7-year Update:

Well it's time I finally do this.  I'd initially intended to write a 5-year update, but just couldn't get myself to do it.  Then a 6-year update; same thing.  I dread writing this.  I HATE having to focus on the subject of floxing/FQ toxicity any more than I'm already forced to 24/7/365 by my chemically-mutated & broken body.  My minutes/hours/days/months/years are spent trying to DISTRACT myself from the never-ending nightmare that is now my 'life', so to have to sit here and focus on this is incredibly difficult for me.  For anyone who has emailed me and not received a reply, I'm sorry--I just can't do it anymore.  I definitely have PTSD when it comes to this subject.  This will likely be my last update.  It also likely won't be well written, as I have too many points to make and no real way (or the energy) to tie them all together.  If you are newly floxed and/or are looking for a miraculous recovery story, stop reading now.  So here we go:

Today is December 4th, 2016.  I've been disabled for over seven years now thanks to those 12 Cipro pills I ingested over the course of six days back in October of 2009.  Exactly 2,592 days spent in bed now.  Not ONE of those days has been good.  My condition has not improved; in fact it's gotten quite a bit worse which I never even though was possible.  I am more crippled today than I have been at any point since this began.  In November of 2015 I experienced an 'attack' in both legs that came totally out of the blue--a relapse that has completely knocked my legs out of commission.  The fascia in both of my knees suddenly became extremely weak and eventually tore from simply bearing weight on them (standing up).  As a result I now have horrific pain and severe soreness in both legs (the muscles are all pulled extremely tight thanks to the torn fascia) and have gone from being merely housebound to completely bedridden.  If you can imagine what it would feel like to be completely out of shape and then suddenly forced to sprint 10 miles--the immense soreness you'd feel the next day is what the muscles in my legs feel like at all times.  Then add to that the fascia tears which feel precisely like you'd imagine your flesh tearing to feel like.  Morphine doesn't touch it.  Weed doesn’t touch it.  Nothing helps.  I have not left the house in over 13 months now.  I've not even seen my own kitchen in over a year, as it is upstairs and I can no longer do stairs.  I have to order packaged food off the internet and have my parents bring it down to me once it's been delivered.  I’ve been unable to visit my doctor, I’ve not had a professional haircut (I do it myself with clippers now), nor have I seen the outside world in over a year.  I've not once had shoes on my feet in 13 months.  My entire world literally consists of a 12'x12' dark basement bedroom (which basically looks like a drug den because I can't keep it up).  Staring at the same exact four walls day after day after day after day.  Even prisoners in solitary confinement get to see the outdoors for an hour or so each day.  That's an hour a day more than I do. 

I've also not been able to see a dentist in 18 months now, which is a big problem as Cipro's detrimental effects have finally begun hitting my teeth.  The last time I visited the dentist for a cleaning I was shocked to learn I'd developed a cavity and had the beginnings of a second.  I'd never in my 35 years prior had a cavity, and have been taking better care of my teeth over the past seven years than ever before because I know I'm at risk (thanks to Cipro!) for developing dental problems.  Well it doesn't matter how well I brush/floss/avoid sugar because my mouth is so incredibly dry now that the damage is happening anyway.  I am long overdue for a cleaning & exam but can't get myself up the stairs and out to the car in order to get myself to a fucking dentist.  

I feel like I've been forced against my will into an incredibly unethical experiment to see how much SHIT a human being can be subjected to before snapping.  How much physical pain, solitude and utter deprivation can a person possibly take?  It's actually amazing how much you can endure when you have no choice.  If I'd had ANY foresight whatsoever back in October of 2009 that this would be my existence today, all these years later, I'd have ended it on the spot.  But because the horrors unfolded somewhat slowly it allowed me to acclimate to each new disability/loss of freedom/etc before being hit with the next one.  I'm the frog that was brought to a slow boil.  The water is boiling over the sides though, and this frog is damn near dead.    

