BIG changes to my life.
As part of my job, Dr Delashaw asked me to work with the Pituitary Diseases Clinic and Dr Bill Ludlam. I was more than happy and very enthusiastic as my professional background is in Internal Medicine.
In the beginning, I was interviewing patients to get them ready for surgery and I would also see them for their 2 week post-ops. Soon after that, I got involved in conducting endocrine testing with Dr Ludlam. This was my information gathering stage.
Not long after that, I came to the realization that I may have Cushings and the thought scared me. It took me a month or so to gather enough courage to talk to Dr Ludlam and discuss my fears. (If anyone out there knows Dr L, you know how funny my last statement is since he is the most kind and caring of doctors). He LISTENED to me and did not make me feel like a fraud. I felt legitimate.
We ran the tests and did the MRI and – BOOM – I had a very large pituitary tumor and high cortisol levels. I was surprised but then not surprised.
I have undergone 2 pituitary surgeries with the second one resulting in a complete hypophysectomy. Despite no pituitary, I continued to have symptoms along with high levels of ACTH and cortisol and eventually had a BLA in Sept 2004.
I struggled through withdrawals after my BLA but like a trooper, I returned to work within a month. Thank God I worked for Dr Delashaw who was very understanding. I was doing well for a few months but then in March 2005 I started to have symptoms again. Recent tests show ectopic cortisol production so now I’m waiting to go through the work-up to find the ectopic tissue.
I believe, as well as my doctors, that I’ve had Cushings for at least 20 years if not more. This disease has caused me to develop other conditions that increase my mortality and morbidity. Ironically, as I was going through Physician Assistant school… I jokingly (halfway) thought I had Cushings Disease as we studied it in class. I should have pursued it more but people with Cushings understand how this disease plays with one’s mind.
I am not sure when or if I will get over this disease, but I can tell you….
I am grateful… I am blessed… but most of all, I am hopeful…
Update December 12, 2013:
It’s been 10 years now since I had my “cure” for Cushings. I am one of those rare people who have had both a complete hypophysectomy and bilateral adrenalectomy. I have had my ups and downs over the years but can honestly say I am in a good place now both physically and mentally.
I just wanted people to know that I am back in the Pacific Northwest working at Swedish Neuroscience Institute with Dr. Johnny Delshaw again – the team is back! Please don’t hesitate to ask me questions. As a healthcare provider and patient, I can be honest with what to expect and I will do what I can to help you through it.
Many thanks to my family and friends who have put up with me and helped me while I rediscovered myself after Cushings. God Bless to all!
My Thanksgiving Day was less stressful this year than I thought it might be, because I had my head examined the day before at Johns Hopkins at about 9:30 in the morning. By 1:30 in the afternoon, my endocrinologist there, a metabolic bone specialist, had emailed me that I was the proud parent of a 0.7mm lesion on the right side of my pituitary gland. All day Tuesday I had performance anxiety because I feared that after six months of testing every liquid my body could produce for excessive cortisol, I had finally been given the green light to undergo the Holy Grail of tests and have a look-see at the Master Gland. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to come up with the goods, but I managed to produce, and now I’m being referred to a neurosurgeon.
It’s been a very long process, even though the testing has only been a six month part of it. In 2001, I broke my collar bone while playing tennis. Granted, I fell down, but it’s not like I made a Boris Becker leap for the ball or anything. Then in 2003, my first stress fracture, followed by another one in 2005. Then a crushed wrist on another tennis court mishap–my feet got tangled up when I was moving backward, and within a week, I was having my wrist rebuilt with a titanium plate and several screws. Then there was the broken tailbone, followed by the upper arm compression fracture suffered while pushing a small car off an ice shelf in Ohio. And finally the L4 vertebra that I broke loosening the lug nuts on a tire I was changing with my still-healing broken arm.
After each incident, I would ask the doctors what could be causing all these weird bone breaks, and sometimes they would send me off for a dexascan to see if I might have osteoporosis, but the test always said no, and the doctors were always orthopedists of one sort or another. They would shrug and say that these things happen. After the upper arm (this past January), and the subsequent dexascan, the ortho told me that the test said I didn’t have osteoporosis, that if I wanted to try to learn more about the bone formation, I should see an endocrinologist, but he didn’t know of one to whom he could refer me. He did refer me to his colleague to have my osteoarthritic hip replaced. I’m 53, by the way. He told me that going to an endocrinologist was likely to yield nothing, and he opined that I was suffering from “Laree Martin syndrome,” if I need for it to have a name.
