I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 1997. Since then, I have added osteoarthritis, degenerative spine disease, gastroparesis, exocrine pancreatic insufficiency, and severe axonal neuropathy to my health resume, along with a plethora of debilitating symptoms that afflict me day and night.
Over the past thirty years, countless people have suggested I do this or that for pain; that they are sure if I will do ___________ that all or most of my pain will magically disappear. Anecdotes abound. I know a person who did __________ and their fibromyalgia went completely away! I know another person who took this or that supplement/magic food, and all their pain disappeared! And so the emails, texts, and social media messages say, day after day, month after month, year after year. Never mind what I want. They just KNOW that if I will follow their anecdotal proclamations, I will be healed.
What follows is a list of things I have tried for pain since 1997:
Prayer
Pleading with God
Asking others to pray for my healing
Pretending I am not in pain
Magnets
Genie massager
Chiropractor
Darvocet (removed from market due to causing heart problems)
Tramadol
Flexeril
Restoril
Amitriptyline
Lyrica
Guaifenesin (off label use)
TENS unit
Diet change
Exercise
Supplements
Hydrocodone
Gabapentin
Steaming hot baths (with magnesium epsom salts)
Distraction
Moved to Yuma, Arizona, hoping the weather would be good for me
Electric heating pads for legs, neck, and spine
Gel boiled water heating pads
Padded bed covering
Weighted blanket
Aspirin and Tylenol
Massage by Miss Polly, the sexy masseuse
Surgery
Therapy
Steroid and lidocaine injections
Physical therapy (a waste of time)
NSAID creams and patches (worthless)
Ambien
Gabapentin again
Flexeril again
Pain medications cut or removed per medical practice policy
Hit other body part to take away pain in extremity
Cannabis
Cymbalta (for neuropathy in legs)
Crying
During this time I read books about Fibromyalgia and chronic pain. I also saw more doctors than I can count: primary care doctor, rheumatologist, neurologist, multiple pain management doctors, and neurosurgeon. I’ve been seen by teams of doctors at the University of Michigan and Toledo Hospital. In 2007, I had a complete day-long work-up for multiple sclerosis (MS).
Here’s what has worked — so far:
Hydrocodone
Aspirin and Tylenol
Massage by Miss Polly, the sexy masseuse
Genie massager (a professional electric massager used in therapy/chiropractor offices)
Hot baths
Electric heating pads
Cymbalta (for neuropathy)
Cannabis (for sleep and nausea, doesn’t do much for pain, outside of helping me sleep)
Distraction (particularly cats, grandchildren, and writing)
As you can see, I have done what I can to alleviate my pain. The “miracle” jar is empty, and no cure is on the horizon. I fully expect to live the remaining days of my life in pain. It is what it is. I can accept that, though it seems other well-meaning people can’t. They are certain that if I will just listen to them and do ___________, my pain will markedly decrease or go away. Their “certainty” turns them into prophets of woo — a term used to describe beliefs involving pseudoscience, superstition, or magical thinking.
Want to help me? Continue to read my writing. Send me an encouraging email or message now and again. Comment on this blog. Donate (see, Bruce is in it for the money). Write a guest post. Promote my blog far and wide. Suggest to me subjects to cover with a blog post. Send Polly a note, thanking her for putting up with my shit. Bethany too. Both of them deserve better.
Thank you for your continued love and support.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
As you may have noticed, I haven’t posted a meaningful post in nine days. Outside of my life partner, Polly, and my writing partner, Carolyn, I haven’t talked to family or friends about my current health status.
For new readers who may not know what’s ailing me, I am battling several diseases: gastroparesis (an incurable stomach disease that causes vomiting, nausea, satiation, weight loss); exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (a disease of the pancreas causing the insufficient production of digestive enzymes, leading to diarrhea, weight loss, and malnutrition); severe axonal neuropathy (a painful nerve disease in my legs and feet causing burning, numbness, and increased falls and injury); fibromyalgia (a chronic disease that causes widespread muscle pain/weakness and fatigue); osteoarthritis (a chronic degenerative disease affecting my joints causing pain and debility); degenerative spine disease (affecting my neck and spine causing pain and limited mobility); skin cancer (I have had five cancer surgeries and chemotherapy treatments, the last being surgery on my neck for melanoma three weeks ago). I am also being treated for high blood pressure and diabetes—both of which are well managed. My latest a1c was 5.8.
Of late, my pain levels have been impossible to manage. I could always take more narcotics—they work—but then I will spend my days unable to do anything other than exist and sleep. The rest of the stuff is out of my control. I regularly see my primary care doctor, take prescribed medications, eat properly, and sleep when I can. “Sleep when I can” means I sleep in short 1-3 hour blocks throughout the night, and then nap throughout the day. I am never not tired or fatigued.
Of late, I’ve been losing weight again. I have lost a total of 120 pounds. I’m down to what I weighed 30 years ago. I have little to no appetite, so eating has been reduced to “eating because I have too” unless I want to starve myself to death. My diarrhea and vomiting have gotten to the point that I fear going out in public lest I have an accident. Two weeks ago, I had an abdominal CT scan, with contrast. Down went the contrast, up came the contrast, in a waiting room of people. I was so embarrassed to make such a public scene. I’m a private person, so there’s the added psychological stress from embarrassing myself in front of others.