It's hard to believe I was once alive.  That I could walk aimlessly and painlessly, live on my own, support myself, eat what I want, do as I please.  That life is so far gone it's difficult to believe it ever actually occurred.  I call it my past life.  Memories are all I have left of a life now, and I spend a lot of time there.  I feel like I'm trapped in this strange place between life and death--like I'm a ghost.  I'm not clinically dead, but nothing about my "life" constitutes living.  My "friends" (rather, people I once considered friends) no longer contact me, as if I'm dead.  I am able to see very clearly everything I did wrong in my past life.  All the misguided worry about things that, ultimately, wouldn't matter in the least considering what I had coming to me.  I've also already mourned the loss of my own life, which is probably not something a lot of people get to experience.  

I've watched from a distance as people who were once my friends have gotten married, had children, bought houses, travelled, etc, etc, etc.  Meanwhile I'm still lying here in the same exact spot as I was seven years ago.  Absolutely NOTHING has happened in my life since October of 2009.  No new memories, no new friends, no new experiences, NOTHING.  Everything just stopped.  Not only do I feel like I've stopped growing as a person, I feel like I've regressed.  Living with your parents at the age of 37 is not okay.  On the bright side, I've saved a ton of money on shoes and gym memberships.  I've not had to buy a new pair of shoes in nearly a decade now (no need for them!).  A lot has transpired in the world since I left it.  Ipads didn't even exist when I became floxed!  I am very much on the sidelines, watching time move on for the rest of the world via my television screen.  At least when I was merely housebound I could look out the window and see signs of life out there.  Now I can’t even do that.

I remember when this first happened to me, the initial information I was able to find online indicated that these side effects could last for months.  I remember freaking out and saying to myself, "I don't have MONTHS!  I have shit to do!"  Little did I know, those who snap back after a matter of months are the extremely lucky ones.  I then discovered the Flox Report where I learned this can actually last for many years--and I freaked out all over again.  I had people online telling me, "Keep holding on!  Things often start to turn around at the 3-year mark!"  The 3-year mark came and went for me, and nothing.  Then I had people tell me "Hang on until the 5-year mark...the 5-year mark is a turnaround point for many severe cases!"  I gritted my teeth and hung on through five years of non-stop HELL…and nothing.  I now know that there is another group: Those who never get better.  Lifers.  At this point I don't even lie to myself anymore.  I'm clearly a lifer.  There will be no light at the end of this tunnel for me.  In the very early days of my reaction, when I still had high hopes of recovering and getting my life back, I actually made a list of goals for myself.  The very first goal on that list was to be able to walk through a store looking and feeling normal.  Seven years later and I still cannot even do the first thing on that list, nor will I ever be able to.  'Mind over matter' doesn't work for this condition.  

Speaking of time frames, I've read in various places that a person's risk of tendon rupture persists for up to six months after taking Cipro/Levaquin/Avelox.  I am here to say that that is total bullshit--there is no end point.  I could still EASILY tear and/or rupture tendons seven years out--and I know of other flox victims even further out than I am who continue to rupture tendons all throughout their bodies.  The only reason I haven't had any ruptures is because I am bedridden.  If someone forced me at gunpoint to walk around the block, I would most certainly return home with multiple tears and/or ruptures (assuming I didn’t just pass out in agony somewhere along the way).  The pain in my legs gets so bad at times I feel like I could actually pass out.

My connective tissues continue to disconnect.  I cannot think of anything more horrific than having your body decompose on you while still being alive--and yet that is exactly what is happening here.  My cells die off faster than they can be replaced--and the replacements are of shoddy quality at best.  The result is this body that literally falls apart from the slightest movements, physical exertion or bearing of weight.  I'm able to shower once every 48-72 hours and by the time I'm out of there I'm so out of breath you'd think I just finished running a marathon.  I don't drink as much water as I should anymore because I don't want to have to stand up to shuffle the twelve or so feet to the bathroom, which results in my knees re-tearing themselves.   

