I’ve been struggling to eat food and drink water for years. The symptoms just got worse and worse and worse …
I thought that I would just have to figure out how to manage them.
It turns out there’s a name for what I have: Achalasia.
My struggle with Achalasia began years ago. I had difficulty swallowing my food, regurgitation (I won’t go into detail), and debilitating chest pain. Simple tasks like eating a meal or enjoying a drink became arduous challenges, overshadowed by the fear of choking or aspirating. I felt like my chest was being torn apart like an alien was going to burst out of my sternum. I saw a gastroenterologist who was convinced it was my weight and liver. My symptoms were not getting better despite his “diagnosis.” I had x-rays, esophagograms, CT scans, an MRI (literally I do not ever want to do that again), years of being on omeprazole and it not doing anything, and lifestyle modifications, the symptoms persisted, gradually taking a toll on my physical and emotional well-being.
As the symptoms intensified, I knew I had to figure something out. From dietary changes to alternative therapies, I left no stone unturned in search of relief. I cut out sugar, watched my carbs, and counted calories, and fats, and sodium. I measured everything I ate to be the suggested serving size. I went to therapy thinking this was all in my head. I thought it was stress, anxiety, or even depression just manifesting in a weird way.
Then I thought: I need to start from scratch. I got a new primary care physician, a new gastroenterologist, and a dietician. The GI during our first meeting said “That sounds like achalasia” and I was honestly hopeful for the first time. I didn’t want it to get to my head too much but as soon as I left his office, I searched it. The symptoms fit. I did an imaging test where I had to drink dough-like liquid, and a test where they put a catheter that measured pressure down my nose to the top of my stomach. It confirmed Achalasia Type 2. I saw a specialist and then I saw a few surgeons to go through my options. Ultimately, I did choose the POEM procedure. This link explains what it is better than I ever could.
The decision to undergo surgery was not made lightly. It involved consultations with specialists, weighing the risks and benefits, and confronting my fears head-on. My fear of not being in control. I do not like being under anesthesia. While the road ahead is undoubtedly fraught with challenges, I approach it with a sense of determination and resilience, fueled by the belief that brighter days lie ahead.
As the date of my surgery approaches, I find myself going between apprehension and anticipation. While the road to recovery is going to be rough, I’m hopeful that the surgery will provide the relief and freedom I need. I feel confident in my doctors and I feel very fortunate to have a great support system. I’m also grateful that my employer has been incredibly understanding through this. If I had to worry about losing my job, I don’t think I’d be nearly as okay as I am right now.
I think that for the first time in almost a decade, I feel hopeful that things will be okay. They’ll never be the same as they were but that’s just a part of life. Things change and I’m okay with that.