Life Stories and Beyond

Lisa Batten Kunkleman

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April 24, 2016
lisakunk

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No More Statins for Me or Don’t Disregard Muscle Weakness if Taking Statins

By Lisa Batten Kunkleman

(Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. I’m a patient with thoughts, opinions, and some intelligence and unfortunately, tons of experience  when it comes to health.)

Has your life or that of someone you know changed dramatically since starting to take statins? Mine certainly did and not for the better. You should see my swollen, stiff, achy knees. No more statins for me. That’s what I told my primary care doctor who is very concerned about my high cholesterol and triglycerides. After taking a generic for Lipitor for a few weeks, I went from being a fifty-something, daily exercising, walker to a woman who couldn’t get out of a recliner without help from her octogenarian mother. I stayed off meds for awhile and hoped healthy living would improve my numbers. It didn’t. Doc said I couldn’t control this with diet but I insisted I wanted to keep trying. He said I could try Zetia since it works differently and has fewer side effects. He gave me a generous bag full of samples to try and briefly left me in the room, alone with my samples. Before he came back, I had researched Zetia side effects on my phone. I read nothing but horror stories of how Zetia caused numbness or tingly feelings, stomach pain, tiredness, depression, joint pain, back pain and more. Several people reported they still experienced problems after being off the drug. By the time Doc returned, I had decided to give back the samples and keep trying to eat healthy, and exercise. Doc said, “Ok, I’m sending you to a lipid specialist so you and he can come up with a plan. You’ve got to get these numbers down.”

My new specialist, a Lipidologist /Cardiologist conducted thorough research on my entire medical history, which is vast and complicated. I now have the most comprehensive collection of medical records ever. I gathered information about all my diagnoses and misdiagnoses, two complete heart studies, Mayo Clinic appointments, surgeries, and chronic conditions I’ve had during my entire life. Also, I researched family medical history. All my uncles and my father had heart problems and/or attacks in mid-life. Early is what that means. Both parents and grandparents had heart-related ailments and/or strokes. Toss in some diabetes and apparently I have a recipe for heart disease. And, after some further testing and sending blood work to Boston Heart for a highly detailed analysis of my blood and its absorption and cholesterol particle levels, it seems I have Insulin Resistance with extremely high triglycerides and Familial Hypercholesterolemia. That is an inherited genetic disorder where high cholesterol levels are passed down from family members.

I’ve been attempting to be healthy the natural way; by exercising daily, limiting sugar, eating a largely Mediterranean diet full of vegetables, good fats, and healthy protein. Knowing all that, Lipid Doc told me it wouldn’t matter if I ate nothing but berries and twigs, my numbers were not going to improve without medication. I would have to try some other statins. If I couldn’t tolerate them, hopefully I’d qualify for a new self-injectable cholesterol-lowering drug, Repatha. It is from a new class of drugs called PCSK9 inhibitors that help the liver more efficiently get rid of LDL, the bad cholesterol. I’d have to inject myself twice a week. He’s seen patients’ numbers change drastically with this new drug and with very limited side effects, which may include upper respiratory infections, flu, redness, pain or bruising at the injection site and back pain. I must say, none of those sound like fun either but apparently they are not nearly as common as problems with statins. The shots are very expensive, however; many thousands of dollars per year. I’d need our insurance to approve the injectable and to do that, I’d have to try a few more drugs and see how I tolerated them.

Taking another statin was a scary proposition because of how the generic Lipitor I’d tried previously sent my leg muscles into a serious state of weakness but I agreed to try Crestor. Within two days of taking the drug, my legs were once again weak and achy, keeping me awake and making getting up steps a chore. I felt twenty years older. Lethargic. I also had neck pain and headache again after finally getting rid of migraines a good while back. I gave the Crestor twenty days of my life, and couldn’t do any more. I called Lipid Doc and asked what to do next?

I was told, to be approved for the shot, I’d have to try at least one more cholesterol-regulating drug. Pravastatin was its name. Pain and suffering was its game, for me at least. After only one pill, the swelling in my knees began. I took the pill once again the next night, and stayed awake most of the night with pain and swelling in both legs. Plus, I had a blinding headache and weakness and pain in my right shoulder, arm and hand. I felt exhausted and both feet hurt. My dear husband massaged my arms, feet, and legs then and continues to do so now. That’s because even after getting off the latest statin, I can hardly push myself up and down out of a chair without lots of groans and pain noises. If any pressure is put on my right knee, I squeal like a hurt animal. I’m icing both knees regularly and walking gently as much as possible trying to keep my legs limber but it’s not easy. You should see me going up and down stairs with knees that don’t want to bend. I’m a sight!