My daily life has come to a standstill. Three weeks of unopened mail sits on my desk. I haven’t filed our taxes—which I’ve done for 50 years. I contacted one local man about doing our taxes, but he wanted $250 to do them (W-2 wages, social security, one Schedule C for my blog income/expenses). That’s not going to happen, so I need a “good” day soon to file. Blog-wise, I haven’t answered reader emails in several months, and my writing output has declined 90 percent. Writing is one of the few pleasures I have in life, so I find the inability to do so distressing.
There’s no cure on the horizon. All doctors can do for me is help to manage my symptoms. There are days when I feel “this is it.” A week ago, for some unknown reason, my blood pressure dropped to 98/50, with a 120 resting pulse rate. I also had dangerously low blood sugar. I woke Polly up, stammering and unable to talk in complete sentences. She got me a Coke and some high carb junk food to eat, and my blood sugar rebounded to a low normal level. Polly took the day off of work to care for her dilapidated, but still s-e-x-y, man. Gotta have some humor, right? 😂
There are other problems I’m dealing with health-wise, but they are inconsequential compared to what I’ve shared above. I suspect it’s time to ask family to come in and help, but I find it difficult to make my problems theirs. They have their own lives to live. My family will say of me: “Bruce/Dad/Grandpa is a stubborn, prideful man who doesn’t like to ask for help.” When I was a strong buck, I was the master of my domain, but such is no longer the case. As anyone with chronic pain/health problems will tell you, one of the biggest problems to deal with is the inability to be self sufficient.
I hope to do some writing tomorrow. Of course, I’ve told Carolyn that every day for a week. Maybe Tuesday will be the day! 😂 I texted Carolyn earlier, “As you might have divined, rough days and nights lately. Still I hope, so tomorrow is another day to write.”
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Thirty years ago — I was thirty-eight — I pastored Our Father’s House in West Unity, Ohio. As Polly and our children will attest, I was a busy preacher, a workaholic who rarely took time off from the ministerial grind. In the summer of 1995, I started feeling tired all the time. I wasn’t sleeping. My muscles ached. I wondered, “What is wrong with me?”
I sought out the care of a primary care doctor in Defiance, Ohio, who gave me a half-assed exam, drew no blood, and decided that my real problem is that I was depressed over my mom’s death FOUR YEARS EARLIER! That, of course, was so far from the truth that it wasn’t funny. I told this medical school reject that I wasn’t depressed. My body hurt, and I needed to figure out why.
The next year, I saw a primary care doctor in Bryan, Ohio. This man is still my doctor to this day. After months of examinations, tests, and research, he concluded that I have fibromyalgia. The past thirty years have proven this diagnosis to be true. Over the years, other diagnoses were added to my chart: gastroparesis, endocrine pancreatic insufficiency, osteoarthritis, and degenerative spine disease — all incurable. All doctors can do for me is treat my symptoms — to varying degrees of success.
There are other health problems that I have given up on. I have been to numerous specialists, each concluding that they don’t know what’s wrong with me. I asked one doctor what I should do next. All I got was a shoulder shrug and an “I don’t know.” My primary care doctor told me that I am an enigma to him. I am oh-so-special, right?
Americans want to believe that doctors are miracle workers. They are not. Skilled, competent practitioners of medicine? You bet. But miracle workers they are not. They all have patients like me, people they can’t do much for much for. This is especially true for chronic pain sufferers. I saw a neurosurgeon last week. More surgery may be on the horizon, though I am weighing whether I want to have it. I asked him about the severe neuropathic pain in my legs. Unbearable, at times, to say the least. He bluntly told me, “No, there’s really nothing that can be done for your pain.” Of course, I already knew that. I know my body inside and out. When doctors tell me something I don’t know, I go home and research the hell out of the subject. I know that there’s not much that can be done for neuropathic pain. Live with it, or die. Some days, the latter seems preferable.
I have an EMG (electromyography) scheduled next week. The neurosurgeon wants to see if he can pinpoint the locus of my neuropathic pain. I am not optimistic that anything will come from this, but since I have never had an EMG on my legs, I thought it would be a good idea to have the test done. Maybe a miracle diagnosis awaits, right?
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
According to the Bible, pain and suffering are tests, trials, and punishments from God. God punished Adam and Eve for eating fruit off a forbidden tree:
And to the man he [God] said, Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree about which I commanded you,‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken you are dust, and to dust you shall return. (Genesis 3:17-19 NRSV)
While Evangelicals love to protect God’s honor, the Bible is clear: all pain and suffering comes from God himself. I have firsthand experience with pain and suffering. All of us, if we live long enough, will have similar experiences, though the reason, degree, and length will vary from person to person. Most of us have experienced acute pain:
Acute pain is a sudden, short-term pain that signals a specific injury or illness and typically goes away once the cause is treated or healed.
Chronic pain is pain that lasts for over three months. You may feel the pain all the time or it may come and go. It can happen anywhere in your body and has countless causes.
Chronic pain is pain that doesn’t do away. It may get better or worse, but this sort of pain never goes away. This is the kind of pain I have had since the late 1990s. There’s not been a day since I was forty years old that I have been pain-free. What started with fibromyalgia has grown like a brushfire with osteoarthritis, degenerative spine disease, gastroparesis, and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. Today, my life is one long, exhausting struggle with pain. My goal every day has been to control my pain well enough that I have enough energy to write and do work around the house. Some days, it is impossible for me to do anything more than survive; to live to face another day. And other days, all I want to do is die. I love my family, but sometimes my pain is so severe that all I want, in the moment, is for the pain to stop.