My gynocologist, who works in the same hospital center as Ortho 1, we now lovingly refer to him as Frick, referred me to an endocrinologist who also practices in the same hospital center. I got myself hooked up with her, and she very quickly determined that since I had broken not one, but all of the bones that are considered to be typical indicators of osteoporosis, despite multiple dexascans to the contrary, I had osteoporosis. Shortly thereafter, she discovered excess, but “unimpressive,” levels of cortisol in my system.
Ortho 2, we’ll call him Frack, saw me prior to my hip replacement, and I complained about my back injury the week prior. He pronounced that I had not broken my vertebra, but he offered to send me for an MRI, if that would make me feel better. I scheduled the MRI, had it in the evening, called his office in the morning to report that I had gone for the test, as he had asked me to do, and instead of leaving a message, I got put directly through to the doctor. Turns out that he was wrong, and it is possible to break your L4 vertebra pulling on a lug wrench with a still-healing compressions fracture in your upper arm . . . if you have osteoporosis. When I told him that he didn’t have to worry about my bones in general, because I was seeing an endocrinologist for that. I just needed him to be extra careful not to break anything when implanting the new hip. I told him that the endo specialist was working me up for Cushing’s, and he told me that I certainly did not have Cushing’s, because I wasn’t 100 pounds overweight and diabetic.
By September, the endo doc concluded that my results were equivocal for Cushing’s, but she encouraged me to go to Johns Hopkins to the metabolic bone specialist, since there wasn’t another good explanation for my osteoporosis, which had by that time been objectively diagnosed with a bone biopsy. She felt that she had no choice, clinically, but to treat my osteoporosis as post-menopausal in origin, even though my bone breaks began 8 years ahead of my menopausal symptoms. Off to Johns Hopkins.
The bone specialist took the history, again . . . did some more testing (blood, saliva, urine, again . . . ) and then consulted with the adrenal team, who agreed with her diagnosis of ACTH-dependent Cushing’s disease. Unfortunately for all of you who read these bios, it’s more complicated than just Cushing’s, because I had bilateral pulmonary emboili and a DVT in my leg when one of my stress fractures had me on non-weightbearing restrictions for six weeks. That little incident was also considered a fluke, until about six years later when I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition that is also considered to be “rare.” It is a mouthful to say–antiphospholipid antibody syndrome (APS). It’s main risk is hypercoagulability, and its treatment involves lifelong warfarin (brand name Coumadin), which people mostly call a “blood thinner,” although it doesn’t really act that way.
I feel somehow more than lucky to have two fairly uncommon, fairly complicated conditions with fairly scarey treatment options. I feel like I need a Fairy Goddoctor to be able to properly manage my surgery and treatment, because of the risks associated with drug interactions with the warfarin, the higher risk of clotting that I already have from the APS, which is apparently compounded by Cushing’s, and my understanding that I’m not supposed to be mixing hormones, including steroids, with the warfarin. Nevertheless, it was good to know so quickly after the MRI that the result was that I flunked that test as well as I had flunked all the others previously. I thought I was going to have to stress over that for the entire long weekend, but no. Instead, I pretty much put it out of my mind until tonight, and now you’re getting the Reader’s Digest version of the last 12 years of my medical experience.
The doctors have exhausted my resilience with all of their certainty, which over the years I relied upon to conclude that I was just clumsy and that my weight struggles with those extra 25 pounds that could pack on in a couple of months, especially when I was recuperating from a fracture, without really changing my diet much, were probably associated with my inconsistent sleep and the fact that I will reach for pizza when I am feeling particularly low. So when I read here and there about the recovery process after surgery and how difficullt and complicated it can be, I have to admit that my first reaction was that I should quit work, take a year off, spend all my money on travel or whatever I would feel like doing, and then just commit suicide and be done with the whole thing. And that still has a sense of comfort associated with it when I remind myself of what I’m in for for the next maybe couple of years or more in recovery . . . and possible relapse . . .
But I have a 82 year old mother, and I”m her baby, and I witnessed her sorrow when my brother was killed in a motorcycle accident about 18 months ago, and I wouldn’t put her through that again. Instead, it’s my intention to take as much time off work as possible after surgery to let myself gather my emotional resources and get over the angry, bruised feeling that I have from both diagnostic processes that have lasted over a decade. I appreciate that this space is here for newbies like myself to say out loud what most of my friends and family either can’t or don’t want to hear. It doesn’t really matter so much that anyone is listening; I just need to say it.
Cheers!
Laree (who actually has Cushing’s disease, not Laree Martin’s syndrome)
What can you do when the cure might be worse than the disease?
