Nothing Says It Like the Norovirus, aka I Hurt So Much, I Wanna Die

In 1968, in the tiny town of Norwalk, Ohio, 85 times smaller than Philadelphia, midway between Cleveland and Toledo, acute gastroenteritis victimized the Bronson Elementary School, so much so that the gastroenteritis closed the school for awhile, and the virus became known as the "Norwalk agent." The people of Norwalk, Ohio,  unfortunately, were dubbed as the folks where that virus originated, and the name was shortened to norovirus.

The virus must have been around for a long time, but now it is identified from stool samples to make it officially that virus. Since 1968, the norovirus has run rampant on the close quarters of cruise ships, sending hordes of people, at times, to their respective toilets to vomit, along with bouts of diarrhea and stomach pains, the ships sometimes returning to port earlier than expected. In fact, noroviruses are the number one cause of diarrhea in adults. Also on the list, nursing homes and schools breed the norovirus as well.

The norovirus is what causes gastroenteritis, or swelling of the gastrointestinal tract. I've become a quasi-expert by now. I never even heard of the norovirus until my doctor said the symptoms point to my having it.

Needless to say, and forgive me for getting a might graphic, the norovirus is messy and painful, and that's why I didn't write for almost eight weeks. The virus left me lethargic, weak, and powerless. The virus also gave me chills, low-grade fever, and muscle aches, all of which, being in a state of denial, I said would disappear tomorrow. And when tomorrow came, there was a whole new set of tomorrows.

Let me start at the beginning. My friend was going to Philadelphia close to eight weeks ago and wouldn't be home for dinner, so I ordered a pizza from the local joint I used so many times before. It was delivered to my house--hot, crispy, and taste-worthy. I ordered a medium pizza cut into six slices, three for today, three for tomorrow. After I ate the three slices, I developed heartburn. I never get heartburn. People sometimes get heartburn from peppers (which I had on my pizza), but to repeat, I never get heartburn.

So I did it again, just like I did with my insane headache just hours before my stroke--I didn't listen to my body, not taking the hints my body was giving me. Not that there was anything to do with my hemorrhagic stroke, but a little heads up would have been nice. The same with my heartburn which went from bad to worse in a matter of minutes. I couldn't do anything about the virus either, but a warning would have been nice, too.

I waited four weeks, until on a Saturday, the pain got so bad, I couldn't stand it any longer. I called up to my friend on the second floor and said, "I have to go to the hospital. The pain just reached that point." Of course, having heard me complaining incessantly for four weeks, he didn't question me.

It was a cold, blustery day as I navigated the ramp to the Emergency Room while he parked the car. I could barely wait for relief. I ambled in to the ER. Then my friend soon joined me, and I was taken back to a room. After drinking the contrast solution that would enhance my CT-scan, I threw up three times. The nurse said there was enough contrast solution left inside me. Then I took an X-ray and I drank some barium to enhance the picture. I felt awful, and I was too powerless to protest.

After the tests, the doctor admitted me because he didn't know what was wrong with me. The norovirus never came up in conversation. But why not? He had to know what a norovirus was, didn't he? Or maybe he cut that class in medical school.

Anyway, I was in the hospital for a week, crying often from the pain in my gut. The rest of the time, I was zoned out on Dilaudid, a pain killer. I was released from the hospital with a low-grade fever and no clear diagnosis. Five days later, the pain was starting to subside and I wasn't taking pain meds anymore, but I developed a rash that was itching so bad, at times, I thought it was the end of me. (Viruses can produce a rash anytime, I learned later from the primary doctor).  

So how did I get it? The norovisus is part of  group of viruses that inflames the intestines and is the leading cause of gastroenteritis in the United States. It is often thought that contaminated food is the culprit, but not always so. 

Norovirus is often called, colloquially, the stomach flu, but it isn't the influenza virus. It usually comes about if you touch contaminated surfaces or if you eat (which I didn't) undercooked or raw seafood like clams and oysters. It is highly contagious, and sharing utensils or shaking someone's hand, if you are infected, spreads the virus. Despite a stool sample which confirms that you have the norovirus, most people are diagnosed purely on their symptoms.

Diarrhea and vomiting heads you down the dehydration path, causing bigger problems than the virus. I was dehydrated at one point along the way, but I was aware of it and so knew the steps to correct it, which are drink, drink, drink water and juices, even if you don't feel like it. Alcohol and caffeinated beverages can dehydrate you further. Dizziness when standing, a decrease in urination, and dry mouth all can point to symptoms of dehydration. Severe dehydration like I had is also treated with intravenous (IV) fluids which were given to me in the hospital.

Like other viruses, noroviruses don't respond to antibiotics, which are designed to kill bacteria, not viral infections. So there's nothing to do but wait, until it all goes away. It's the eighth week now.


To ward off the norovirus, some of the things you can do are:
--Disinfect surfaces with a mixture of detergent and chlorine bleach after someone is sick.
--Wash your hands with soap and warm water for at least 15 seconds.
--Cook all shellfish thoroughly before eating them.

I still have the rash, though it is fading, albeit slowly. The most important thing is, I'm back, happily writing this post. (*itch, itch*) And what about the stroke that was so horrible? I'm glad to report that the stroke is currently on the back burner.

Mitt Romney, A Stroke Patient, and Facebook, aka The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (Not Necessarily in That Order)

"What's this mean?" I asked my friend. "I don't get it." It was a cartoon.