Chronic pain sufferers know that pain medications become less effective over time. That’s the case for me. I’ve been taking narcotic drugs for twenty years. Over this time, I have unnecessarily suffered because of the government’s and Parkview Hospital’s war on chronic pain sufferers. I take fifty percent less morphine load today than I did five years ago. I have largely found that local pain doctors are worthless; more concerned with doing injections and procedures than they are managing the suffering of chronic pain sufferers. And even worse, local pain doctors, to the person, oppose cannabis use. Figure that one out.
If the goal of medicine is to lessen suffering, why don’t doctors do more to help their chronic pain patients? My primary care doctor plans to retire in four years. He told me it is unlikely, due to clinic policies, that another doctor will write my narcotic scripts. I replied, “No problem. I plan to be dead by then.” My doctor thought I was being funny, but I most certainly was not. Without narcotic pain medications — yes, many people really need them — I will not survive. “But, Bruce, aren’t you worried about becoming a drug addict?” Are you kidding? Of course not. I have CHRONIC pain. It never, ever goes away. I suspect my pain will only get worse with time. How could it be otherwise? My spine — from neck to coccyx — shoulders, and hands continue to structurally deteriorate. I can easily see a time when I can no longer type or walk. As it stands now, I use a cane, walker, or a wheelchair to get around.
If I am a chronic pain sufferer, why does it matter if I become “addicted”? If I was in hospice with terminal pancreatic cancer, would I be given narcotics for pain control? Would the goal be to ease my suffering? Of course, it would. Why, then, is it any different for chronic pain sufferers? Just because we are dying “slowly” doesn’t mean we aren’t in just as much pain as those who have terminal illnesses.
I do all I can on any given day to manage and control my pain: heating pads, steaming hot baths, Tylenol/aspirin, TENS unit, stretching exercises, massage, cannabis, and, yes, narcotic pain medications. I also take medications to manage symptoms from gastroparesis and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. Cannabis has reduced my nausea and vomiting, so there’s that, for which I am grateful.
I see a neurosurgeon later this week; the same surgeon who did my surgery a year ago. Hopefully, he will provide an answer for my lower back pain and awful neuropathic leg pain. If so, I will have surgery again, though I am hesitant to do so. All I know to do to is gather information and decide accordingly.
Are you a chronic pain sufferer? Is your pain well-managed? Please share your experiences in the comment section.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
I have a lot of health problems: fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency (EPI) — all of which are incurable. I am also diabetic and have high blood pressure, both of which are controlled by drugs. Further, I have degenerative spine disease:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
I have widespread osteoarthritis and a torn labrum in my right shoulder. There’s never a moment when I am not in pain. Sometimes, my pain is unbearable. Every day is a challenge. Do some people have it worse than me? Of course, they do. But all pain and suffering are personal, so it doesn’t matter if some people have it worse than I do. My body, my pain, my suffering, and so it is for all of us. I wish I could adequately convey to readers how it really is for me, but words seem to not suffice. Even my partner and family sometimes miss how bad things are. Sadly, those who love us the most often get used to us being sick or in pain. They no longer see us as we are. I can’t tell you the last time a family member said to me, “How are you doing?” or “How are you feeling?” I often feel as if I have become part of the furniture. People “see” me but they don’t really “see” me. I am little more than the rocking chair that has always sat in the corner of the living room — ever present, but rarely, if ever, noticed unless someone wants to sit in it. Chronic pain sufferers and people with debilitating illnesses can reach a point where they give up and kill themselves. They feel as if they no longer have a reason for living. I have come to that place numerous times over the years, more so in recent months. I see a counselor every week, hoping to lessen my depression. Sometimes this is helpful, other times, not so much.
I have always been open about my health. This, of course, leads to all sorts of unsolicited medical advice, even when I ask people to NOT send me such advice. My openness turns some readers into medical experts, even though they have no expertise in medicine. Evidently, reading a few books and listening to a few podcasts is the equivalent of 10-14 years of post-high school education, and anecdotal stories are the same as double-blind studies. Typically, I ignore such people, knowing that medical ignorance abounds. On occasion, a few readers have pushed the issue, and that’s when I tell them to fuck off.
The scientific method is the best tool available for us to understand the natural world. Science isn’t perfect and can and does make mistakes, but I know of no other way to explain and understand our bodies. So, when readers tell me to do this or that and I will be healed, the first thing I want to see is the empirical evidence for the claim. When someone tells me that a particular supplement, food, diet, or alternative treatment will cure me, I want to see the evidence for this claim. When someone says veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and a host of other alternative treatments will cure me, I want proof that these things work. Someone saying they do isn’t good enough for me (and shouldn’t be for you either).
