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trembling legs

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During my recent foray into revisiting my old posts, I came across this post from five years ago.

In the post, I talk about the importance of acceptance when learning to live with a chronic illness.  It also made me reflect on my current decline in some of the symptoms I experience because of FND.

Once again, the trembling in the legs has worsened.

Significantly worsened in fact.

The Saga of Pain and Trembling Legs

Every day, my legs have felt incredibly unstable and weak, amidst the severe pain that already wracks them.  There is a persistent feeling of incredible stiffness and heaviness.  A heaviness that makes it feel like I am attempting to walk through thick mud.  But, juxtaposed with this heaviness and stiffness is an immeasurable weakness.

A weakness so severe that it continually feels if my legs are going to collapse from under me.

The trembling and this general weakness that exists within my lower limbs is not a new symptom.  So, you would think that I would be used to it by now.  But when confronted by worsening symptoms; they feel anything but familiar.  With worsening symptoms, we are once again thrust back into working through the cycle of grief.

"But when confronted by worsening symptoms; they feel anything but familiar.  With worsening symptoms, we are once again thrust back into working through the cycle of grief." Share on X
Directions of Grief
Five Stages of Grief – Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance via Shutterstock

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression.  These are the key elements that we battle through alongside the fight we face with our symptoms before reaching acceptance.

"We need to battle through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression before reaching acceptance." Share on X

Accepting a ‘New Normal’

But, before we can arrive at acceptance, we must first deal with the psychological fallout that worsening symptoms create. Since the trembling has worsened, it has also significantly affected my mobility. Standing and walking is problematic as the shaking feels incredibly violent. Anxious that at any moment, I will collapse to the ground.  As a result, I have lost confidence, particularly when out of the house, the fear of having a fall never far from my mind.

It feels that I am drowning.  As though my days are about surviving rather than living. Every day I am tormented by symptoms beyond my control.

"My days are about surviving rather than living…tormented by symptoms beyond my control." Share on X

Symptoms are so severe that I am no longer able to function within the world around me.  People assure me of my bravery and resilience in the face of illness.  However, it’s during such flares that words such as bravery and resilience cease to have any meaning to me.

The Unpredictability and Isolation of a Chronic Life

Ask anyone living with a chronic illness, and they will tell you how unpredictable life can be.  Unpredictability is the very hallmark when living with a chronic condition.  Every day we wake up never knowing how the symptoms are going to impact the new day that awaits us.  When symptoms worsen, we never know whether it is due to deterioration in our condition, or just due to a flare.  And when symptoms do become worse, the fear that it is due to a decline becomes very real.  We already had to come to terms with a diagnosis and the new normal that comes with it.  And with worsening symptoms, we again need to adapt and find another new normal.

"When symptoms worsen, the fear that it is a decline with our health condition becomes very real." Share on X

The Effects the Physical Has On Our Mental Health

Furthermore, when symptoms do worsen, we can often isolate ourselves.  The isolation may be as a result of the symptoms themselves, or because of the emotional consequences, it has on our mental health.  I have recently had experiences of isolation.  Due to the severity of this recent trembling, it has affected every facet of my life, most notably my mobility. As a result, I have been unable and afraid to go out much, and when I do, I tend to go to familiar places; places where I know where I can quickly sit down if I feel they are going to collapse.

When living with such symptoms, especially when they are invisible, itself also causes isolation.  We often hide behind a mask; suppressing our pain and fatigue behind a smile.  The pain, fatigue, trembling, and dizziness does not manifest themselves physically.  No one can see or understand the torment that our bodies withstand.  And that can be incredibly lonely.

"No one can see or understand the torment that our bodies withstand. That can be incredibly lonely." Share on X

By not being truthful about the reality of our current situation, we begin to isolate ourselves further. Recently, I have become quite withdrawn, choosing to turn inward, becoming lost in a descending fog of hopelessness and despair.  Stress and feelings of sadness is a consequence of the physical toll that living with illness has on our bodies and minds.  Stress, however, can also exacerbate the symptoms, potentially causing a flare or making one much worse.

"By not being truthful about the true nature of our health we are further isolating ourselves." Share on X

Arriving at Acceptance

Reaching acceptance, although the journey is long and arduous, makes coping with chronic illness more manageable, arriving at acceptance, however, is difficult.

For many, it means resignation or giving up.

Acceptance instead is more about learning effective ways of coping with this new reality and quietening negative thoughts and feelings.

Acceptance and having a positive attitude isn’t a cure for chronic illness, but they can help make it easier to overcome the challenges and limitations that we may encounter.

