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Sheryl, Pituitary Bio

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My journey started about 7 years ago. I began with generalized symptoms. I had severe insomnia, muscle and joint aches. I would be wired for a few days than couldnt get out of bed for days. The symptoms continued to get worse.

I sought help from several dr’s which led nowhere. after doing research I really felt that my symptoms were related to cushings. My local endo did run a few urines and salivas which came back elevated, however, he just wanted to re test in 6 months. I was deteriorating so rapidly that I decided to go to LA and see Dr. Friedman. Best decision of my life.

I will be starting on Ketokonazole after he gets labs that he drew back, and he has Dr. M at MD Anderson reviewing my MRI.

For the first time in many years I feel there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I am so greatful that I have found Board s like this one so that I am able to inform myself. So thank you !

Sheryl added her Helpful Doctor, Theodore Friedman, to the Cushing’s MemberMap

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Barbara (2maro), Pituitary Bio

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golden-oldie

 

After being told for ten years that all of my “problems” would just go away if I “lost a little weight, I fell and hit my head on my fireplace hearth requiring several stitches.

When it was time for them to be removed, I went to my new Internal med Dr. to have that done and ask if I was having a reaction to one of my meds as my face seemed swollen.

She had seen one case of Cushings in it’s recovery phase, but had studied to help that patient. She suspect, tested and diagnosed with me with Cushings in December of 2001.

I spent the next few months searching the net, reading this site and going through testing to determine the origin of my disease, and ended up at MD Anderson with Dr. McCutcheon who removed the pituitary tumor transphenoidally.

Miraculously, over the next 9 months, I lost 100 pounds. I am no longer diabetic and did not have high blood pressure until 2008. I continued to lose until my Internal med doc actually told me I needed to put weight back on. By 2008, my pituitary function had pretty much ceased, and I am now on replacement hydrocortison, synthroid and human growth hormone. I turned 50 this year, and I feel very reborn.

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Melissa F, Pituitary Bio

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golden-oldie

Melissa F was interviewed on BlogTalk Radio November 3, 2010. She has had pituitary surgery. Archives are available on BlogTalk Radio and on iTunes podcasts.

From the Clutches of Cushing’s

A journey through Hell… with a happy ending
by Melissa Fine

The most insidious aspect of Cushing’s Disease is, while it is attacking you physically, it is destroying your self-esteem, your peace of mind, your very spirit. That more doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, drug, alcohol and weight-loss counselors (and the list goes on) don’t know how to recognize something that, in retrospect, seems so blatantly obvious is appalling—and not only tragic, it is, in my opinion, criminal. I often wonder how many Cushing’s victims we lose to suicide because they were not able to get a diagnosis before they lost the will to live… simply because no one thought to look for the definitive answer in their blood, urine or saliva. I am certain that Cushing’s isn’t nearly as rare as the doctors believe it is. What is rare is their ability to recognize it.

This is my story…

First, you need to know that I was always a pretty happy girl (though PMS- related mood swings have always plagued me). I come from a very close family, always had a lot of support, had a group of true friends I could count on, and was always very driven to accomplish my goals. I moved to Las Vegas from Southern California in 1994, right after graduating from UCLA, to move in with the guy who would become my 1st husband (Rat Bastard!). My goal in life was to be a writer, and within a month, I landed a job with a magazine publishing company and was getting paid to do what I love. You should also know I was always way too skinny. No matter what I ate (and I was a picky eater, but what I did like, I ate as much as I wanted of it), I was lucky to keep my weight above 100 pounds. I was happy if I could maintain 105 pounds, so I didn’t look so gaunt…

In 1995, I started noticing something wasn’t right with me. I had every reason to be thrilled with my life, but I was constantly blue. Down. Not tragically depressed—that would come later—but I just never seemed to feel happy. I also found myself complaining of body aches and fatigue all the time. And I kept noticing big, unexplained bruises on my arms, buttocks, and thighs.

In July 1995, I was covering the opening of a new casino/spa in Mesquite, NV. I came out of some exotic acupressure chakra-cleansing massage with one thought: I WANT BEEF! Now, the mere smell of steak would always nauseate me, but I was starving and steak was the only thing on my mind. I ate a 16 oz. New York Strip plus a ½-pound of crab for dinner. Woke up the next morning STARVING and ordered another steak to go with my eggs, hash browns, toast and pancakes, and devoured it all.

That’s when I knew something was really wrong.

Over the next five or so years, I went to many doctors with seemingly vague, unrelated symptoms. I was always famished, so by this time, I was 145 pounds. The depression was also heavier, but at the same time, I felt a constant sense of anticipatory anxiety, like something was about to happen. In less than 10 minutes, a psychiatrist labeled me with “bi-polar 2” and I was thrown on mega- doses of serious anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. I caught every cold, was always bone-tired, constantly in pain, and was finding it more and more difficult to focus on anything. I went on and off various anti-depressants, none of which seemed to work for any length of time. The consensus among the many medical minds was that I needed to diet and exercise.