I value expertise. Sadly, we live in a day when many people don’t. Valuing expertise is not the same as accepting what experts say without reservation. When one of my doctors suggests a new treatment or drug, I value their expertise. I have had the same primary care doctor for twenty-seven years. I trust him. But, he also knows that the first thing I am going to do after he suggests a new treatment or drug is do a Google search for relevant information. I am going to read the studies. I am going to visit patient forums. I am going to check out what online medical professionals say on the matter. Then, and only then, will I decide what to do. I have an appointment with a specialist at the University of Michigan later this month. I will likely have a relatively new surgical procedure that hopefully will lessen my suffering from gastroparesis and exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. I am hoping this procedure will reduce my nausea and vomiting. I have done my homework on this procedure, so all that remains for me to do is determine whether the benefits outweigh the risks (and there are serious risks). Statistics, probabilities, and outcomes play a big part in my deciding whether to have a procedure done or take a new drug. I never do anything blindly or by faith.
Let me be clear, I trust my doctors, and when I don’t, I look for a new one. They are the experts, so I must, to a large degree, have faith in them. It is unlikely that I will ever know as much as they do on any given issue, so I am dependent on them getting it right. I don’t know what more any of us can do. The system isn’t perfect, but it is the best we have.
To those who are defenders of veganism, reiki, homeopathy, iridology, essential oils, cupping, dry needling, acupuncture, chiropractic care, magnets, and other alternative treatments, please don’t. Don’t what, Bruce? Turn this post into a pulpit for you to preach your religion. Much like my view of religion in general, I am not interested in your personal opinion. Ouch, Bruce. Sorry, but I don’t ask the counter worker at McDonald’s about the best treatment for EPI, and I am sure as Hell am not going to ask non-experts either. If you are a medical doctor with a relevant specialty or an expert in a relevant medical field, by all means, share with me what you know — not feel or think, but what you know. Opinions are what we share on Friday nights at the pub amongst friends. When I want are facts and evidence, I seek out experts, not my drinking buddies. Just because you can do a web search doesn’t make you an expert. You do know this, right?
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Polly had an appointment with her orthopedic doctor today. Major surgery is in the future for her — when is yet to be determined. Afterward, we drove to Archbold to eat lunch. We planned to eat at Samuel Mancinos, but the restaurant is closed on Mondays. Instead, we ate at a Mexican restaurant. I ordered a #18 — a taco, burrito, and rice and beans. I took three bites of the taco and some of the beans and rice before my ever-present nausea turned into feeling like I needed to vomit. I took some Zofran to lessen the need to vomit, sparing me the indignity of throwing up in a public restroom. Our server came to collect our plates. When she saw most of my food went uneaten, she asked, “You didn’t like the food?” I explained why I couldn’t eat my food. She genuinely felt sorry for me, taking my meal off our bill.
This is my life with gastroparesis — an incurable stomach disease. Every day, every week, with no respite in sight. In two weeks, I will have an endoscopy and colonoscopy. After that, I plan to have a gastric peroral endoscopic myotomy. This will hopefully reduce my symptoms. It is NOT a cure.
I have had numerous tests in recent weeks. A stool sample revealed I have an uncommon disease called exocrine pancreatic insufficiency. My pancreas — for an unknown reason — doesn’t make enough digestive enzymes. As a result, my body can’t properly digest food and absorb nutrients. This may be why I am anemic and have low B12, potassium, Vitamin D, and testosterone. I will likely have to go through pancreatic enzyme replacement therapy with expensive drugs.
Throw in fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, and degenerative spine disease, and I am in a world of hurt. My life is dominated by managing my health and lessening symptoms. My life has been reduced to striving to live another day. Joys that I once took for granted are gone. Eating is one of those joys, and not being able to enjoy food is so depressing I wonder why I keep trying.
As you may have noticed, my writing production has dropped dramatically. My life has pretty much come to a standstill. I am trying, but readers should no longer expect me to generate as much content. I cannot do so, and it seems evident, at least to me, that this is my new normal. Readers should expect less content from me, and if you notice my writing pace has picked up, don’t assume I am “better.” I am not, and I fear my best day is today, with more suffering and pain in my future.
I am 90 days behind on answering emails and social media messages. There’s nothing I can do about this. I will answer them when I can, and, quite frankly, some of them will go unanswered. I have had thoughts about hanging up my blogging spurs, but I enjoy writing, so I can’t bring myself to throw in the towel. All I know to do is manage my symptoms, rest, and do what I can.
Please don’t offer me medical advice. I am seeing competent doctors, to whom I trust my life. They are the experts, and unless given reason to believe otherwise, I trust them. I appreciate your friendship and support, but sending me links to articles and blog posts or questioning my diet, is not helpful. I appreciate your understanding.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Medical doctors are very much a part of my life. I see my primary care doctor four times a year, a dermatologist twice a year, a cardiologist once a year, and other specialists, as needed. Today, I saw an orthopedic doctor for pain in my left hip and a carpel tunnel-like problem in my left hand; a problem I had surgically fixed in 2010. While I was lying on the cold table for an X-ray of my hip, the festering cyst on my upper back — which I had removed a few months ago, but has returned — burst, leaving a wet, bloody, puss stain on my tee shirt. “Wonderful, right?” I have an appointment with a dermatologist tomorrow to figure out what, exactly, to do about the cyst. (I have an ongoing problem with cysts here and there on my body. I have spent thousands of dollars getting them drained and incised. More often than not, the cysts make repeat appearances.)
The orthopedic doctor walked into the room, and after we exchanged pleasantries, I told him why I was there today. The doctor, whom I have seen before, had no recollection of my medical history, including the fact that I have widespread osteoarthritis, and was diagnosed two years ago with:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
The orthopedic doctor was unsure what the problem was with my hand. Scar tissue from my previous surgery? A new problem? He ordered a new EMG — a nerve conduction test. As far as my hip was concerned, he decided my pain was caused by the aforementioned back problems. Solution? Live with it.