Now onto the subject of death: I cannot wait to be dead.  I think about it constantly--even in my sleep.  It will be a glorious day when I never again have to wake up into this ruined body.  NOTHING sad about it!  What's sad is what happened to me back in October of 2009 and that it's still happening to others each and every day without any recourse.  I've been dead already for the past seven years...only I'm the only one who seems to realize that.  I've experienced enough physical and mental pain at this point for 100 lifetimes.  There are days when I'm so depressed I swear there's not a single molecule of dopamine anywhere in my body.  I feel so low that my face might as well be dragging along the ground.  I want what's left of my body to be burnt up and set free in California.  As I've written before: It's not that I actually want to die.  I don't.  I just do not want to continue existing in this condition.  This existence is the very definition of torture.  Cruel & unusual punishment for sure.  I am often in so much pain that I actually try and detach from my body.  No pain medication touches this level or type of pain.  I can think of very few ailments that I wouldn't trade for this fucking nightmare.  If the only way I can be free again is to be burnt into ash and thrown into the wind then so be it--just get me OUT OF HERE!  If I can't have death, I want to be put into a coma.  Unconsciousness.  I pray for something--a heart attack, cancer--anything to end my life so that I don't have to do it myself.  I constantly have the urge to just slam my head into the wall so hard that everything goes dark and it's finally over.  I've wrapped cords around my neck  to see what it might feel like to hang myself.  I just have to get the fuck out of this body.  On the rare occasions when my pain levels relent a bit, my depression instantly lifts.  But the pain always returns and I'm slammed down once again.  I'm already far beyond what I can handle.  For the first six or so years, I would often tell myself, "Okay...if this is as bad as it gets, I think I can keep going."  But then with the setback last November, I've been pushed WAY over the line.  At this point I am the roadrunner who has run off the cliff--my legs are still spinning--but I haven't dropped yet.  The drop is coming.  Any little upset at this point will have me gone.  I cannot handle any more.  No human being can possibly be expected to live for any length of time while enduring this level of TORTUROUS pain, disability and solitary confinement.  I am jumping out of my skin here and I am exhausted.  

I have fought this thing completely alone.  I've learned A LOT about the human race since this happened to me, and none of it is good.  You think you know who your friends are, for instance.  Try losing your health and/or your money and see how long those friends of yours stick around.  You'll most likely be shocked.  That, I have to say, has probably been the most surprising and unexpected thing about this entire ordeal.  I never in a million years thought that every one of my friends would stop talking to me.  Every single one!  Most disappeared immediately; the other 20% stayed around in some capacity for a few years before also completely disappearing.  At first I thought maybe I'd just chosen really shitty friends, but I've seen the same story repeated time and time again by other FQ victims in the various Facebook groups where people’s friends abandon them after they've become floxed.  Truly surreal.  And I've written this before but I want to reiterate it again to any of my old friends: DON'T ANY OF YOU DARE COME OUT OF THE WOODWORK ONCE I'M DEAD.  You weren't around while I was sick and suffering, don't you fucking act like you were my best friend once I'm finally gone!  Not happening!

Lastly, to the folks at Bayer: You are extremely lucky that I am crippled.  You are extremely lucky I no longer own a car.  You are extremely lucky that I do not own any weapons.  Because I would like nothing more than to hobble into your headquarters and welcome you into my world.  The world YOU forced me into without my consent.  The executives at Bayer are murderers as far as I'm concerned, and every one of their employees is an accessory to murder.  If someone had jumped me in a dark alley and put me in this condition, that person or persons would be in prison.  But because this happened as a result of an FDA-approved poison marketed to the public as an antibiotic by a corporation, it's somehow okay?  One of these days one of Bayer's untold thousands of victims is going to march in there and get their own justice.  I hope to God I somehow live to see that day.  It will be so richly deserved.  Tick-tock, Bayer.  Tick-tock.
 

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"It could be worse--you could have cancer!"