“Have you thought of losing some weight? This would most likely take care of the many complaints you have.” The all too eager yet condescending young intern continued despite my blank stare, “Have you had a sleep study done?”
How many times had I been in this situation? Change the doctor, but keep me there, in the crazy patient’s chair. “Well, the patient has five children, a long history of miscarriages, a fairly recent history of a traumatic abdominal hysterectomy… couple these with the recent death of her father to cancer and basically all normal testing… clearly she’s a depressed, middle aged woman hitting the Ben and Jerry’s a little too much and addicted to Lifetime movies.” Or something like that.
What’s worse than the tiny intern with a huge ego, was the troll under the bridge. I still had to face my PCP who listened to me a little less than a mother who’s heard “Mommy, mommy!” for the hundredth time in an hour, from her 3 year old.
For the better part of two years, I’d seen her for so many things. Each time I’d ask her why my bones were breaking so easily. I told her I was shrinking, to which she replied “It’s impossible to shrink an inch and a half in a year.” Then laughter. I’d ask her why the nausea & vomiting, low oxygen, and migraines were there… all of this was ignored and off to another specialist I’d go (for a similar experience), with more Prednisone in hand. When she didn’t see hardcore proof (i.e. a lab tests or a specialist’s report confirming the symptoms in front of her) the things simply did not exist, despite glaring symptoms.
Another specialist I’d seen did care and did see the disturbing, rapid transformation and accumulation of symptoms, so he sent me to my PCP for testing. I later found out that this specialist feared all along what I had. He had been warning me that Prednisone was dangerous and he hated it. I didn’t. I loved it. It was the only thing that relieved my severe neuropathy pain, the nausea, vomiting and migraines. Without it, I was in the E.R. at least once a week.
I suppose I could cut the PCP some slack and say that every doctor, when they themselves are the young intern, dream about the day when they can show off their seniority and knowledge (let’s not forget power) in front of another young intern. I could say this, but I won’t. Not when I know there are the most wise, sympathetic, world renowned and respected doctors, who’ve been practicing medicine longer than most interns have graced this earth, yet they treat the interns (and patients) as equals. They remain humble.
No, this PCP had no excuse for demeaning me for twenty minutes in front of this man. Alas! She did finally do her job and gave me an exam. It took her less than thirty seconds to blurt out “OMG Andrea! You have Cushing’s Syndrome!” All of the cool was gone. She fumbled with her papers, stuttered, murmured to herself… She was a mess.
She left the room for ten minutes and returned more composed and more… herself. “Andrea, I’m sure you’ve read about Cushing’s Syndrome on the internet.” This sentence was delivered with the same tone and sarcasm as a Disney villain about to pounce on an unsuspecting bunny (or other furry creature… did I mention the “fur” I had sprouted?). She continued, “You have every symptom of Cushing’s Syndrome. The buffalo hump is huge and classic.” She went on about my symptoms. All of which I’d been begging her to look at before this appointment.
By the end of the appointment, she had decided that she’d need to talk to my then rheumatologist; I’d need all sorts of testing, and foremost, “You HAVE to get off of that Prednisone Andrea!” Certainly she knew I wasn’t convinced that her prescriptions of Prednisone were somehow my fault, however the wee intern might have sucked that one up. Perhaps he believed it was my rheumatologist that prescribed all of it; he did do his part as well. They were both in it together.
I left the office miffed and confused. “Well,” I thought, “Let’s go home and see what this Cushing’s is, on the Internet. Probably some sort of psychosomatic disease where you think yourself into the side effects of Prednisone.”
At the point where I began my Internet search, I had changed from an active, really attractive (I can toot my horn, ’cause it ain’t so now) about to be 40 year-old, homeschooling mom of five beautiful children. I was in bed for 3 weeks prior to my PCP appointment. I found out later that my family thought that this was it, I was dying. Indeed, I was close to death and it’s a miracle that I didn’t die.
I had gained 40 lbs. for which easily 10 of it rested on the top of my back. The Buffalo Hump. The rest was hanging out in strange pockets of fat all over my middle and face. I was disoriented and in cold sweats all of the time. Everything hurt.
On the evening of that fateful Friday after my PCP appointment, I joined a Cushing’s support group online. It took me three weeks to compose my introduction post because I had not the energy, nor the wherewithal to finish it. In the meantime however, I found out enough about Steroid Induced Cushing’s Syndrome to know that I was in big trouble.