And then came the lecture . . . “have you thought about losing weight?” I told him I had lost one hundred pounds over the past three years . He asked, “How?” I replied, “Gastroparesis.” I added, “Nausea, lack of appetite, and vomiting, will do that to you.” I quickly determined that he knew little to nothing about gastroparesis. This, of course, is not surprising since bones and joints are his specialty. His cluelessness didn’t stop him from suggesting I see a different gastroenterologist to get a “second opinion.” Second opinion, for what?
Gastroparesis is an incurable stomach disease. The treatments are limited: medication to manage symptoms, feeding tubes, and experimental procedures. I hate when doctors think they always need to be the expert in the room. I have no doubt that I know a hell of a lot more about gastroparesis than my orthopedic doctor did. I have read the relevant literature, and know gastroparesis is a miserable disease; that no miracle is forthcoming. I take medication, vomit, forego eating, and I had an experimental procedure done under anesthesia last year (to no effect).
Ignoring everything I said, my orthopedic doctor suggested I contact the practice’s weight loss clinic for a consult. He said, “You know, if you lose more weight, it will lessen the pain in your back.” By this point, I wanted to scream. “Are you not listening to me? “Or do all you see is the fat guy?”
Had my orthopedic doctor asked, he would have learned that I started having back problems at age twenty. I was first diagnosed with narrow disc space in my lower back when I weighed 225 pounds and still played competitive sports. My spine is literally falling apart. Losing weight won’t fix structural problems. I have had back problems at various weight points throughout my life. Lose, gain, it matters not, the pain remains. I am a living study that shows that the idea that losing weight will fix whatever ails you is untrue. As I mentioned, I have lost one hundred pounds. The only thing losing twenty-five percent of my body mass did was improve my glucose levels and provide me a new wardrobe. That’s it. My debility and pain remain the same. But, hey, I love my new Charles Tyrwhitt shirts.
I am comfortable in my own skin. Lecturing me about my weight is not helpful, nor will losing weight magically cure my fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, or gastroparesis. While there certainly could be benefits from losing more weight, I doubt dropping another twenty-five to forty pounds will lessen my pain.
What I most wanted my doctor to do today is see “me;” to listen to me; to consider the totality of my health. Since that was beyond his “expertise,” he is no longer my doctor. In fact, I am done with doctoring. When I leave their offices worse off than when I came in, I wonder “why bother?”
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
Ask the average person why people commit suicide and they will give you all sorts of explanations. Many people think there are signs depressives display when contemplating suicide. While that can be the case, often the person seemed “fine” before killing themselves, or the “signs” were so subtle that they were overlooked. Depressives often fade into the fabric of day-to-day life. They become like furniture, always in their places. When this happens, people miss the signs, often tragically so. I know my wife and family love me, yet I also know that they are so used to me being sick, disabled, and in pain that I always seem “normal” to them.
Several days ago, I attended the Defiance Pride Parade. While I can walk short distances using a cane, I can no longer walk long distances without the use of a wheelchair or motorized cart. The degeneration in my spine, hips, shoulders, and arms, makes it difficult, if not impossible, for me to operate a wheelchair without help. Polly or one of my sons usually pushes my sorry ass around. My youngest son got the privilege and honor to push me along the parade route. The road was rough in spots, causing me excruciating pain. I knew this is the way it would be, but supporting LGBTQ people mattered more to me than pain. I endured.
A dear friend of mine told me that he could tell I was in a lot of pain. I tried to hide my suffering, but my face said to him that my pain levels were high. I appreciated the fact that he understood what I was going through on that day. The next day, we had dinner, a monthly event for myself and three other men. We now call ourselves “The Woke Mob.” Getting together with them is one of the highlights of each month. I rarely get out of the house these days. Thanks to declining motor skills, I can no longer drive. The last time I drove an automobile was in March 2020 — over three years ago.
After dinner, my friend said to me, “you look better today.” I smiled and replied, “narcotics, and the use of modern pharmaceuticals.” You see, I always want to “look better.” I don’t want to be pitied. I want to be perceived as the virile, strong-as-an-ox Bruce of yesteryear, even though I know this is the absurd fantasy of a crippled, broken-down old man.
My pain levels were the same on both days, but what was different on the second day was a significant increase in suicidal thoughts. My friend couldn’t know this. I didn’t give off any signs that suggested that I was struggling with making it another day. Even when talking with my therapist, it is not always easy for her to suss out whether I have increased suicidal thoughts. I see her tomorrow, which is good. The edge of the cliff is getting too close for comfort.
Many people wrongly think that those with suicidal ideation have exact plans as to how they will do themselves in. While I have a good idea of what means I will use to kill myself, I really don’t sit around thinking about it. It is the small, insignificant things in life that often drive my suicidal thoughts. Let me explain.
My life has a rhythm to it; what I call my “new normal.” This normal changes over time, as disease and pain continue to ravage my body. Two years ago, when an MRI and CT scan of my thoracic spine revealed:
Disc herniation (T7,T8)
Disc herniation (T6,T7)
Central spinal canal stenosis (T9/T10, T10/T11)
Foraminal stenosis (T5,T6)
Disc degeneration/spondylosis (T1/T2 through T10/T11)
Facet Arthropathy throughout the spine, particularly at T2/T3, T3/T4, T5/T6, and T7/T8 through the T12/L1 levels.