2000 brought a lot of change—and not the good kind. I found yet another new “family” doctor. This guy, though, actually tried. He noticed, after running a blood panel and looking at my many bruises, that my red blood cells were “abnormal” looking and that my white blood count was up. Up enough that, just to be safe, he wanted me to see a specialist. He told me not to be worried that “oncology” was on the specialist’s wall… he was just really good with blood.

By late August, I was in the oncologist’s office. After looking at more lab results, he promptly scheduled me for a bone-marrow test—which, in his opinion, was just a formality. He told Rat Bastard and me that I definitely had leukemia. My soon-to-be ex-husband asked him flat out: “Is there any chance that this could be something other than leukemia.” The good doctor said, “No. She has leukemia. We just need to find out which kind.”

Bone marrow tests take six weeks to come back. Six days before (and about two weeks from my 30th birthday) the results that would tell me which kind of leukemia I definitely had came back, Rat Bastard decided he “didn’t feel the same way about me anymore” and walked out.

Imagine my surprise when the good oncologist didn’t find the “Philadelphia” chromosome he was expecting to see. Still, he stuck to his guns and was really, really sure I had leukemia. He then took a job at MD Anderson in Houston, TX, but insisted I see his other good oncologist every six weeks or so to keep looking and monitoring my white blood count and my screwy red blood cells. After many months passed and my condition worsened with no explanation, the second good oncologist told me, “You are a ticking time bomb.”

Not helpful.

So, my wonderful boss (who was also a good friend, and, as it turned out, was the guy I was supposed to marry!), paid to send my mom and me to MD Anderson to speak again with the first good oncologist, who was now heading up a leukemia department of his very own. Time for bone-marrow tap Number Two, because he was positive that pesky Philadelphia chromosome was there somewhere.

It wasn’t.

I was back to square one. Only now body parts were starting to break. I fractured my foot by stepping out of bed the wrong way. I tore my meniscus— an injury I was told is usually found in professional tennis players—by doing a single jumping jack in a futile attempt to exercise. A new specialist ran a bone density test that showed I had osteopenia, the precursor to osteoporosis. Another specialist discovered I had insignificant, benign tumors on my adrenal glands—something, he told me, I had in common with approximately 25% of the population. But those revelations were the least of my concerns. The depression turned into an all-consuming black hole. For the next three years, not one day went by that I didn’t sob uncontrollably. I couldn’t do my work, because I couldn’t concentrate long enough to edit a simple story. I couldn’t read a book or even sit through a half-hour sit-com. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. Even worse, old friends and even my own cousin—people I hadn’t seen in a few years—didn’t recognize me either. They literally walked by me as though I were a stranger. My physical appearance was that dramatically different. I would wake up at 5 a.m., ravenous, and I would FORCE myself to wait until 6 a.m. before I would allow myself about a third of a box of Cheerios with non-fat milk. It was the only time of the entire day that I would actually feel “full.” It only lasted for about two hours, tops… but for that brief window, I found relief from constant hunger pains.

Alone, I no longer knew my own mind. I hid away in my craft room and started endless scrapbooking projects that I never finished. The pretty paper and nifty hole-punches somehow made me smile a little. Like many, I would imagine, I started to self-medicate. Prescribed painkillers.

Thankfully, mercifully, my family bonds were stronger than ever. My parents even moved to Las Vegas to be near me. And that guy, my boss, Glenn… though he met me in my 20s, when I weighed 100 pounds, married me in my 30s, knowing I was truly sick, not knowing what illness I had, and at my heaviest. I was 188 pounds on my wedding day, and he made me feel like a beautiful princess.

At some point around 2003, I had yet another new family doctor. Overall, his diagnostic skills were, at best, questionable. He knew just enough to send me to other specialists. But he was generous with his prescription pad, so I continued to see him. I do, however, owe this particular doctor a huge debt of gratitude. He was the first to mention the word “endocrinologist.” I didn’t know there was such a thing.

Many lab tests later, the endocrinologist told me I had too much of something called “cortisol.” She became annoyed when I asked her what that meant. She faxed her notes back to my family doctor. I noticed she had scrawled the word “Cushing’s” with a question mark after it. I told my doc I didn’t know what

Cushing’s was. His exact words were: “Well, I do know what it is, and you don’t have it.”

The endo disagreed, I guess. She had me scheduled to have my adrenal glands removed. Somehow, 10 days before my surgery, my many questions and stubborn attempts to understand why I was going under the knife really pissed her off. I received a certified letter informing me that, due to my “abusive and indignant attitude,” I was “fired.”