This situation of pain and lack of mobility has given me so much more empathy and awareness of what folks go through when their  body is chronically stiff and aching. How do they tie their shoes or go to the bathroom when getting up and down is excruciating or just about impossible. I’m wearing flip flops nowadays since I can’t bring my feet up or bend my knees enough to reach the strings without sounding pitiful. I’m also telling myself this is temporary. I felt absolutely fine a month or so ago. Without seeing blood test results, I’d never even have known I had such a severe problem. And now I’m researching things like, “Will Ibuprofen help pain from statin side effects?” The answer is no according to Mayo Clinic. At this point I’m afraid to add anything else to my system so I’m wearing wrap-around icepacks and taking it easy until I speak with the doctor. Hopefully when I speak with Lipid Doc, who has been out of town, he will tell me enough is enough and try to get me on the new miraculous injectable cholesterol medicine.

I feel a responsibility to share what I’ve experienced and learned about the side effects of statins, for the benefit of those who don’t know of the link between statins and muscle weakness and pain. I can’t help wondering how many people think they are just getting old or arthritic and simply accept their situation without ever considering they might be experiencing drug-related negative side effects. I cannot accept going from walking many miles each week to creeping around gently to avoid additional pain that in my case started almost over night. I hope my experience will help those in a similar situation to question their medications as a possible cause. I know statins are life-saving for many people with dangerously high lipid levels and some, like my own brother, suffer no side effects at all. However, for those who do, there may even be new ways to lower cholesterol in such dangerous situations without the negative side effects. I encourage people to discuss other options with their doctor and do some research themselves. Life’s too short to give up and sit it out due to medication side effects.

April 12, 2016
lisakunk

15 comments

The Hands of Time or Whose Hands Are on my Keyboard?

IMG_7424.JPGBy Lisa Batten Kunkleman

I wanted the bones on top of my third-grade hands to show through like Miriam’s. She sat next to me in homeroom and I admired her long fingers and thin hands. The bones shown in the top of her hands just below the silver Timex watch on her left wrist and the silver charm bracelet on her right. My hands had dimples instead of knuckles and my charm bracelet didn’t look the least bit dainty on my pudgy wrist.

 

It took several decades but I got my wish. Now, when I see my hands on the keyboard, sometimes I wonder whose they are. The bony, speckled hands typing away sport my mother’s silver ring, reset with her diamond in the middle and her mother’s two diamonds on either side. More bling than I normally wear, it makes me smile to look at that ring and think of my two favorite women.

 

Only pudgy if I’ve eaten too much salt, my hands now bear the signs of the dreaded sun damage Mom warned me about. I should have listened to her about so many things but sun damage was a biggie. The crepe-textured, thinning skin with sunspots some people call liver spots says, “I told you so,” even if Mom doesn’t.

 

My grandmother preached sun protection even more and kept her hands, arms, and face protected, wearing gloves, long sleeves, and a wide-brimmed hat when she was in the sun for long. Vanity or just wisdom kept her skin beautiful for eighty-some years. That and a liberal dose of Vaseline slathered all over her porcelain face at bedtime. She was ahead of her time using natural remedies. Many times I watched her cut a lemon in half and rub it all over the backs of her hands to fade age spots. Then she’d dig her nails into the lemon to bleach the tips white, which is now a popular thing to do.

 

My fingernails look a little like my dad’s, with vertical age ridges and white tips. He used his nails like a knife to puncture, and then slice through the tough, brown packing tape that sealed huge cardboard boxes of shoes, boots, and purses delivered to his retail store. His nails must have been calcium-rich and strong as, excuse the pun, nails, just like he was, tearing into those cases of merchandise for forty years.

 

Today, I look at my aging hands and try not to think of thinning skin and age spots, but instead I think of my parents and grandparents and the hard work that went into raising and supporting our family. Age has allowed me the wisdom to know that it was hard work. I take comfort knowing my own hands deserve all the character lines and spots they have today.

 

I wonder what my childhood friend Miriam’s hands look like now?