"Acceptance and having a positive attitude isn't a cure for illness, but they can help make it easier to overcome the challenges and limitations that we may encounter." Share on X

One thing I have learned along the way, however, is that achieving acceptance is difficult.  When we think we’ve accepted everything about our illnesses, something happens such as worsening symptoms, and once again, we find ourselves back to the start.  Much like a revolving door, we often travel round and round the different stages until we locate the exit and reach acceptance.

Perhaps, when living with a chronic illness, there is no such thing as ‘complete’ acceptance.  If recent experience has taught me, coming to terms with a chronic illness involves a continuous journey between denial and acceptance, and so many other emotions.

"Coming to terms with chronic illness involves a continuous journey between denial and acceptance." Share on X
arriving at harbour after storm
Reaching acceptance can feel like arriving at a safe harbour after a storm

And as I now find myself amidst a torrential storm of pain and trembling, and days spent trying to survive the impending floods.

But, I hope soon that I once again find a safe harbour that is acceptance.

“But everybody’s changing and I don’t feel the same”

– Keane

Well, Christmas has now been and gone.  The presents have been enthusiastically ripped opened.  We’ve overindulged ourselves with turkey and all the other delicious trimmings that adorn our plates (as well as all the chocolates that someone has inevitably bought you!).  Sick of turkey yet anyone?

Now as we enter the last week of 2016 however, it is a time to reflect on the year that has passed and the journey that we’ve been on during the last 12 months.  Change is an inevitability of our human existence, as Meredith Grey once said: “it is literally the only constant in science.”

However, when living with a chronic illness or long-term health condition, we can often feel stuck;  that our lives have become stagnant.  Every year when reflecting on the year that has passed we often come to the stark realisation that although change is apparently inevitable, our lives with chronic illness has not, and are living with the same illness and its symptoms that we were the year before.  It seems that everything changes apart from life with chronic illness.

[Tweet “It seems that everything changes apart from life with chronic illness.”]

At the beginning of the year, for instance, the severity of the trembling in the legs was intense, affecting my mobility and my day-to-day quality of life.  This year, it feels that nothing has changed much in regards to life with a neurological condition.   Chronic illness it seems does not understand time, keeping us firmly in its tight grasp and not allowing us to move, change and grow like other people our own age.

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Again this year because of illness, much of my time has been spent in the four walls of our family home – often needing to spend it lying down in cwtched up with one of my blankets

Today I am surrounded by the same four walls that I spend the majority of my time in, and just like this time last year I find myself alone and isolated from the outside world.  It seems that although people may change when living with a long-term health condition however very often our circumstances do not.  It feels although we are stuck, encased in quicksand, unable to get out.

Looking outside at the wider world we wish that we could be a part of it, instead of being confined to our homes.

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Isolation seems to be another symptom of life with chronic illness

That is not to say that 2016 was all bad.  There were times when the limitations and barriers that often exist became unnecessary and I enjoyed time away from the day-to-day existence of living with a neurological condition.  There was, of course, the wonderfully relaxing and breath-taking cruise around the Norwegian Fjords.  And several challenging but enjoyable days out with my carer including Hay-on-Wye and Hereford.

As enjoyable as they were, of course, nothing about my circumstances of living with a neurological condition had really changed.  With every step, I could feel the trembling in my legs, fighting the terrible weakness that often causes my legs to give way and sending my body crashing to the ground. The excruciating pain that feels as though my legs are trapped in a vice-like grip. Attempting to ignore the dizziness and the accompanying double vision that threatens to knock me off-balance.  Just as these symptoms have for the past 365 days (and even more).

[Tweet “These symptoms have been the same for the past 365 days (and even more).”]

Also, the lack of answers and knowledge regarding the symptoms that I am constantly living with is yet another aspect of life with a chronic illness that has not changed.  Although an appointment to see a top neurology consultant in London has come through for April so hopefully, 2017 will become a year of gaining some much-needed knowledge and insight and learning exactly what I am up against.

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Time is constantly moving forward but living with a chronic illness we can often feel that we are stuck – as if our lives are on pause

But as we set to embark on a new year and wave goodbye to the last, reflecting on the events of the last 12 months, perhaps it is time to celebrate the small and seemingly insignificant achievements.  Achievements that although may seem inconsequential, for those living with chronic illness, are in fact a huge milestone and a precipice to small changes that may go unnoticed even by us.

Perhaps I have been too focused on the big changes that never happen in my life to really see and appreciate the small changes that occur despite living with a chronic health problem.  The increase in confidence despite the worsening symptoms, allowing me to venture further than I have before, for example.

I am hoping that 2017 will be the start of even more changes in my life, yes it will be nice if those changes were colossal ones, such as a lessening in the severity of my symptoms or even a definitive diagnosis for my symptoms,  but even if this doesn’t occur then I hope that I can notice and appreciate the small positive changes that do occur.