Meanwhile, my mom started Googling. She read the symptoms of Cushing’s Disease as though it were a page from my diary. It was a perfect fit. Except that, according to what she had learned, the lab results weren’t making sense. They were pointing to my pituitary gland, not my adrenals. I cancelled the date with the surgeon and headed back to the family doc’s office. He was quite pleased with himself, claiming he knew it was Cushing’s all along. (He still takes great pride in that epiphany. Why let the facts stand in the way of a good story, right?)

Family doc told me it was great news that my pituitary gland was the culprit: All I would need is a highly focused beam of radiation and some salt pills, and I’d be as good as new. He filled my prescription and sent me to another endocrinologist.

This guy was clever. He actually sent me for an MRI. Unfortunately, the MRI showed nothing. He was, however, in agreement with the previous, previous, previous doctor who told me the adrenal tumors were nothing to worry about. I trusted him, because he dropped the name of a renowned neurosurgeon at USC in Pasadena: Dr. Martin Weiss. I did some research. Dr. Weiss was the real deal—a graduate of Dartmouth and Cornell and a professor of neurological surgery. Finally… an honest-to-goodness expert.

Husband and I packed our bags and were off to Pasadena for a venous sampling. Who knew there was such a test? I found myself in the bizarre position of praying with all my might that I had a brain tumor.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

Dr. Weiss confirmed that the MRIs did not show the tumor, but he did point to a microscopic something-or-other at the base of my pituitary gland that was tilted ever-so-slightly. He explained that he had, at best, a 50–50 chance of finding the tumor and removing it. He also told me that salt pills weren’t going to do the trick.

In December 2004, Dr. Weiss successfully removed the tumor from my pituitary gland.

This is the part of the story where I’d like to say I dramatically awoke with remarkable bravery and perfect hair to a room filled with calla lilies. Instead, my eyes opened to four or five post-op nurses, I was hooked via a tangle of cords to various machines, my mouth was so dry my tongue was stuck to my palate, and I was frantic to find a toilet. Bedpans just don’t work for me and my bladder was going to explode. After much arguing and cursing, the nurses decided unhooking me was safer than allowing my blood pressure to go any higher. They rolled over a porta-potty, I went forever, and no sooner did they re-hook me than I had to go again.

Learned a new term: diabetes insipidus.

The morning after being released from the hospital (prescription for diabetes insipidus filled and at arm’s length), I remember that, for the first time in nearly a decade, I couldn’t finish my breakfast. I was full.

I’d love to end it with that perfect tagline, but…

Back in Vegas, the brilliant endocrinologist put me on the whopping dose of 20 mgs of hydrocortisone a day. Anxious to “jump start” my adrenals, he quickly lowered the dose to 10 mgs.

After more than a year of seeing a cardiologist for my racing heart; a (mis) diagnosis of panic attacks because it felt like I had an SUV parked on my chest; repeated bouts of nausea and dizzy spells; low blood pressure; increased joint and muscle pain; more depression; and a complete neurological work-up for symptoms too similar to MS for comfort; my incredibly insightful endocrinologist told me to stop coming to his office, go home, and praise God because I was “cured.” In what can only be called a surreal segue, he then added that I should also praise God for my inability to get pregnant, because children are so selfish and self-centered that they only degrade your quality of life. Not surprisingly, he retired from medicine shortly thereafter.

It was at this point that I found the Cushing’s Help and Support boards and verified that I was not, in fact, insane.

One doctor’s name was repeatedly touted: Dr. William Ludlam. He sounded like the savior of all endocrine-challenged souls. I was astounded when he, personally, actually took my call. After listening patiently to my story, he informed me that I was not yet his patient, and therefore, he could not and would not offer me any medical advice or instruction over the telephone. He then told me a story of a hypothetical situation in which certain familiar-sounding symptoms would, to a trained hypothetical specialist, be immediately recognized as the brink of full-blown adrenal failure. I took the hypothetical hint, did some quick online research—and (following only my own hunch, rather than immediately seeing a local doctor as I should have done) took a significantly higher dose of Cortef. Within an hour, I felt human—a feeling I hadn’t known in more than 10 years.

Dr. Ludlam made room in his schedule and, the following week, off we went, at last down the road to recovery.

I celebrated my 40th birthday last month. As 2011 rapidly approaches, I can finally say that my adrenal glands are now functioning on their own. I have not had the need for Cortef in more than a year. I have battled the addiction to pain killers and am emerging as the victor. My size 4 jeans once again fit, and while I still fight depression, it is no longer my primary state of mind. Slowly, I’m regaining energy and enthusiasm. My thoughts are clear, my will is strong, my creativity is restored.

I live.