April 8, 2016
lisakunk

10 comments

I’m His Sheep

By Lisa Batten Kunkleman

Returning from my morning walk, I see my black and white dog, Remy, waiting for me just on the other side of his invisible fence. Sheltie or border collie-sheltie mix, it doesn’t matter his official breed. He’s my shepherd. My bodyguard, and he takes his job seriously. Remy paces until I return safely from anywhere I go: the bathroom, the kitchen, or a walk off our property. He is a working breed dog who herds me and protects me day and night. I am his human sheep.

 

He sees me coming down the road and rises from his spot to wag his tail. He stays in the same three by six area, formerly grassy, now turned up red clay soil where he dances and paces until I return safely. Maintaining his position, he watches my arrival while the other dogs sniff around for rabbits and moles. They take off to chase a squirrel and even that, which is Remy’s favorite sport, doesn’t tempt him to stop waiting for me.

 

The ever-working Remy makes sure that the clamoring, large green trash bin that I’m rolling up from the end of our long asphalt driveway is not attacking me. Assured at last that I’m in no danger, he dances behind his invisible fence line never daring to go across it lest he feel the collar’s sting. Once I’m on his side of the fence line, he dances around my legs, herding me all the way up the incline of our driveway.

 

I enjoy being somebody’s sheep, guarded and protected. He looks at me the way some people look at the love of their life. I’m his. It’s more than puppy love.

 

March 28, 2016
lisakunk

10 comments

My Ancestors Keep Me Up At Night

By Lisa Batten Kunkleman

 

My ancestors keep me up at night. Not in a haunting, spooky, hover-above-the-bed way but in an addictive, I can’t drag myself away from Ancestry.com kind-of-way. My obsession with family history intensifies with each passing year. I’m afraid other people will take precious knowledge to their graves like my grandparents did, leaving more unanswerable questions. The problem is, it’s hard to know what the questions are until there’s a mystery to solve and then it is too late because oftentimes, there is no one left who can help provide answers. Oh how I wish I had my dad here to fill in some blanks for me in the family tree and make this research much easier. I almost waited too late to become curious about family history, but thank goodness Daddy and I talked frequently about historical topics while spending time together working jigsaw puzzles or taking walks.

Nowadays, I think I’m in control of this addiction, but I’m not. I plan to blog or write for class but when I sit at the computer, those old relatives get into my head. “Check your messages,” they say. “You might have a new DNA cousin.” Or “You might have a hint about your Viking relatives, that gory branch of the tree that so intrigues your sons.”

Sometimes I think I’ll unwind before going to bed so I sit at my desk for a minute. Yeah right. I check my e-mail one last time and make the mistake of clicking on the one from Ancestry.com that says, “Possible Record Matches in Batten, Kunkleman Family Tree.” That minute turns into several hours and next thing I know it’s two in the morning and I’m so wired up from all the juicy news stories and black sheep, there’s no way I can stop.

I print the best stories, and punch holes in the pages I’ll put in one of my many binders. I worry about the grind of the printer and the click of the notebook disturbing my snoring husband on the other side of my office door but I can’t pull myself away from the latest clue leading to answers about mysterious missing links. Like a chocoholic who can’t stop till the family size bag of M&Ms is flat and empty, I can’t stop checking for new DNA matches or adding one new name to one of my five family trees. Every time I add something new, a little green leaf pops up telling me I have two, four, or even ten hints to check from that tiny morsel of information. I feel my pulse race and my eyes widen, hoping that a missing piece to my massive tree will finally turn up. Like an impossible five thousand piece puzzle with no picture to guide me, I lust to connect the pieces. It’s like a quest. Daddy, a former jigsaw enthusiast, now among our ancestors, would understand. I can see him now, stooped over the round table on the sun porch working a puzzle saying, “Just one more piece. Then I’ll stop. Just one more piece.”

Now it’s me, saying to myself, “Just one more person. Then I’ll stop. Just one more person.”

March 21, 2016
lisakunk

3 comments

Cicadas in my Head: Tinnitus By Lisa Kunkleman

As a teenager, walking around the massive arena parking lots after rocking to Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, or Grand Funk Railroad, still floating on excitement from seeing a favorite band, I remember saying, “My ears are ringing so loud, I can hardly hear.”

“Mine too,” my friends always agreed. “That’s crazy. You sound like you’re in a box. I have to lip read.”