What changes are you hoping for in 2017?

Recently I have been reading many blogs written by others who also live with chronic illness.  In some of these posts, chronically ill bloggers have been sharing their stories of living with their worst symptoms, and as a result, I thought that I would share my own personal story of life with trembling legs caused by a neurological condition.

If someone had asked me a few years ago what was my worst symptom, then I undoubtedly would have replied with “the constant and unrelenting dizziness.”  The dizziness leaves me with the feeling that my entire perception of the world was off-balance, and at other times my world was spinning around me, leaving me feeling disoriented and sick.  The dizziness can be so severe that when I am out in the big and open world, I feel unsafe and vulnerable as well as the feelings of unsteadiness that I need somebody with me to hold onto due to the fear of falling over.

Now, however, I would have to admit that the trembling in the legs has become my most troublesome symptom.  Like the dizziness, the trembling is constant, unrelenting and has become life-altering.  The severity of it does vary from day-to-day, sometimes minute by minute.

Life has become increasingly unpredictable.

This morning, I woke up at around 8.30.  Although I was awake, when I attempted to get out of bed, I was not able to because the trembling was so severe that I was incapable of standing or even to walk and therefore had to remain in bed until the trembling subsided.  It did after half an hour or so and was able to get up and start the day ahead.  This is unfortunately not uncommon, and recently it has become an increasingly familiar part of my morning routine; a rest from my broken body even before rising from bed.

It doesn’t just affect me in the mornings, however, suddenly finding my legs being uncooperative and too weak to do their job can happen at any time of the day.  Many times I have found myself abruptly crashing to the floor as the shakiness won the battle, leaving my legs giving way.

[Tweet “Life has become increasingly unpredictable.”]

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Of course, as someone living with a chronic illness, the trembling of the legs is not the only symptom that I have to contend with – of course, the dizziness is still a constant feature in my life and am also dealing with chronic pain which at times is excruciating.  So what makes the trembling my worst symptom?

It’s because that out of all my symptoms the trembling is the symptom that I have no treatment for, and therefore no respite from the unrelenting shakiness of my legs.  Even though the dizziness is constant, I do have periods of breaks from the severe bouts, and when the volume is turned down on it, then I am able to find ways to distract myself from the feeling of the earth being tilted on its axis.

It’s the same with the neuropathic pain caused by my neurological condition.  Yes, for the most part, the pain feels like hell, but there are some small periods of time when the pain is bearable and am able to tolerate living side by side with it.  Also, the dizziness and neuropathic pain can be treated with medications, although they seem to be merely a band-aid which can easily be ripped off instead of a cure.  But at least there is some comfort in knowing there is a treatment plan for these symptoms; for the trembling however there does not seem to be anything to treat this particular symptom, and not even distraction techniques help to take my mind off the sensation.

The trembling, dizziness, pain and the other symptoms that make up the neurological condition I live with does get me down, but through all the trials and tribulations that they cause I try to focus on all of the positives in my life.  Such as the amazing support that my friends and family show me every day.  Living with chronic illness can be messy and complicated, but I choose to believe that there are still plenty of silver linings to be found.

[Tweet “Living with chronic illness can be complicated, but silver linings can still be found. “]

So, tell me what is the worst symptom that you live with?

Feel free to comment below!

Recently, after another hospital letter landed on the doormat, it was time yet again for a visit to the consultant neurologist, whose care I am under in the attempt to shed some light on the medical mystery that feels has become my life.   The beginning of the appointment was the benign initial chat on how I have been feeling since the last appointment (a really short time to cover a year in just a few minutes!) and the regular neurological examination, including testing of my reflexes, a not so favourite as it always produces the most violent of spasms, increasing the trembling in the legs ten-fold and increases the weakness in them.

After the standard neurological examination was completed and the consultant thoroughly reviewed my extensive notes, which almost resembled the length of a novel and eventually came up with a diagnosis – Functional Neurological Disorder.

For those, who may not have heard of this condition before, a functional neurological disorder is a condition in which a patient such as myself experiences neurological symptoms such as weakness, movement disorders, sensory symptoms or blackouts.  Patients exhibiting signs of a functional neurological disorder, however, shows no signs of structural abnormalities but is rather a problem with how the brain functions.

It is a problem with how the brain is sending or receiving messages.

If we imagine the brain to be a computer, then conditions such as MS or Parkinson’s Disease would be a problem with the hardware, whereas functional neurological condition is a problem with the software.  Just as a computer crashes or becomes extremely slow due to a software bug, neurological symptoms arise when there is an interruption in the messages being sent or received by the brain.

