Written by, Roe G.
Hi guys, my name is Roe and I’m in recovery. Here is the story of my CHS experience.
“I was diagnosed with CHS two days ago”
“When did you last smoke?”
“Um, yesterday… it was for the anxiety and the nausea”
“Are you confused as to what the problem is?”
I felt so belittled. So worthless. So lost and hopeless. I was treated this poorly, by a healthcare professional no less, for being an addict—who at the time didn’t know they were one and didn’t identify as one.
I got CHS in a matter of three years. Those were probably the three longest years of my life. For about six or nine months (two and a half years into smoking) I threw up, not every morning, but about every other morning. I remember one single week in that time span where I didn’t throw up, just one single week. And I knew deep down this was CHS. I didn’t want to believe it. I saw the symptoms in my father. But how could I get that far? How could it happen to me?
Then came the first week of my second semester junior year of undergrad, I started throwing up every 15 minutes. This lasted for a week, but in my mind that first day, that first hour, I had no idea how long it would last. That feeling of “when will it end?” will haunt me to this day. And honestly, that is the main reason I am sober. My CHS looked like waking up in between the hours of 1 and 5 AM and spending the entire day, until around 5 or 6 PM, next to a bucket or the toilet.
I went to the ER on day 2 and they got me into a room pretty quickly, as it wasn’t very busy. Before they took me back, in this sort of purgatory room, they placed an IV and gave me some meds to help with the nausea. I was in the same room as somebody clearly undergoing very serious treatment. He appeared to be in a significantly harder medical situation than I was. But I essentially put myself there. My smoking habit, my addiction made me develop CHS. He very likely was not responsible for the medical situation he was in. I felt immense guilt to be in the room having put myself in that situation. He got nauseous because of the medication he was on, and I got nauseous because of his retching. We went our separate ways, I went to my room and he was likely stuck in that room getting god only knows what difficult treatment he was being put through.
From what I remember, I was diagnosed with CHS, told to take hot baths for nausea, told to not smoke and sent on my “merry” way. It’s important to note that they did not test my urine at this first ER visit. This will become important later.
I went home and I smoked. I waited maybe an hour or two, probably until my partner at the time left me alone—but I smoked that very night. I was absolutely no stranger to hiding when I smoked or how much I smoked. I felt so low, knowing that smoking was exactly what got me there, and yet I went back to what was my safety net for years. I think I knew I was an addict, but I wouldn’t admit it until weeks after this episode. I knew I had a problem. I knew I hated how smoking made me feel most of the time. But, the very little time I felt good smoking was the reason I validated and allowed myself to continue smoking.
The hot baths helped the nausea and I couldn’t tell you how many baths I took in that time frame but it was beyond many. I remember being up at the wee hours of the morning, sitting in the bath with a bucket next to it praying that this sickness would end. Mind you, I had no relationship with praying, God, or anything of the sort. I was seriously praying for an end to what I consider my personal hell.
I saw my doctor the next day after going to the hospital. I was told to drink Gatorade and hope that this passes. I couldn’t keep anything down, let alone a sugary sports drink. I felt hopeless. I felt very alone. I was missing some of the most crucial time in a semester, and all for something I did to myself. Yes, I have a family history of addiction, but I knew that. I saw my mom struggle in the hospital with a cigarette smoking related health complication. I saw my dad switch from smoking cigarettes to smoking weed. I hate to say that I am solely responsible for the fact that I got CHS because if I looked anybody in the eyes who had CHS and told them it was their fault, I would feel awful and I know they would feel awful too. Maybe it’s our addictions’ fault. Maybe it’s our fault. Maybe a mix of several components.
I went to the ER again probably a day after I went to my doctor. The triage nurse asked me several questions, as it is her job. But one particular question she asked really set the tone for my day. She asked when was the last time I smoked and when I said that it had been after I was diagnosed with CHS she asked, “are you confused as to what the problem is?”
I have never felt as small as I did at that moment. She made me feel as if I wasn’t worth anything. I did a damn good job of making myself feel that way, nobody needed to take that over let alone a healthcare professional. I spent eight hours in that waiting room and every 15 minutes I got up to throw up in the bathroom. One of those times I couldn’t lean over the toilet again so I threw up in the sink. When I told a nurse about it, she found somebody to deal with it, came back to me and told me to aim for the toilet next time because it’s really inconvenient to find a cleanup crew. I felt worthless yet again. I felt helpless yet again. As an addict who can’t admit they’re an addict, my self worth was in the toilet, no pun intended. And to be treated in such a way is plainly unacceptable. I wasn’t offered help. I wasn’t offered any programs or pointed in any helpful direction. I was left to fend for myself, at the absolute lowest point in my life.
When I was finally attended to, and treated about 6 hours into that day, they tested my urine. They found out that I had a UTI that was exacerbating my symptoms immensely. I went home with antibiotics and within the next two days after starting them, my symptoms were alleviated significantly.
I knew that wasn’t the end yet though. I knew changes desperately needed to be made. I found out about MA and went to my first meeting a week later. It took me about two more weeks to lock down a sober date, which is February 9th 2024. I perform service for my group. I am on step eight. I have a sponsor who has a sponsor. I am more than I ever have been. I was a shell when I walked through the doors of my recovery center. This week I walk through those doors the best version of myself I have ever been. I frequently think about how long I would have let my addiction go unaddressed had I not gotten sick and I truly don’t want to know the answer. While that was absolutely one of the worst times of my life I can confidently say I wouldn’t change it if it meant I didn’t get sober. I wouldn’t wish CHS on my worst enemy but I also wouldn’t take that experience out of my past considering what that week was a catalyst to.
If you have or had CHS, I see you and I am so proud of you for looking into resources of any kind. You deserve nothing more than peace and comfort again. With that I’ll simply thank you for letting me share my story and spending this time with me.