I hate to be a worry wart or Debbie Downer but when I watch people jamming with their earbuds in, if I can hear what they’re listening to, I have to bite my tongue not to mother them. I hope we don’t have a whole generation with ringing ears. It’s called tinnitus, but I call it “cicadas in the head.”

That temporary, amusing feeling in youth lost its hilarity long ago with the constant teapot whistling and whirring in my ears. It’s like having a head full of cicadas buzzing away. Incessant sounds I can often ignore during busy daytime hours but at nighttime, the swamp inside my head comes alive.

Opening our bedroom window adds additional critters and harmony to the bug songs. I pretend the highway sounds are ocean waves and passing motorcycles are jet skis. With my nights filled with oceans, lakes, and swamps, I lie back and attempt ride the sound-waves to dreamland.

February 23, 2016
lisakunk

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Beeps and Bongs and Chimes, Oh My!

Beeps and Bongs and Chimes Oh My!

By Lisa Kunkleman

These days, I can get nagged from every corner of the house even when I’m all alone except for the animals. I’m used to my family ever so gently telling me when I’m doing something wrong or forgetting things but lately I’m getting reminders from my electronics, too. It’s becoming a bit much.

I need to set my phone’s in-box so it doesn’t ping and ting every time I get a ding dang e-mail! I will check it myself when I get good and ready, thank you very much.

I hear beeps and bongs and chimes no matter where I go. I can’t figure out which appliance is telling me what to do when.

This morning, as I loaded the dishwasher, I heard an unfamiliar delicate ping from across the room. I asked the dogs, “Do you hear that?” They looked around the kitchen, and seeing no movement, were obviously confused too.

After hearing the sound repeat itself three times, I walked to the table and checked my new phone, and there it was. My husband had sent a text that needed immediate attention. Of course it did. That pretty sound came from my brand new phone with all kinds of new noises that I don’t recognize. I knew this because it dinged all night announcing mail from Reader’s Digest, the local performing arts center box office, and Restaurant.com since those couldn’t wait till daylight. I guess I’d been subconsciously conditioned to ignore any dang ding. I planned to adjust the sounds later but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

If I leave the laundry in the dryer ten minutes longer than I should, I get a reminder song of “do do do do do.” It’s much prettier than it looks on paper. If I stand and look in the fridge with even a few seconds of indecision, the darn thing sings me a melody that says, “You’re letting the cold air out so close the door, woman.” I sing back, “You’re lucky you’re so full of condiments, there’s no room left for old moldy food. So just hush.”

I kinda like the sounds of the dishwasher. Its pretty voice sings to let me know it’s done. No demands or judgment. I can leave it as long as I want and the mugs and plates won’t wrinkle or sour.

Now where did I put my phone after I set it on silent? Dang!

February 15, 2016
lisakunk

2 comments

Can My Hound Tell Time?

Can My Hound Tell Time?

By: Lisa Batten Kunkleman

It’s five o’clock somewhere. Yes, indeed, it’s here, in my house. Somehow my dogs know it’s supper time and start pacing, then patting me on the leg as I sit typing at my desk. Our hound dog Sadie even starts faking asthma and breathing heavily. She has long nails that accentuate her tap dancing skills on our hardwood floor. Currently, at 5:07pm she is pacing and tapping all around my chair, huffing and puffing, with a little whimper thrown in for effect.

Hmm. She goes silent. I swivel to see her sitting like a gargoyle staring at the back of my head, waiting for me to turn to her solemn, staring face. People call her Single-Stare Sadie, since she always wears that same expression. This time, she begins to bang her tail on the floor for emphasis.

I shouldn’t have looked. Now she pokes her slick black head under my left elbow trying to tug my hand away from the keyboard. She wants to escort me into the kitchen where her feast awaits, closed away from her long snout, in a lidded trashcan.

How these pets sense it’s five o’clock I’ll never know. But they do, so I must oblige.

“Come on guys. Let’s go eat. Dang, Sadie. Control that whip of a tail.”

In the kitchen I stand ready to pour kibble in Sadie’s bowl.

“Spin around, Sadie. Good girl.”

