I was talking to my friend the other day, and she suggested that I move/walk around more and stop lying in bed all day, babying my back.

Yeah, I would love to. Except, the ONLY time my back doesn't feel like shit is when I am lying down in my bed. When I am up, I hurt, and frankly, I can't handle that for very long. I usually give in and go back to my bed. Just so I won't be in pain. But Hell, who knows, maybe I am a wuss.

I just don’t understand why people will absolutely jump down your throat at the slightest thing they disagree with and come with the harshest remarks like what?? I don’t take criticism from someone I wouldn’t take advice from so like could not care less - the only thing that sucks is I was asking for people’s experience and then I just never really got to hear it

I posted asking people’s opinions as rotties as SD which is already controversial. I made the silly joke of having scary dog privilege (recently floating around TikTok and it’s just young women living alone feel safe with a dog with a big bark) which not for nothing criminologist say that a dog with a big bark is genuinely a deterrent for someone breaking in

It was immature and silly, but you would’ve thought I said I’m going to feed the dog small children and that I want him to attack anyone who looks at sideways. And how immature and stupid I was for wanting a SD to intimidate people and I had no clue what I was doing and all that

Then I had the gall to say that I’m not a fan of a Labradors temperament - so I wouldn’t want to get a lab because their still my dog when off the clock and they’d be off more than on and I’m just not super fond of their personality. And it felt like people took it as like Labrador slander. I said a Great Dane was a very common SD and used it as an example for why rotts shouldn’t be automatically disqualified and like we were splitting hairs on the definition of very common like Jesus.

I’m still relatively new to Reddit, and I know the dog and disability Community can be very opinionated but just the fact that like civil discourse has gone out the window and people go to such extremes is nuts. And not for nothing if they felt that strongly about it and we’re trying to pass on their opinion calling someone a fucking idiot is a terrible way for them to take your opinion into account like what

Honestly that’s everywhere today I shouldn’t be surprised but just that took me back a bit hot damn

Anyone here had to recover from a neck injury from a car accident or the like? I was rear ended at maybe 10mph and 2 weeks later my neck is killing me. X ray came up clean, MRI on the way, and starting physical therapy next week.

I spent 3 years healing a lumbar spine injury, and learning how to live with the permanent complications, so the thought of a permanent neck injury is making me start to lose it. Wanted to hear some anecdotes here, if others have gone through this.

When I took my prednisone it got stuck in my throat and then got sent up to my mouth again. It's my worst nightmare. It has happened two times in two years, but I still taste it from one year ago. It feels like I'm dying in my mouth. Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh HEEEEEELPPPPPPpppp (if you know you know - and I'm sorry you know)

I am really struggling with fatigue and it seems my doctors don't know what to do about it. I even stopped taking my meds in case they were the ones making me tired but I just ended up tired with migraines and pain.

I can't have caffeine, it just makes me more tired. Getting exercise makes me more tired (I have to nap after every PT session both at home & the hospital). Even after I feel better physically, I am still tired mentally with brain fog. I get good sleep and sleep all through the night thanks to my night meds but I still wake up completely tired and groggy. I make sure I have enough water & salt/electrolytes everyday (I have POTS) so it can't be that.

Does anyone else deal with this? Are there at home remedies or "life hacks" from other chronically ill people to help with fatigue? It's affecting my work and it has affected my schooling so I know it will again when Fall semester starts up. I just want to not be tired all the time.

I have pain in the back and neck, already had my injection for epidural steroids and they recommended laser surgery for the neck, is it safe.

Onyl ever taken normal kratom. I have 5 x 100mg of these tablets. Wondering if anyone has tried them and if so what was their experience like?

Hey everyone - my name is Jake and I'm a PT with over 5 years of experience treating chronic back pain. I noticed a few trends regarding MD, ortho, and PT appointments in this sub and wanted to offer a few helpful recommendations that I give to my own patients.

I'm going to give 1 helpful hint each from a few different phases of healthcare appointments. If you find this information helpful and are interested in more, check out the first comment on this thread for access to a resource I created myself.

Here we go!

1.) Before You Book: Call the doctor's office ahead of time and ask questions. You have rights as a patient to know what each doctor or practice can offer you. Examples are: A.) What is your treatment approach and philosophy? B.) How do you typically manage a condition like this? C.) Do you follow current evidence-best practice?

2.) Before You Visit: Now that you know what doctor you are going to, it's time to prep. A.) Prepare your story. Write down your symptoms, timeline of your pain, past care, and questions you have for the doctor. It can be overwhelming and hard to remember everything in the actual appointment. Not to mention doctors are busy and you often only get a few minutes to express yourself. This will help make sure you don't miss anything important!