—–#—–

If you or a loved one is suffering with Cushing’s or Addison’s or you believe you might be, and you need to talk, please feel free to contact me with any questions or simply for an understanding ear. I can be reached at mfine@casinocenter.com (please put “Cushing’s” or “Addison’s” in the subject line) or follow me on Twitter @SinCityTweeter. My thanks and ever-lasting gratitude to MaryO, www.cushings-help.com , and all the fellow Cushies who helped me along the way.

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Andrea L, Pituitary Bio

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A Golden Oldie

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.

…Wrong.

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.

Note: Email Andrea or add comments to this bio below.

Andrea was interviewed on the BlogTalkRadio Cushing’s Program on Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Listen live at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cushingshelp/2011/10/19/andrea-l-pituitary-success-story

This interview is archived at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/CushingsHelp and iTunes podcasts at http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/cushingshelp-cushie-chats/id350591438

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Lavane V (lvowell), Pituitary Bio

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The pituitary gland

The pituitary gland

I was diagnosed with Cushing’s Disease in September 2012.  I started my search for a diagnosis back in March.

So here is how my story goes… in January of 2012, I decided that i was going to change my diet and exercise.  I had weight to lose from a previous pregnancy.  I began working with a nutrionist and personal trainer.  I spent a lot of time working out and logging everything that went into my mouth.  I even tracked my water intake. It became very obvious that for a hard as I was working that something was wrong.  i was gaining weight instead of losing.  I was also feeling very run down.  I had also started noticing that I did not have very many patience for much of anything and I felt very uptight about silly stuff.  I decided to go have my hormones checked.

At first the doctor told me that I was extremely deficiet on vitamin D and needed to drink a lot more water.  He said we need to run more tests.  He did a salivary test and some bloodwork to check my corisol levels.  On my follow up with him he said that i had very high cortisol levels and wanted to run more test.  He then went on vacation for a few weeks.  I was unable to get answers from his nurse and then he was so behind when he came back that i could never get an appointment.

I started researching on the interenet about high cortisol levels.  Everything that I was reading sounded like me.  Weight gain (i had gained 100 lb), exhaustion, stretch marks, blurred vision, high blood pressure, water retention, etc.  I found another endocrinologist and made an appointment.  I told him all my symptoms and what I felt was wrong with me.  He asked me what i wanted him to do.  I suggested some of the tests that  I had read about because I thought i might have cushings and he said, “ok, let’s get started but, cushings is very rare and I doubt that is what is going on”.

After running blood work, 24 urine test, plus many more test, he told me that I had Cushing’s Syndrome.  He indicated that this was very rare and that he had not seen but one case before.  He ordered an MRI.  The radiologist that read my MRI said that he did not see a tumor.  However, he did say that he saw “sinus disease”.  Now I have never hear of that so i questioned it.  I was told that I would need to go to a ENT doctor for learn more about that.

The endo doc wanted to proceed with the IPSS test.  I keep studying on the interenet about the disease and all the testing.  I even watched a few pituitary surgeries.  I just felt like I need to know everything possible besides, I could not sleep so this was a great way to spend hours.   I also kept reading all that I could on this site as well. I met with a local neurosurgeon and he scheduled the IPSS test.  I asked him about how we would proceed if my test results showed positive for a pit tumor. I was basically told since no tumor was seen in my MRI that the IPSS test would help them to decided which side of my pit they would take.  I was totally not comfortable with just losing part of my master gland.  I kept my scheduled test but started to research experts in cushing’s.  Then I researched which were covered by my insurance.

In the meantime, I kept the appointment for the IPSS since I didnt want to lose any time.  I checked into the hospital and got prepped for my test only to have the doctor come in to tell me that we would not be doing the procedure because the company that made the medications used for testing no longer was making the mediation.  Now then, how do you not know this before you prep someone for the procedure?!?!  I told the doctor that there were other hospital that were treating cushing patients and were performing this test.  I had been reading about them on the boards.  He told me that there was not anyone in the US that had the meds.  That was when I really knew that I was going to have to leave my state to get treatment.

I called my endo and explained what had happend and asked for a referral to MD Anderson in Houston, TX.  I also went online and did a self referral.  I just kept following up with them.  They have a pituitary tumor board that reviews cases.  My case was approved and I had my first appointment in Sept 2011.  I spent on day running tests, having an MRI and meeting with the a new endo.

Within 48 hours, he confirmed that I did have cushing’s disease and showed me the tumor on my pituitary.  In November 2011, I underwent transphenoidal pit surgery.  An 8mm tumor was removed.  There was some concern because the tumor was right up against my cavernous sinus cavity.  This is where your carotid artery is and the surgeon did not want to get close to this artery.

Unfortunalely, I did not experince a “crash” after surgery.  My levels did indicate they were in the normal range so the doctors sent me home with a perscription of hydrocortisone.

English: Cavernous sinus

English: Cavernous sinus (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

for me.  He is going to confer with my endocrinologist and then I will go from there.

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