First frame: One dog asks another dog, "Do you think Romney will win the election?"
Second frame: "Nah," the second dog says.
Third frame: "Why not?" asks the first dog.
Fourth frame: "Where have you been!?! He hates dogs! That's why!"

As the story goes, in 1983, Seamus, the Romneys' family dog, was transported on the roof of the family's car, windguard and all, to vacation in Ontario, a 12-hour trip from Massachusetts. The Governor and his wife were interviewed about that experience by Chris Wallace, Diane Sawyer, and so many others in the months before the election.

The Romneys said the story was overblown, emphasizing the trip on the roof was just as if Seamus were riding a motorcycle or on the flatbed of a truck. In August 2012, three months before the election, Devo, a band, released a single called "Don't Roof Rack Me, Bro (Seamus Unleashed)," to keep the high-profile story in the news.

And all the while, through the still-talked-about, 30-year-old Romney incident and updates on issues like KONY 2012, YOLO, Pinterest, Whitney Houston, and more, I missed it, because for close to a year, I was writing my book, "The Tales of a Stroke Patient," intently pouring over the laptop like the book was a mission to end all missions. After the book was published on September 26, 2012, I tried to find readers to buy my book. I don't know yet how many books were sold. A handful? Just shy of the Best Sellers List? Really, I have no clue, but most likely somewhere in between handful and humungous.

Writing a book and typing with one hand is no small feat, but concentrating on my disability, how it took me twice as long to type, feeling sorry for myself, crying in my soup, had to stop, and it did. Originally, the book started out as a blog to give stroke patients fond, but more not-so-fond, memories of their respective stays in rehabilitation hospitals and nursing homes all across the globe. Around the 10th post, I decided to turn the blog into a book.

The world seems small now, with people writing to me for copies from all corners of the globe--literally, except Antarctica. But I can't blame those Antarcticans. Maybe when global warning hikes the temperature a little bit higher, the Antarcticans will come, when their fog-filled, collective breath isn't hampering them from writing me an email.

I wrote to publishing houses for about six months, telling them why a biography about strokes was so important. I told them, coming right out of the World Health Organization's literature, "15 million people suffer stroke worldwide each year. Of these, 5 million die and another 5 million are permanently disabled. High blood pressure contributes to more than 12.7 million strokes worldwide. Europe averages approximately 650,000 stroke deaths each year." Still, no one was interested.

Then I heard about self-publishing. So I went to the "do-it-yourself" houses. That's how I found Xlibris, one of the originators of print-on-demand (POD). POD means they print the books as they're requested, helping Xlibris from storing books that can't be sold and keeping customers, and in turn authors, happy as their book orders come right away. It's a win-win situation, all the way around.

The one requirement I wanted the most was total control over my work. Fortunately, that requirement was familiar to Xlibris because, as they say, "we help hundreds of authors every month publish their work in the manner and form that they envision."

Xlibris started sending email attachments around July 2012. The attachments were arranged in the order expected, telling me the "next steps" I needed to take for the final step--publishing. I designed the cover, telling them that I wanted a pink brain and, on it, black letters that spelled out the title of

my book and my name on the front and spine. I chose the color, format, and style.

I designed the back cover, relating all the reactions from my blog and advance copies of the book. The people were all grateful that I was forthright with them. Many told me about the service I was providing, to educate people about strokes everywhere around the world.

I sent them three successive drafts of the entire book. When I was satisfied there were no more errors, at least none that I noticed, I sent in the final paperwork saying, "Yahoo. It's finished" (to myself), and then I was done. My package came with extra books, a press release, and a host of resellers that would advertise my book like Amazon and Barnes & Noble. 

Then I got the quirky idea to advertise the book on Facebook. If 15 million get strokes every year, it stands to reason that some stroke survivors would be on FB. So often, I put out a post on my book. That's when the ugly--and in my opinion, jealous--emails and just-plain-nasty posts arrived. There were 12 altogether and they hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. They posts weren't threatening; they were just unnecessary and annoying, and the comments all used the second person "you" which adds a hint of animosity. Here is what some of them said (and my reactions in parentheses):

You obviously don't know how to market a book. I have an agent that does all that for me. (Big deal. You're rich enough to afford an agent).

You wanna sell your book? Give me three reasons to buy it. (I'll give you a lot of reasons, starting with "you might learn something").

You didn't even greet me before you posted on my personal page. (Oops. Where are my manners?)

 You can't advertise on Facebook. (Actually, you can).

(And this was the last one:) If you wanted to make a real difference, you would try to make an audio version for those people who can't f**king read because of their damned stroke. (Language, language).

Most--maybe all--of those 12 people reported me to Facebook as sending spam and I received a 7, then a 14, then a 30-day suspension from either acquiring new "friends" or from messaging new people. Facebook said that I can only write to people I know. What if you want to make new friends? Shame on you, Facebook and Mark Zukerberg, its founder.

I couldn't do anything about all the naysayers, but to make a audio version that works with the I-pad, I converted the book from a manuscript document into an Adobe .pdf version (remember, I had technical skills once?) and it worked. I had a "friend" whose name was Nicole test it. The I-pad now delivers an audio version of "The Tales of a Stroke Patient." So now how do you feel, saying I don't help the ones with poor vision from brain impairment. I think his name was Pat from Ireland. Or maybe Bob from Africa. No. That's not right.

Anyway, people can be petty, and you sometimes see that phenomenon in Facebook--and everywhere else, for that matter. Hey, Mitt Romney is a member of Facebook. He must get a slew of unnecessary and annoying posts, more than I do. From dog lovers, for example. Maybe I'll learn how he handles it.