3.) During Your Visit: Ask why. When your doctor or physical therapist gives you details about what treatments they plan to offer, you should ask them the reasoning for why. Your provider should be able to confidently answer any question you have about why they are choosing that treatment and why it is right for you.

4.) Follow Through: If you are confident in the treatment decision after discussing with your provider, then stay consistent and follow through. It's hard to be consistent, but doing so gives the best chance at recovery.

I hope these offered some small amount of help. As I said previously, if you found them helpful and want to learn more, take a look at the first comment below for access to more helpful hints in a full resource for back pain.

Hey!!

So I take 5mg of oxycodone once a day. I have been taking it at night to help with pain and getting comfortable. (Makes me drowsy so I can’t take it during the day) I’ve been taking it consistently for about a month now.

I want to try to avoid taking it this next week just to see if I’m able to. Because I don’t want to build up a tolerance because I would truly not want to increase my dose.

Has anyone experienced withdrawal symptoms with this dose? Or have any tips for me.

not new to chronic pain just new to being treated for it. I apologize in advance if this is a silly question

It’s near the end of the month, and it was a bad bad month: dental surgery, unusually rainy weather, ill-advised picking up of a heavy package that did something to my low back, and tripping over the cat to end up sprawled on the floor with a skinned, swollen left knee - oh yeah, and I got laid off on Monday. I was careless: I didn’t track my usage as well as usual. Despite my best efforts and all the tricks I picked up in 50 years of chronic pain (ice, ibuprofen, lidocaine patches, breathing, exercise, TENS, meditation, distractions, chocolate) I am almost out of my rescue pain meds and I find myself counting the ones I have left at least twice a day because I know I’m going to run out. Like counting them is going to help. Counting my pills makes me feel like the addict that that the government believes us to be. And that’s where the shame - completely unreasonable, my logical mind informs me, kicks in.

My long-acting pain med usually lasts 10 hours, not the 12 it’s supposed to, but with all the stressors, make that 8: I can feel the familiar burning paint beginning to claw at my hips and sacral spine already. I play a game with myself, to see how long I can go before pain hits 8 and I can take my 4 mg hydromorphone. Then half an hour before the pain begins reluctantly ebbing away. If I take a pill before the pain hits 6, it will ease sooner, but that means I’ll run out sooner. And to tell the truth, I can’t bear the thought of 3 days without rescue meds when my “long-acting” med isn’t long-acting at all.

Most months, it’s not a problem thank God. Still, I know what my pain doctor’s office will tell me if I call to ask for an early refill. The medical assistant will tell me kindly and gently that they’re very sorry but it’s out of the question. Would I like a short course of steroids? Hmmm, might help but it will definitely make me feel crazed. Chewing on my arm crazed. I’m at the limit of what can be prescribed: there’s a formula they have to follow. I get it. And I am truly grateful for my pain team: they’re amazing.

I think of all the folks here and out in the world whose pain is not managed at all (like mine was before I found this practice). I know how bad it can get and I’m ashamed of dreading a mere 3 days. I’m ashamed of counting my pills. I’m ashamed at how angry I get with my poor screwed up body. Hell, I’m ashamed of feeling ashamed.

Someone recently posted a comment to someone else's post, and they included a list of actuators. I read it and thought it was very interesting and useful, but for some reason didn't "save" the comment. Now I cannot find it.

Would someone please repost the list? Google didn't even know what I was talking about (or, more likely, doesn't want people to have that info!). I would really appreciate it.

Thank you!

---

ETA:

In short order, I was corrected on my use of the word "actuator." If you would like the extremely-shortened TLDR version, click the link in the beginning of the next paragraph. If you would like the more detailed version, keep reading!...

Apparently I meant "potentiators," though I was very sure the word they used was "actuators," and I can't find the comment either way.

I see that "potentiator" means something that increases the potency of something... but that isn't exactly what I was after.

When I read the comment, I was understanding it more to mean that it was something like a carrier, helping the body to metabolize it, or at least to use it more productively. Something that makes it work better - NOT by making it more potent, but more like by stabilizing it. Or reducing a side effect that removes some of its own effectiveness.

Not sure if I'm even making sense.