I've had a few people now tell me, "It could be worse--you could have cancer!"  I guess that's their attempt at making me feel better?  Regardless, it's bullshit.  First of all, cancer ends.  You eventually either beat it, or you die from it.  THIS DOES NOT END!  Cancer has treatments; this does not.  Doctors acknowledge the existence of cancer; the vast majority of doctors do NOT acknowledge that floxing exists. Cancer shows up on tests; most of the damage caused by quin drugs evades traditional testing.  Unless you physically rupture a tendon, most flox victims' x-rays, MRIs and even blood work will most often come back normal.  This leads to all sorts of problems with being believed by doctors/friends/family, being able to sue the drug manufacturers for damages (tough to sue when you can't prove what a drug has done to you!), and being accepted for disability benefits.  Untold millions of dollars are spent every year on cancer research.  Call Bayer and ask how much they spent last year researching a cure for flox victims--victims of a syndrome THEY created! The answer is ZERO DOLLARS.  And no one else is out there researching a cure for this either, short of us victims ourselves.  There's no money in helping flox victims--only in creating them!

Lastly, there is sympathy for cancer patients.  From my personal experience there is absolutely no sympathy whatsoever for flox victims.  People do not call or email to see how you're doing.  Literally every single one of my "friends" has drifted away on me over the past three years.  My own family--who I LIVE with now--don't even speak of this.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who's noticed that I've been in bed for THREE YEARS.  It's literally not spoken about or acknowledged, as if it doesn't even exist.  When this first happened to me back in 2009, I tried forwarding my mother various articles/websites/videos about floxing so that she could educate herself on what I was experiencing.  When I later followed up with her about whether or not she'd visited the links I'd sent her, I was told she "didn't have time" or "the video was too long."  Unbelievable. Meanwhile I'm lying here in agony day after day, month after month, year after year, constantly having to fight off the urge to end it all.  Would this be the case if I were suffering with cancer?  Would she not have time to read up on it?  Would she act as if nothing is wrong?  I suspect not!  I have literally received more compassion from complete strangers on the internet (most of whom are floxed themselves) than I have from my own family and friends.  This entire situation is fucking surreal. 

UPDATE: My above statements have recently been CONFIRMED.


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Supplements...

When this first happened to me, I quickly learned that there are two camps of flox victims--those who believe supplements have a place in treating FQ toxicity (usually newbies, I now know) and those who say not to waste your money--that supplements are useless in treating this condition (usually veterans).  Well, you can see from the pic below which camp I decided to go with.  I simply could not and would not accept the notion that there was nothing I could do to reverse this, and I'd quickly write off anyone who told me otherwise as being either negative or not knowing what they were talking about.  There was no way in hell I was going to stand idly by as my body continued to literally fall apart more and more each day…I had to at least TRY to do something to stop it!  I was certain that *I* was going to find a cure for this--even if no one else had yet!  Certainly the cure was out there if I could only find it.  And so I went supplement shopping online.  I went to Vitacost.com and typed in "tendon" and "cartilage" and "collagen" and "connective tissue" and literally any product that came up, I bought.  If someone online recommended I try something, I did.  I've spent thousands of dollars on more supplements than I can possibly list--so many in fact that I eventually became one of Vitacost's "Top 100 Reviewers" on their site.

So how'd that work out for me?  Well...not so great.  I'm obviously still completely and utterly crippled and have noticed absolutely NO change whatsoever in any of my symptoms in response to any of the supplements I've tried.  I think it's safe to say that supplements don't do SH!T to reverse the effects of floxing.  I couldn't even entertain that possibility in the beginning of this nightmare, but I've accepted it now.  There are still flox victims out there (almost always newbies or mild/moderate cases) who claim X helped them or Y helped them, but in all honestly they probably would have improved anyway with out it.  So that's where I stand on the subject of supplements!  My seasoned advice: Save your money.  If there is any way out of this nightmare, it's time and time alone.

This is maybe 1/4 of the supplements I've purchased & tried over the past 3 years:
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Suicide...

I have received numerous emails from other flox victims (many of them suicidal themselves) asking how I've managed to stick it out this long without killing myself.  The answer is: I really don't know.  I have literally been surviving one hour at a time for three years now.  I am beyond exhausted, both mentally and physically.  I know that this cannot last; living in this condition indefinitely is simply not an option…it is not sustainable.  It must end one way or another, and preferably sooner rather than later.  I'm honestly incredibly surprised and impressed with myself for making it as far as I have--for riding this bull for this long.  I feel like this has been a 3-year-long rodeo and I've been clinging on to this raging animal with everything I've got, but it's going to buck me off at any moment. This will not end well.