Hypertrophic arthropathy at T9/T10
I adapted to my new normal. I had already been diagnosed with widespread osteoarthritis (joint pain), fibromyalgia (muscle pain, weakness, and fatigue), and gastroparesis (a debilitating, incurable stomach disease). I also have diabetes and high blood pressure — both of which are well-managed. On any given day, I spend my time managing my health, writing, and spending time with my family. Some days, I have doctor’s appointments or we go grocery shopping. On other days, I try to do things around the house or in the yard. Our backyard is teeming with wildlife and feral/stray cats. I enjoy watching them from the living room window. We have a new outside cat, Binx is his name. You know, the strays that don’t go away. He and I are now friends, so I will spend some time petting him or feeding him tuna fish. This is my normal.
Typically, I have a four- to five-hour window to productively work. After that, I lose my starch, and I retire to my recliner for the night and read, watch TV, or cheer on the Cincinnati Reds (I watch every game). Polly comes home from work at 2:30 am. Then comes bed, the worst part of my day. Yet, I have come to accept that this is my “normal.” It takes me twelve hours to get seven or eight hours of sleep, and even then I am never rested. At best, I live to see another day. Tired, fatigued, in pain — but alive.
It is what it is, a cliché I often tell myself as I try to navigate a life of pain and suffering. However, there are unexpected things that happen, small things that can quickly increase suicidal thoughts. My life is like a spinning plate full of food held on one finger above my head. Okay, I can handle this, I tell myself, but then along comes someone or something that is thrown on my plate, and my life spins out of control. All of a sudden, I find myself thinking about whether I want to keep living. But it was such a small thing that caused your plate to spin out of control. And therein lies the problem. When small, insignificant things accumulate, collectively they can be overwhelming. A bowel problem, incontinency, phantom smells attack, blurred vision, Morton’s neuroma flare-up, a fall, memory problems, unexpected bills, not hearing from my children or seeing my grandchildren as often as I want (need), edema so bad I can’t put on my shoes, getting out of the house so I can attend a sprint car race, only to get hit in the head with a rock thrown off one of the car’s wheels, stepping on Legos, tripping over the cat, finding out I have a yeast infection from taking an antibiotic for a toe infection, losing my glasses, being so weak I can’t lower the footrest on my recliner, eating food at a restaurant that immediately causes me to vomit, finding out someone ate the last of the peanut butter, or a host of other small things. To the healthy, and to the strong, these circumstances may seem insignificant; and they are when taken in isolation. However, when it takes every bit of your strength and energy to just get through the day, small things tend to overwhelm you and leave you questioning whether you want to live another day.
This is not a plea for help, nor is it an opportunity for readers to send me unsolicited medical advice. Please don’t. If my friend and I had more time together, maybe I would have shared with him where I really am in life; how close to the cliff I am actually standing. Or maybe not.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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Bruce Gerencser, Midwestern Baptist College, Spring 1978. I already had high blood pressure. 1969 Pontiac Tempest, by the way. 326 CID, three-speed on the floor. Sweet ride.
Every month or so, I receive a polite, wordy email — complete with links — from someone who is certain that if I just follow a certain fad diet, eat certain foods, or follow this or that dietary program, whatever ails me will be instantaneously, miraculously cured. These Food Fundamentalists® certainly mean well, but I don’t find their “advice” helpful at all.
The contact page states: “I know you stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, but you are not a medical professional, so please do not send me unsolicited medical or psychological advice. I am not interested — ever.” Food Fundamentalists® — who often eschew Western medicine — evidently believe that since they are “helping” me, my request doesn’t apply to them. These food zealots are not much different from Evangelical Bible thumpers who fill my email box with sermons, Bible verses, and personal attacks. Food Fundamentalists® think their gospel, if believed and practiced, will “save” me from my “sins.” In their minds, my biggest “sin” is obesity or a bad diet. If I just worshipped and obeyed their deity, why I would drop 200 pounds and look as slim and trim as I did the day I entered Bible college.
Of course, when I investigate their Holy books and websites, I find that they are filled with errors and contradictions, much like the inerrant Word of God. Every food cult has its own divine text, each purporting to be the truth. What’s someone like me supposed to do? Read. Investigate. Look at the science and studies behind a particular food cult’s gospel. (Two of the first places I go are Quack Watch and Science-Based Medicine.) I find, without fail, that Food Fundamentalists® preach gospels that are not backed up by science and empirical data. I am not saying that these cults don’t help anyone – they do. But the same can be said for Christian Fundamentalism. Some people find real, lasting help through believing in the miracle-working power of a dead man named Jesus. The reasons for this are many, and so it is with the various diets Food Fundamentalists® present to me as the cure for my afflictions. Despite the success stories, most people who put their faith and trust in Jesus find out that the dead Son of God is not what cultists claim he is. So it is with diets. Most people who go on diets lose weight for a time, but, in the end, they gain the lost weight back and then some. Diets don’t work, regardless of their name. Bruce, it’s not a diet, it’s a way of life, food cultists say. Sound familiar? It’s a relationship, not a religion.
