Today is February 11, 2002. This story begins in the spring of the year 2001. Sometime in May or June of 2001 I began to experience severe episodes of coughing and periods of time where I would be awakened in the middle of the night with chills and fever and a general feeling of malaise.
I began flying racing homing pigeons in 1998; prior to that I had little or no contact with the birds. I started with very few birds and progressed to approximately 200 birds by the end of the year 2001.
I joined a racing club very shortly after I was introduced to the sport in 1998. There were rules and regulations, and countless pointers and tips on how to maintain a healthy flock of birds, and countless intangible pointers on how to train and race the birds with some degree of success.
The problem is, I was never properly informed about the inherent dangers, diseases, or potential allergies that one could acquire just by caring for the birds. I do not like to read very much, so I never read racing journals or anything of substance relating to the sport of flying and racing homing pigeons. My work schedule and lifestyle consumed all of my time, and learning how to properly deal with the birds took all of my time and energy.
I don't really remember, but I must have started with symptoms of "Hypersensitivity Pneumonitis" or "Allergic Alveolitis." The initial flu-like symptoms apparently started shortly after I began having regular contact with the birds. I have a proclivity to simply ignore ill feelings. Life as a Pharmacist for the past thirty-five years has conditioned me for just that. I have worked with fever 104 for a week at a time and on more than one occasion. If you are self-employed, and your living depends on your being at work, then you just do what you have to do! So, if I had flu-like symptoms early on, I probably just ignored them and went about my business.
The spring of 2001 was a little different, however, than anything else I had ever endured. The cough was episodic and occurred at least once or twice each day. I would cough so hard that I finally became exhausted. During this period of time, May through November, I probably lost twenty pounds, and I began experiencing shortness of breath. At one time, I would clean all of the lofts and nesting boxes. I would not quit until I had completed the entire job. Suddenly, in the late spring of '2001, I began to work until I just became completely exhausted. It no longer mattered whether or not I finished completely.
In this year, I also took on more and more birds. I bought some from a friend who had acquired some world-class birds from Indiana, and he also brought me more birds from Missouri. The breeders of these birds had died, and I was more than eager to introduce more new blood into my loft. This, however, required much more exposure and a great deal more work to maintain their quarters. I had more prisoners than I ever had before, and the maintenance became extremely difficult. This is really when I began to notice that I could no longer work until the job was done; I could only work until I became extremely exhausted. My joints began aching more than usual and finally the cough became more and more problematic.
Like all Pharmacists who treat themselves; I, too, took on a "fool for a patient." This is unfortunately the case with all healthcare workers who have the means to gain access to antibiotics and any other medications that he thinks might be appropriate. I spent about four months taking different antibiotics, expectorants, and cough suppressants. I first tried about two weeks of Zithromax; which proved to be an exercise in futility. I then waited a couple of weeks and tried two weeks of Doxycycline. This proved to be of no benefit either, so I continued with the cough for two more weeks before I tried ten days of Ciprofloxacin, again to no avail. I was also taking antihistamines such as Claritin and Allegra along with the expectorants and cough suppressants. My final futile effort to find relief came when I faithfully took seven days of Avelox; which is one of the last things that I could try for acute bronchitis. It was not that I did not take all of the antibiotics exactly as recommended by their respective manufacturers; I finally realized that I was simply on the wrong trail.
It was not until August 30, 2001, that I called the office of Dr. Thomas Hartmann, who was a close friend of mine, and he had served as my physician the entire time I had been in Arkansas. He and I had even watched the famous/infamous O.J. Simpson slow speed Bronco chase on Television at Miller's Pharmacy in Salem, Arkansas. He was employed by Ozarks Medical Center at the time and I was working one day a week for Charlie Miller. The clinic was open until 8:00 P.M., and it was not at all busy, so he and I simply sat in twin chairs and watched the entire chase.
When I called his office, I asked if they could take a chest X-Ray and do a CBC and differential. The answer was yes, and I looked at the results and went away totally unimpressed with the results. However, it was unmistakable that there was something wrong, and the X-Rays and the blood test did not reveal anything unusual. I called him several days later, and he told me that he would look at the film and the blood tests and call me back. When he called, he agreed that he could not see anything unusual either, but he asked me to go to his office. He listened to my chest, took a brief history, and decided that it was probably "Allergic Bronchitis." This was as close as anyone would get to the truth for several more months. He gave me an injection of Betamethasone, an Albuterol Inhaler, an Azmacort Inhaler, and some Singulair tablets from his closet of samples.