I've been extremely close on two occasions now…notes were written and everything.  I won't go into too much detail, but both times were 'saved' by holidays.  Both times just happened to be in December, and I just couldn't bring myself to go through with it that close to xmas.  I was so damn close though.

I guess there are a few things that have kept me going this long, even though it's a daily and often hourly tug-of-war for me.  First off, people told me in the beginning, "It'll get better!  You just have to stay strong and wait it out!"  So I did.  I've toughed this out for over three years now, only it hasn't gotten better.  In fact some things (my legs, specifically) STILL continue to get worse.  Unfortunately (as I've now learned), not all flox victims get their lives back, and I'm afraid I'm one of them.  And at this point I just don't see it happening...I don't see any indication of a light being at the end of this incredibly long tunnel.  I don't think I'm being pessimistic, I'm just being real.  It's probably safe to assume at this point that this is permanent, and I'd likely be fooling myself to believe it's going to somehow start getting better this far out.  I am not aware of any other type of injury that remains stagnant for a full three years before suddenly and miraculously beginning to heal.  More often than not victims do indeed regain a good portion of their health back after being floxed; I, however, was evidently floxed beyond the dreaded point of no return…I am not one of the "lucky" ones.

Another reason I haven't offed myself--and I know this might sound stupid to some--is that I know they're going to autopsy my body once I do.  I've researched online and apparently it's standard procedure for suicides/young deaths. My body has been through ENOUGH human-inflicted trauma as it is.  Leave it the fuck alone!!!  I realize I'll be dead and that it shouldn't matter at that point, but I actually have respect for my body unlike the outside world, and I don't want it hacked apart and toyed with any further!  I've tried thinking up ways of just making myself "disappear" so that people can't get to me once I'm dead, but I haven't come up with anything realistic.  The best option I've found is to be a suicide tourist in a country like Switzerland where physician-assisted suicide is currently legal (I figure they wouldn't need an autopsy afterwards since everything is clearly pre-arranged with the doctor), but it appears you have to suffer from a terminal illness in order to qualify.  If I could have the earth just open up and swallow me, I would.  I've truly had it with the human race and its unsolicited assault on my body.

Lastly, I know that killing myself would be EXACTLY what Bayer would want me to do.  They'd love nothing more than for me to die silently in this room, fading into obscurity as they blaze ahead claiming more and more victims while continuing to profit every step of the way.  Well I'm not going down that easily.  They floxed the WRONG motherfucker.  Part of me would also love nothing more than to go out in epic fashion at Bayer headquarters in an effort to make the news and hopefully get the word out about what they're doing, however A) my car is long gone B) I wouldn't be able to walk far once I got there and C) the media would likely just spin me as some lunatic and my message of warning would be lost.  But boy, do I ever fantasize.  I'd just like to say for the record that if I were ever to be placed in the same room as a Bayer exec, I'd deface him or her with my bare hands.  And I mean literally de-face.  I'd likely bust some tendons in the process, but it would be so worth it.  An eye for an eye.

So those are the three main reasons I've clung on as long as I have.  But as I said before, the condition I'm in is not sustainable and it must end one way or another. If it's not going to end through healing, then it's Plan B time.  Whoever said "This too shall pass," "Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem," and, "God never gives you more than you can handle" was obviously not severely floxed or suffering 24/7/365 from some other chronic or fatal condition.  Some things do NOT pass, some things are NOT temporary, and some things ARE more than the human mind and body can handle.  