Christian Fundamentalists blame the person when Christianity doesn’t stick. They didn’t pray the right prayer, believe the right beliefs, or really, really, really have faith. Food Fundamentalists® do the same. If an obese person fails to succeed or later regains lost weight, it’s their fault for not religiously, devotedly following the plan.
The biggest issue, at least from my perspective, is that Christian Fundamentalists and Food Fundamentalists® both make assumptions about my life — past and present. Food cultists assume — wrongly — that the reason people are obese is because of the type or quantity of food they eat. In the minds of these Fundamentalists, all fat people need to do is eat less and eat cult-approved foods. These preachers of fidelity to the BMI chart, make assumptions about me, assuming I am overweight because I eat too many McDonald’s Big Macs or eat too much processed foods. These zealots don’t know what or how I eat, they just assume that I must eat too much food or eat the wrong food because I am spatially challenged.
I hate to break it to them, but my diet is NOT the problem. Sure, I can overeat at times, and I certainly am not going to pass up ice cream if it is offered, but on most days, I eat healthily — that is, if anyone can actually define what the fuck it means to eat “healthily.” Sorry, Food Fundamentalists®, but your super-duper diet plan is not the answer to my medical problems. If it were really that simple, I am certain one of the many doctors and specialists I have seen over the past thirty years would have mentioned it. Yeah, I know, they are all members of a secret cabal who deliberately keep me sick so they can make lots of money off of me. Child, please.
Miller Peak, 1975, with my Sunday School class. Miller Peak is almost 10,000 feet high. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m the 18-year-old redhead in the back.
The only medical problem I have that is affected by what I eat is diabetes (and it’s under control with medication). That’s it. Everything else: Fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, degenerative spine disease, gastroparesis, and the excruciating, debilitating pain that comes from these medical afflictions are not helped, harmed, or cured by what I eat. The real problem now, thanks to gastroparesis, with its attendant nausea and vomiting, is that I often don’t eat enough. In fact, I have lost one hundred pounds. Did my health change after losing twenty-five percent of my body mass? Surely, losing a lot of weight magically cures obese people, right? That’s what Food Fundamentalists® say. The only measurable difference for me has been the reduction of my A1c to 5.8.
I have high blood pressure too, but I have concluded, based on a thorough study of my sixty-six-year medical history and family history, that hypertension runs in our family. My seventy-three-year-old aunt started taking medicine to control her blood pressure in her 20s, and she has never been a pound overweight a day in her life. I took a careful look at my blood pressure numbers from my high school years. At the time, I was 6 feet tall and weighed 150 pounds soaking wet. I played baseball and basketball, I rode a bicycle virtually everywhere I went — spring, summer, winter, and fall. Later in my teen years, I frequently went hiking, including hiking to the top of Miller Peak in the picture above. I was a slim, trim, fit fighting machine, yet I had high blood pressure.
As I look back over my medical history, I see a plethora of reasons that better explain where I am today than simplistically saying, Bruce, you are fat. Lose weight and all will be well. I wish things were that simple, but they are not. I am at a place in life where I do what I can, and some days, “doing what I can” means getting through the day without committing suicide. So, please walk in my shoes first before you decide to send me “advice” I didn’t ask for. Think I am being too pointed and direct? Again, walk in my skin for a few days, weeks, or months, and then we will talk. When you are doing all you can to make it to tomorrow, the last thing you need is a pompous, arrogant Food Fundamentalist® preaching to you his or her food cult’s gospel. Imagine, for a moment, you are walking home from a long twelve-hour day at work. Every part of your body is screaming for an hour-long dip in a hot bath, followed by several glasses of red wine. As you walk towards your home, an Independent Fundamentalist Baptist (IFB) street preacher accosts you on the street, intent on evangelization and conversion. How would you respond to this man’s evangelistic efforts? What if he persisted to hound you every time he saw you? Why, I suspect you might feel homicidal rage welling up inside of you. You might even tell him you “tried” Jesus and it didn’t work for you, and with a flip of your middle finger say to him, now, fuck off. This is exactly how I feel when I receive yet another email from a Food Fundamentalist® wanting me to join their cult. If you really love and respect me as a person and appreciate my writing, then do me a favor: leave my medical treatment to me and my doctors — men and women who, unlike you, actually went to medical school to become experts in their chosen fields of practice.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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“Bruce, your problem is that you lack contentment.” I was stunned when my counselor told me this in 2019. I had been seeing him for years. I wondered if it is time for a change. (I changed therapists in 2021.) His words seemed sharp and judgmental. I felt as if he was ignoring me as a person and making a character judgment instead. Weeks later, I was still talking about whether this judgment was correct. Polly would say, I’m sure, if asked, “Bruce, you are discontented over contentment.” 🙂 Maybe.