Every bad side effect one can get from steroid use, I am getting or have. What’s worse is, my adrenal glands have atrophied. They won’t wake up and naturally produce cortisol that our bodies vitally need. Every organ and gland in our body relies on the production of cortisol. When you have Cushing’s, you’re in a real pickle Fred.
With me, I’m continually in either Cushing’s mode or Addison’s mode. Two opposite diseases. You’d be surprised at how many people in the medical field do not understand this. Most disturbing is how many endocrinologists don’t understand it. My body is used to high levels of cortisol so when I try to wean off and my body gets stressed, sick, injured, needs surgery, etc., I go into adrenal insufficiency with the chance of adrenal crisis.
Ahh, adrenal crisis! My nemesis! Is it? Isn’t it? Hospital? Just a Prednisone Boost? These are questions I ask myself daily. I was very near dying during those few weeks before I saw my PCP, because my body was literally shutting down. Again, I’m still amazed that I didn’t die.
Right. I realized for me, a person with autoimmune disease, with all sorts of crazy symptoms, weaning down to a healthy level of cortisol was going to take another miracle. Those message boards? Every time I went to send a personal message to a member that I could relate to in experience, they were dead. Dead. Young women, neglected by so many doctors who thought that they too, were fat and depressed.
Monday came and I called my PCP as scheduled. When she answered the phone she acted as if she didn’t know why I was calling. Before a minute was up, I realized she was getting as far away from admitting I had Cushing’s Syndrome as she could. Both she and my rheumatologist had been prescribing me prednisone without any solid diagnosis (at that point). Basically the Prednisone was completely unwarranted. She told me to wean off of the Prednisone and “Um okay?” then let the silence hang there. I was speechless (and as you’re well aware of at this point, is pretty darn near an oxymoron).
I took it upon myself to see an endocrinologist, who I owe my life to. He ordered a bone density test, a bunch of labs, told me to get a medical alert bracelet ASAP and a whole lot more. He was shocked that none of this had been done.
The bone density test showed that my PCP was half right, I didn’t lose an inch and half off of my stature in less than a year, I had lost two and a half inches. I began a strong osteoporosis medication. A little later, I was put on 5 liters of oxygen at night and as needed during the day, a bi-pap machine and I learned more about cortisol stress doses and began searching for new doctors.
For the next year and a half, I would see a total of 3 more rheumatologists, 5 neurologists and 2 new PCP’s. I was admitted to the hospital too many times to count. I saw 5 more specialists, wasted tons of money, precious time and was demeaned further than I could have ever imagined coming from people who are supposed to “Do no harm.” at one of those big name clinics. Same thing: fat and CrAzY. At the end of it all, I had given up hope. I was on more Prednisone than when I had first seen my endocrinologist.
My teeth had begun rotting because of the calcium loss and my Sjogren’s Syndrome did not help matters there. I had 6 extractions in 3 months and was never able to get back down to the 10 mg. of Prednisone I had begun with. Stress, illness and then having to let the beautiful eyes of our children watch it all…too much.
I saw my endocrinologist for a checkup and he yelled at me. I yelled at him. We both yelled together and then he picked up the phone in front of me and called a few specialists (the most-awesome-est specialists the world has to offer) and made me appointments with them. These doctors graciously took me on as their patient and began working as a team with my endocrinologist to get me off of this Prednisone.
Well, it’s been 8 months since that loud, intense “time of fellowship” with my endocrinologist. Despite the fact that my teeth have deteriorated to the point where I will have them all extracted on Jan. 2, 2014 (Happy New Year!)… and I found out I have both thyroiditis and hyperparathyroidism and well, a bunch of other … stuff. I’m due to wean down to 9 mg. of Prednisone on Thanksgiving day! I’ve lost a little weight. There’s so much to be thankful for!
I have lost much, but what I’ve gained in return, I would never, ever give up. My faith and that of my family’s, has grown in ways that would never have happened had I not gotten this dreadful disease. I found many things. I have found that my husband really means it when he says that I’m beautiful. My children mean it… I have what many have deemed, “The Ugly Disease” yet I feel more beautiful than I ever have. I feel more blessed than I ever have. Most importantly, I remembered and again found my hope, through faith.
Faith is the essence of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. When those of us with serious and chronic illness, have no faith in a Hope, we are dead persons walking. Had my endocrinologist not been divinely appointed to verbally kick my butt, there’s no doubt in my mind that I would not be here trying to type this story of mine.
I can’t write nor say a thing without a moral. So the moral of my story is this: know who and what your hope is in. Know what the unseen things are and have fat faith. Take your illness and use it. Use your life! It’s beautiful!
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