There is much debate on what exactly causes the dysfunction of the nervous system.  Some suggest that there is a psychological component which manifests itself in a physical manner, but is merely a theory to why these symptoms occur.  I suppose that this is one of the most frustrating aspects of being diagnosed with this condition; yes, it’s a label that explains the experience in terms of my physical health, however, there are so many questions that cannot be answered.  Reading the literature on this condition there are words such as possible and probable and no definite answers or explanations for the development of this condition.

As I read more and am left with no real answers to my questions, I often wonder if the acronym of FND should really stand for ‘For No Diagnosis’.   And with no such answers, how can we as patients be confident of the diagnosis?  Is it a merely a label that doctors grasp at when they cannot find a definitive explanation of our symptoms?  In my experience, the consultant almost pulled this diagnosis out of thin air.

Interestingly most of the anecdotes from others diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder describe how their symptoms often started out of the blue, like being struck by a bolt of lightning after which realising life will never quite be the same again.  However, this was not the case for me, as what started off as minor symptoms slowly became more and more severe, as well as the introduction of new symptoms which was progressive in the same way as the original symptoms.

And there is the big puzzling picture of the early days of my life when the doctors thought there was something wrong with me after I was born, leading to a brain scan at two days old.  Growing up, I always complained about my pains in my legs which was worrisome to me but this was brushed away with reassurances they were merely growing pains.  Surely, these must be important pieces of the puzzle that surrounds my symptoms?

Sometimes a diagnosis can lead to more questions than answers
Sometimes a diagnosis can lead to more questions than answers

So what now?  Well, once again I have been referred to specialists for vestibular therapy to help with the dizziness and vertigo.  A therapy that I am no stranger to having been through it several times before.  I am not sure how I feel about this, initially, I was reminded of the famous quote by Albert Einstein, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”    Do the doctors think that now I have a label, therapy will magically work when in the past it had no effect on my symptoms?  But, although I am initially skeptical I will always try my hardest and will try anything for even the smallest of improvement to the debilitating effects of dizziness and vertigo.

I have also been referred to a specialist neurological hospital in London for a second opinion and to see if the consultants there can come up with any answers and more importantly ideas on how to treat or even manage the symptoms that more often than not run the show of my life!

Through my experiences, however, I have learned that even after getting a label, diagnosis is not the end of the story…

For a couple of days this week, imagine my surprise that I awoke to no trembling or even pain in my lower limbs.  None of the severe shakiness that makes me feel that I am balancing on jelly.  No sign of the often debilitating pain that feels as if my legs are being squeezed in a vice, and which makes me wish that I could tear my legs off and discard them as many young children do with their dolls.

For these couple of days, my immediate thoughts after waking and realising that neither of these disabling symptoms had returned were “So that’s what normal feels like!”  I had forgotten how it felt not to experience disabling pain and trembling in the legs.  They had become such a part of my life, that without it, it felt almost strange (although was welcome if it was only for a couple of days!

However that it is not to say I have always experienced these particular troublesome symptoms or to this degree as I haven’t, although I had struggled with them for so long now I am unable to recall when they first started.  That’s the thing with living with a chronic illness; the unusual and disabling symptoms soon become the norm and part of our daily lives.  Life with chronic illness slowly become our new normal.

[Tweet “That’s the thing with chronic illness; the abnormal slowly becomes our new normal.”]

A lot of people have experienced some moment in their lives when it feels that their lives have been divided into a before and after, whether it be through a bereavement, injury, illness or some other life event. A moment in their lives where they have to adapt to a new normal, the lives which they once knew becomes a chapter in someone else’s story.

Image: Google
Image: Google

Perhaps what is most difficult when living with a chronic illness is that we intermittently experience a glimpse into our lives before illness struck and its onset of debilitating symptoms.  Times when our symptoms are mild, or even nonexistent and reminding us of our old normal.

[Tweet “The times when our symptoms are mild, we are briefly reminded what our normal looked like.”]

However, this preview of our ‘before illness’ soon ends and again we’re back to our new reality of pain, fatigue and the other symptoms that make up our conditions.  It’s we have a brief glimpse into an old, familiar room before a door being slammed shut before we had a chance to step inside and familiarise ourselves with our past surroundings. A preview of an old life that although can be seen it is out of our grasp.

When given a chance to experience aspects of our past life, however, what is most surprising is that it no longer feels normal, it feels odd as if that life no longer belongs to us.  When living with chronic illness, the abnormal soon becomes the norm and without us even realising, we forget about our old normal.  When experiencing our old normal, therefore, it feels unnatural and strange, as if that life no longer fits.

The new normal just becomes normal; erasing our past life and who we once were paving the way for life with a long-term condition and who we are now.

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