I also have a real problem when I hear people say suicide is selfish.  Sure there are instances where that can be true, but wanting to keep someone "alive" in a state of constant agony and incapacitation simply so that you don't have to mourn their physical death?  THAT is selfish.  Just because someone is breathing and has a pulse does not mean they are alive!  Everything that constituted being alive, for me, came to an abrupt end on October 25th, 2009.  My heart is still beating and my eyes still move, but my God I am not alive.  Unless you've stared suicide in the face yourself, do not pretend to know what a person's mindset is at the moment they take their own life.  I can't speak for anyone else, but I know for myself that when my pain level is off the charts and my muscles are literally tearing from my bones, there is no rational thinking going on in my head.  NONE.  I'm not sitting there calmly weighing the pros and cons of killing myself or thinking of what impact my death will have on the outside world.  No--I'm in a near panic, my mind is racing for an exit, and I am hellbent on finding a way--ANY way--out.  Nothing else exists in that moment, my thinking becomes very linear and my mission becomes incredibly clear: MUST GET OUT.  When this happens I usually end up curling up in my bed, closing my eyes and forcing myself into a depression-induced sleep so that I can be unconscious.  Sleep/unconsciousness is the next best thing to death, so I spend A LOT of time there.  But at least I'm "still alive" for the sake of my family, right?  Every time I wake up my heart drops in my chest as I'm immediately overcome with this wave of, "Oh shit--I'm still alive" followed by the realization that, "Fuck--I'm still in this crippled body."  I cannot wait until I never have to experience that again.  If a dog or cat was in this much pain, people would insist that it be put down--calling it 'cruel' and 'inhumane' not to.  But when it's a human?  Suddenly you're just supposed to grin and bear it until the bitter end.  What's up with that?

Then there's the old line about suicide being "the easy way out."  Are you fucking kidding me?  Firstly, ending your own life goes completely againt our hard-wired human instinct to survive.  There is NOTHING easy about ending a life you never wanted ended!  In fact this is by far the most difficult and horrific thing I've ever been faced with.  I don't WANT to die!!!  I still had a ton of people to meet, places to go and things to do!  But guess what?  Bayer had different plans for me.  They kicked my bucket list FOR me.  I don't get to go to Australia now.  I don't get to own my own house now.  I don't get to own my own business now.  Hell I don't even get to walk around the block!  I have to deal with the reality of the situation I'm in here, and none of those things are going to happen for me at this point.  I've swam in the ocean for the last time.  I've bowled my last game.  My gym pass has been scanned for the last time.  It makes me sad to think of all the things I won't get to experience once I'm dead.  All the songs I won't get to hear, all the changes in the world I won't get to witness.  I'll never become old and bald and wrinkled which I guess could be seen as a good thing, but really…those old, bald, wrinkled people are the lucky ones.  They've run through the gauntlet of life and survived.  Me?  I hit the invisible quicksand.  I'd love to live long enough to see what a Playstation 10 looks like...but not like this.

I've tried to find ways to salvage what's left of me.  If I could "simply" have my legs amputated and move on with my life using a prosthetics, I would!  If I could go through life walking with crutches, I would!  But neither of those options will work.  This body Bayer has left me with is unsalvageable--it is beyond destroyed.  Even if I had my legs amputated, I still wouldn't be able to walk because my hips are both bad.  Hip replacements (and prosthetic legs, for that matter) are not an option because I wouldn't be able to complete any of the necessary rehabilitation work afterwards.  I've looked into all of this, and you have to be able to hold yourself up using your upper body during rehab for either procedure, which I'd be unable to do.  All of the joints and tendons in my upper body are just as damaged as the ones in my lower body, only it's not as apparent from day-to-day since they are not weight-bearing.  Using my upper body to hold myself up (as with using crutches) MAKES them weight-bearing, which is horrifically painful and simply not possible (I attempted to use crutches once…what a mistake).  Same thing goes with wheeling myself around in a wheelchair--I physically cannot do it.  So if my body is not going to heal itself, and it is not salvageable though any other means, then I'm really out of options here.  It'd be one thing if I was just bedridden without the pain.  I could handle that.  It would be another thing if I just had the pain without being bedridden.  I could likely handle that too (although not if my muscles were still ripping from the bone...that's a deal breaker).  Put it all together though--constant horrific pain AND being bedridden--and there's just nothing left of me.  It's too much.

I need to make one thing VERY clear: When I do succumb to this, it was BAYER that killed me.  My death will be a direct result of their having poisoned me.  People will want to call my death a suicide…NO!  Bayer "Healthcare" is 100% directly responsible for my untimely death.  Don't ever get that twisted!