February 1, 2016
lisakunk

3 comments

Mysterious Recycling Phenomenon after Snow Days By Lisa Kunkleman

I don’t know why, but the day after our mini blizzard, which in North Carolina can mean an inch or two of snow and ice, there was a roll out garbage and recycling bin phenomenon. It was the first day of clear roads after our little snow-event- extended weekend, when on my morning walk I noticed all the trash cans and recycling bins lining the streets were chocked full and overflowing. Almost like the week after Christmas. The recycling bins were especially bulging. Cardboard and crushed up boxes crammed and stacked so high, the lids were left dangling to the back, unable to close.

 

I looked for a pattern as I passed our neighbors’ houses and wondered what do people do on snow days to accumulate so much cardboard and recyclables. Do they clean out the garage? Do they clean out their attic? Drawers and closets? Or do they finally get around to opening the Christmas gifts they don’t actually need or want or are mere oddities.

 

Like my shiny red mixer, still inside the untouched box FedEx delivered it in. I’ll need it when I need it but since I haven’t yet, it remains box-bound. One of the neighbors’ smashed boxes once housed a waffle-stick maker. Another once held a holey meatloaf pan with a grease-drip trap underneath. Wonder what’s deeper in the bin. Boxes from a snow cone maker, a cotton candy machine, an electric cheese grater, maybe?

 

Curious but not enough to dig through people’s bins, sticking out the top of one, I spied long rolls of decent-looking wrapping paper and a fat roll of snowflake decorated duct tape on the curb below. I have to admit the thought crossed my mind to snag those items if I walked by there again. Another can was filled with large chunks of foam like what’s inside a cushion. Interesting. Wonder if the dog ate it.

 

By the time I decided to adjust my walking route to pick up the duct tape that still lay in the gutter for two more days, it was gone. Darn. Maybe I’ll see something fun after the next snow days.

 

Now that I’m thinking about this, maybe I need to check out my own appliance graveyard and pawn our unused items off on our kids or Goodwill.

 

Maybe I should consider cleaning out a few closets and drawers of my own during the next snow days. Nah, I’ll keep taking snowy hikes with the family, relaxing by the fire with soup and coffee, and letting the clutter build up. But only a little, like our North Carolina snows.

 

January 28, 2016
lisakunk

18 comments

Sometimes Ugly is Good for You or My Ugly Smoothies By Lisa Kunkleman

Dang that’s a good one. Not long ago, while chewing my first smoothie I knew something wasn’t quite right. In a valiant attempt to regulate my cholesterol and triglycerides, I added a cartload of new foods to my diet. New, to me at least. Being southern born and fed, I enjoy eating all kinds of greens, like collards, turnips, and kale which lots of folks wouldn’t touch for fifty bucks. Our family even grew them in our garden for a couple of decades. That was before new neighborhoods popped up, the deer became pretty much landlocked on our farm and began munching on our bounty and bushes.

 

Several months ago, on a nutritionist’s suggestion, I took to drinking my kale. I’ve allotted lots of fridge space to fresh fruits and veggies through the years but it often involved cooking and serving them on a plate or in a bowl. Now, I toss it all in my Oster blender, hit purée and have a half-gallon of funky colored smoothie to graze on all morning. My blender, by the way, does a great job so I’ve yet to invest in a five hundred dollar whopper-chopper. The last juicer I spent oodles of money on was such a pain to clean, so I’ll stick with my rinse and go blender for now.

 

Lots of foods went into this morning’s breakfast. A year ago, I hardly knew some of these  items were people food: Almond milk, kale, gogi berries, oats, chia seeds, hemp, slivered almonds, pineapple, watermelon, blueberries, vegan protein powder, coconut butter, and avocado. Also, water and crushed ice so I don’t need a spoon to eat my drink. This combination is sweeter than usual because I used up some extra fruits bordering on that dreaded “sell by” date.

 

I’m a smoothie novice and enjoy trying different combinations but I probably end up drinking too many calories sometimes. I’m scheduled to see another nutritionist recommended by my lipidologist, which means in this case, a cardiologist who specializes in cholesterol management. I didn’t know such a specialty existed. I hope to learn how to improve upon my dump and blend method.

 

I wish I didn’t have to admit my lab results show my numbers are still out of whack with a severe diet change and it looks like heredity is not in my favor. Statins don’t agree with my knees so I’ll keep working at the diet and exercise approach, especially since the skin on my hands and arms looks less crêpey, my IBS is under control, my knees work better, and I have more energy than I’ve had in years. My concoctions are like ugly, tasty, energy drinks. No Red Bull for me. I’m drinking my kale.

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