In November 2019, I wrote a post titled, Living with Unrelenting Chronic Pain: Just Another Day in Paradise. I intended to write about contentment then, but the post, as is often the case, went in a different direction from that which I had intended. As that Spirit moves, right? It’s impossible to determine if I am content without first understanding the primary issues that drive my life: chronic illness, chronic pain, loss of career, loss of faith, OCPD, and past emotional trauma. Pulling a singular event out of my life and rendering judgment based on that alone is sure to lead to a faulty conclusion. Think of all the clichés we use about understanding people: walk a mile in their shoes, see things through their eyes, judge not, lest you be judged. If we truly want to understand someone, we must take the time to see, listen, and observe — not something we do much of these days. We live in the social media era, a time when instant judgments are the norm. As a writer, I find it frustrating (and irritating) when people read a post or two and then sit in judgment of my life. In 2,000 or fewer words, I have, supposedly, told them all they need to know about Bruce Gerencser. Of course, I have done no such thing. Want to really get to know me? Sit down, pull up a chair, and let’s break bread together and talk. Truly understanding someone requires time, commitment, and effort. I have been married for forty-five years. It took years for Polly and me to really get to know each other. And even today, I wonder, do I really know all there is to know about my lover and friend? I doubt it.
Contentment. What does the word even mean? Happy? Satisfied? Complacent? How do I determine if I am content? Do I even want to be content? Is contentment a desirable human trait? What would the world look like if everyone were content? The Apostle Paul wrote spoke of contentment several times:
I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. (Philippians 4:11)
But godliness with contentment is great gain. (1 Timothy 6:6)
And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. (1 Timothy 6:8)
Be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave theeá, nor forsake thee. (Hebrews 13:5)
“Bruce, you are an atheist. What the Bible says is irrelevant.” Tell my mind that. These verses were pounded into my head by my pastors and Sunday school teachers, and then, as a pastor, I pounded them into the heads of congregants. Just because I say, “I’m an atheist,” doesn’t mean that decades of indoctrination and conditioning magically disappear. I spent most of my adult life trying to be the model of a “contented” Christian. Try as I might, I came up short.
My father was the epitome of “contentment.” Dad lived by the maxim qué seráserá (whatever will be, will be). He was passive and indifferent toward virtually everything. Dad and I were never close. It’s not that we had a bad relationship; it’s just that he treated his relationship with me the way he treated everything else.
I was much more like my mom. Passionate. Contrary. Opinionated. Everything mattered. It comes as no surprise that I am a perfectionist; that I struggle with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder; that I have high (and often unreasonable) expectations not only for myself, but for others. Ask my children about what they “fondly” call the Gerencser Work Ethic. Oh, the stories they could share. I am sure a few of you are thinking, “are you not admitting here that you are discontented?” Maybe, but I am not convinced that it’s as simple as that — as I shared with my counselor.
You see, I have always been a restless person. Does this mean that I am discontented? Or, perhaps, I am someone who needs a steady diet of new experiences. I bore easily. In my younger years, this resulted in me working a number of different jobs. My resume is quite diverse. The same could be said of the twenty-five years I spent in the ministry. I loved starting new churches. However, over time, these new churches would become old churches, and when that happened, I was ready to move on. I pastored a church in West Unity, Ohio for seven years. Awesome people. Not a problem in the world. Yet, I resigned and moved on. Why? I was bored. I was tired of the same routine Sunday after Sunday. It wasn’t the fault of the people I pastored. I was the one with a restless spirit. I was the one looking for matches and gasoline so I could start a new fire.
My counselor asked me if he could wave a magic wand over me and instantly make me content, would I want him to do so? I quickly replied, “Absolutely not.” I told him that instant contentment would rob me of my passion and drive. “What kind of writer would I be without restlessness and passion?” I asked. He replied, “ah yes, that which drives creatives.” If being content requires me to surrender my passion and drive, no thanks. I am not interested. Now, I can certainly see where I would be better off if I, at times, let go and let Loki. I have never been good at “be still and know that I am God.” I like being busy. I enjoy “doing.” One of the frustrating problems I face with having fibromyalgia, gastroparesis, and osteoarthritis is that I can no longer do the things I want to do. My “spirit” is willing, but my “flesh” is weak. Does this lead to discontentment? Maybe, but I am more inclined to think that the inability to do what I want leads to frustration and anger, not discontentment.
I’ll leave it to others to determine if I am content. I will leave it to the people who look at me and “read” my face, thinking my lack of a smile is a sure sign of discontentment; as if there couldn’t be any other explanation for my facial expressions — you know, such as chronic, unrelenting pain. Would it settle the contentment question if I tell people that I am generally happy; that I enjoy writing and spending time with Polly and our six children and thirteen grandchildren? I doubt it. Much like my counselor, people seize on anecdotal stories as evidence for their judgments of my life. I told my counselor about a visit to a new upscale pizza place in Defiance. I told him that the waitstaff left a lot to be desired, and our pizzas were burnt on the bottom (the restaurant uses a brick pizza oven). I told our server the pizzas were burnt. The manager gave us a 50 percent discount on our bill. My counselor seized on this story as a good example of my discontentment. Never mind the fact that I rarely complain about the quality of restaurant food. I just don’t do it. I am willing to give a place a pass; having managed restaurants myself. I know how things can get messed up. That said, I always wanted to know when an order didn’t meet customer expectations. No, customers are not always right. Some of them are idiots and assholes. But I couldn’t make things right if complaints never reach my ears.
Am I content? Probably not, but I sure as hell don’t want the kind of contentment preached by the Apostle Paul, modeled by my father, and suggested by my counselor. No thanks . . . I’ll take happiness with a slice of restlessness, and garnished with passion every time.
Bruce Gerencser, 69, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 48 years. He and his wife have six grown children and thirteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
Your comments are welcome and appreciated. All first-time comments are moderated. Please read the commenting rules before commenting.
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