I went back for a recheck in a few days, and I surprisingly felt better than I had felt in a long time! I remember now, the appointment for the recheck was at 8:00 A.M., and as I was waiting for him to get to me, I saw him darting in and out of exam rooms. I remember thinking; damn he has more energy than I will have all day long! The next week he had open-heart surgery, threw a blood clot, and was dead! I was extremely shocked when I heard the news, but it was indeed the truth, and I had not only lost my doctor but a very good friend as well!
After Dr. Hartmann's death, my symptoms again emerged and I needed to find another doctor. It was then that I went to Mountain Home to see Dr. Max Cheney. He is an internist, and has practiced there for many years. We restarted the entire process, and he sent my blood off to a laboratory in St. Louis to be checked for every disease known to mankind.
I awaited the test results for more than 30 days before they all came back to Cheney's office. I called his office three times one day, and his nurse said that the results had finally come back, but the doctor had not yet assessed them.
Max Cheney never called me back, and this is when I began to get angry! About that time, J.Y. Massey, M.D. came to the store. He was the one who had suggested that I see Cheney to begin with. I told J.Y. that the SOB could talk to me today or he could talk to my attorney tomorrow! J.Y. said, "just calm down", and he went over to his office and called Cheney himself! Suddenly things began to happen, Cheney's nurse called me and scheduled pulmonary function studies and C.T. Scans at the hospital in Mountain Home, Arkansas. The tests were to be run, "Like Yesterday!"
I went to the hospital, had the C.T. Scans done, and then went to have the pulmonary function studies run. This is when things became evident; I could only do 15% to 20% of what is expected to be normal! I recall the technician just shaking her head from side to side when the computer was printing out the results.
I did not have an appointment with Cheney that day, but I went to his office and demanded to see him! I was told that he was booked up, and I would not be able to see him that particular day. I said, "Like Hell he is not going to see me, I will wait here all day long if that is what it takes!" Not too long after I took a seat, I was called into his office. I, quite vehemently, told him that he was going to apologize to me before we were ever going to sit down to talk about the situation! He could not understand why he owed me an apology, but I stuck to my guns about his failure to call me with the lab results! I was quite adamant about the fact that he could have taken two minutes between patients to call me! He shrugged his shoulders and apologized! I said, "Okay, now let's sit down and talk about my problem!" This is when he told me that my C.T. Scans were negative, but the results of my pulmonary function studies indicated that I had COPD. This sounded strange to me, but what could I say? Something was wrong!
The above events transpired on a Wednesday not too long before Christmas in the year 2001. Friday morning, Max Cheney called me at the Pharmacy quite early, and told me that "They" had changed "Their Minds" about the C.T. Scan of my chest and that something was going on in the interstitial area. He suggested that I see a Pulmonologist. I asked him if he was aware of a good one, and he suggested Bill Galli right there in Mountain Home. I agreed, and Dr. Cheney told me that he would set up an appointment for me. I waited for Dr. Galli's office to call me all day Friday, but no dice! The following Monday, I called his office and was told that I had an appointment the next day! Well, how "God Damned Considerate!"
Galli saw me for two minutes the next day and asked if I wanted home oxygen? I asked him if he had lost his mind, and he just walked off to another patient. A couple of minutes later he came back in the room, and I asked him what the prognosis was? He said, "By the time we get to people like you, a couple of more years!" He suggested that I submit to an open lung biopsy to determine the cause of this interstitial fibrosis. He said this was the "Gold Standard for Diagnosis!" Well the "Gold Standard " is really the "Autopsy!" However, I agreed to at least talk to a surgeon, and he made the phone call and set up an appointment with F--- for me! It was here that I found out who "They" were! It seems as though the radiologist at the hospital saw Galli walking down the hall; he told him to come look at his patient's CT Scans! Galli said that he looked at the pictures, recognized pulmonary fibrosis, but remarked, "That's not my patient!"
Ford was a real piece of work -- cowboy attire and a rusty pocketknife! I questioned him about the procedure, and told him that I would need to think about it. He told me that he would give me another appointment the following week; that would give me an additional week to worry about it! After all, he said previously, that "I was running!" I told him that I did not worry about anything, and I would make my decision not on fear but on probability! The next day, I called his office and cancelled my appointment.
This is when my brother, also a general surgeon, had talked with Tubby St. Blanc about my problem. Tubby had at one time flown pigeons, and he read the journals, etc. He was familiar with the allergic conditions associated with the activity, and this had frightened him to the point where he just quit! Tubby is the Agriculture teacher about whom I have referred in a previous section. However, I have been told that he now has an executive position in Louisiana State Government. Mike Foster's two terms as governor has apparently brought a new meaning to the word "Nepotism!"
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