Lastly, I do not want any sort of funeral whatsoever.  Burn what's left of my body or bury me in the ground (surprise me) and move on as if nothing ever happened.  Carrying on shouldn't be difficult, as no one's had any problem doing it over the past three years so why should anything be different once my heart stops beating?  To the people who knew me in person: If you weren't around when I had a pulse and was battling this beast, do not suddenly come out of the woodwork when I'm flatlined.  None of that bullshit.  The only thing I want from anyone is to please keep this website up and running for as long as humanly possible in one form or another.  I have pre-paid my domain name for the next 10 years (the maximum allowed) so hopefully people will still be stumbling upon my warnings from beyond the grave in the year 2022 (God help us if this shit is STILL happening in 2022).  If anyone out there knows how to clone a website and keep it stored as a backup in case this site for some reason goes down, I would appreciate it.  Like I said before, Bayer would love nothing more than for me to die silently and fade into obscurity, taking with me all the evidence of what they did to me.  Well they're not going to get that if I can help it.


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But you don't have to take my word for it!  Take it from a floxed physician...


"Fluoroquinolones can cause a severe reaction that hasn't been fully appreciated by the medical community. I am a physician and I know how ignorant we are with regards to the side effects. The FDA warning doesn't take a strong stand against the side effects and fails to mention that Fluoroquinolones lead to a SYNDROME with many side effects. To believe this class of medications causes one or another side effect is completely irresponsible of the FDA. As a physician and as someone that is suffering the Fluoroquinlone syndrome/toxicity, I beg the FDA to limit the use of Fluoroquinolones to life and death situations, and to recognize that Fluoroquinolones can lead to a syndrome that can last months if not years. If it wasn't for my vacation and sick leave days, and the kindness and understanding of my empoyer, I would be out of a job! Yes, a Physician at age 43 out of a job and on disability. This is proposterous to say the least. The FDA must take the sufferers seriously. Prior to this toxicity, I was a healthy, physically active person. I had NO medical history. For God's sake, I had never taken any meds except a few Motrins and Tylenols here and there. This medication has completely made my life miserable. I feel like a 300 year old person. Please, I beg the FDA to take a moral and ethical stand above monetary gains, and limit the use of these meds, and to better inform the public of the syndrome that may arise, and believe me, as a sufferer, the symptoms aren't your garden variety symptoms. THEY ARE FROM HELL!"  --posted to askapatient.com on 4/8/12



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THE HALL OF SHAME: Dr. Nisha J. Manek of the Mayo Clinic, Rochester


Six months into this nightmare I made the 10-hour drive--with arthritic hands and no car insurance--to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN where I was assigned to Dr. Nisha J. Manek.  What a waste.  Dr. Manek was 20 minutes late to my 1-hour appointment and then refused to even consider the fact that Cipro had harmed me saying, "Cipro doesn't do this to people your age--you're too young."  It was as if someone had gotten her entire education re: Cipro from reading word-for-word off the drug's warning label!  This certainly wouldn't be the first time, but I expected more from a Mayo Clinic doctor.  Now let's use our brains here: If Cipro only harms older people, then why is it forbidden for use in patients under the age of 18??  I'll tell you why: Because it destroys the development of their connective tissues!  When I mentioned to Dr. Manek that I'm in contact with countless flox victims online who are my age and younger, I was quickly steamrolled over and told not to talk about things I read on the internet. Then when my test results came back unable to explain what's wrong with me (as is very often the case with flox victims) she looked at me and literally laughed saying, "What are you doing in this wheelchair!?"  She then recommended I see a psych doctor, essentially insinuating that I'm crazy or that this is all in my head. Hey Dr. Manek?  Perhaps you missed THIS ARTICLE published by your very own colleagues (probably in the next room over!) about the horrific side effects of FQ antibiotics. Please--educate yourself so that the next time a flox victim lands in your office desperate for help you won't be quite so ignorant, close-minded, condescending, unhelpful and offensive!  Your ignorance cost me both my time and money--please don't let it happen again to another person in my situation. Talk to your colleagues who obviously know a thing or two about these drugs. And in the meantime, welcome to the Hall of Shame!  


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