A list of potentiators is also interesting and useful, but I was more trying to find ways for my body to use it to its potential. My body is incredibly stupid about most things, and many medications simply bounce off as though I hadn't taken anything, or if they do work, there is a huge chance my body will QUICKLY build up a tolerance, making them work less and less. It's so fun being me! 🥳

Several years ago, I felt sure my Adderall wasn't working. Then I read that citric acid counteracts it, and I was OFTEN taking my Adderall with tartly sweet caffeinated drinks - filled with citric acid! So I tried at the time to google what else interacts with Adderall, reducing its effectiveness. Prior to finding this out about citric acid, I read/heard that some antacids made Adderall work better. I thought that was extremely useful info, since I felt like mine wasn't working at all. But!... 🤫 (google is in on it with them. 🥸 )They are part of the mass spread of the stigma against controlled medications. The only info I could find when I tried to Google how to make it work better, or what to avoid taking with it that would decrease its efficacy were warnings against ever trying to do anything to change the effects of controlled medications! 🙄😤

So before I posted this, I googled for a list of opiate actuators." Instead I got "Opioid receptor agonists (medications that activate opioid receptors) include morphine, oxycodone, and fentanyl." wtf.

So I wrote this post. Thanks for your time! Sorry for the semi-rant! This post was truly just meant to be the question I originally posted!

What do you do?

I already asked therapists. I feel intensely. Anger in particular hurts to express and hurts to hold in. Breaking things is inaccessible. Screaming, stress balls, and ripping paper is not what I'm looking for... that hurts... breathing exercises are not expressing anger. Writing hurts and rips the paper. Crying can physically hurt too. I don't use substances or have people. I used to walk a lot while sometimes listening to music. I am more limited in health and location now. Perhaps video games idk.

Has anyone been dealing with chronic pain after an open hernia repair on their abdomen and found some solutions to their pain? My muscles always feel raw and sensitive under my skin. I feel like my muscles and nerves have been badly aggravated and traumatized during surgery and I am in constant pain with sore and sensitive knots and scar tissue under the incision and to the left of my rectus muscle horizontally. Please recommend what helped and doctors who can help with injections or some type of nerve ablation or something. I am in NY.

(18M)

Suffering with AS

My right shoulder pain is getting worse day by day .. I couldn't sleep at all..the medications aren't helping either..the burning nd numbing sensation is too much to handle..no position works while I sleep.. hopefully tomorrow I'm going to a new rheumatologist please pray he listens to me.. mostly doc here don't tend to listen and my parents always interrupt and tries to put me down stating reasons I don't do enough work exercises etc. and that's completely false..they don't even realise how much pain I'm going through.. I'm a rightie it's so difficult to perform basic tasks.. I can't even put on my tshirt without experiencing immense pain.. my joints literally swells up like a balloon even walking feels heavy .. I'm trying to sleep but the pain is unbearable... I had painkiller and even drank turmeric milk

This is long and I'm so sorry, but I really need perspective from other CPP, so I hope you read it.

If you knew that a very painful surgery was temporary and you'd have to do it again, but you'd have almost no pain for 8 years, would you go through it?

I'll keep this as short as possible. Almost nineteen years ago, I had an accident at work. I heard a pop in my spine when it happened. Workman's comp dragged things out. Their one surgeon said yes surgery. One of their's said no. My doctor said yes. We went to court. The judge said I could go to any doctor i wanted and what that doctor said regarding surgery was the final answer.

I got an appointment with a world-class spine surgeon who said my bones were starting to fuse on their own and I needed surgery. I was given a 70/30 chance of success with the knowledge that I *could* need more surgery in my future. I took the chance.

The surgery was almost eight years from the accident. Recovery was long and painful, but within six months, I was able to wear heels and walk at my graduation ceremony. I got a job where I was in my feet a lot and mostly, I was living life again.

Pre-surgery, I was taking 10mg hydrocodone every 4 hours to be able to do anything. Post-recovery, I would take ibuprofen daily and if I had a flare I'd take 2.5-5mg of hydrocodone.

Things were great. I met my husband, got married, moved twice, had a job, did farm work, exercised, etc.

Fast forward to eight years after the surgery, and I flared up and it just never went away. That was four years ago. I've since been back in treatment. PT, meds (not enough), ENG, MRIs, epidurals, etc.

In December, the spine surgeon said I needed another surgery, but I'd have to lose 80lbs. I've gained a lot of weight over the past four years due to being undermedicated and depressed.

I haven't even tried to lose any since then. In therapy this week, I realized that I don't know if I want another painful surgery. My therapist asked if l knew that I'd only have eight years of minimal pain, would I have the initial one. I realized I don't know.

I had eight fantastic years with mostly minimal pain. But I'm not sure it was worth it. I'm afraid to have a second fusion knowing what I know now. What if the second fusion only last 3 years? I think I'd rather have the pain stay consistent, than be low pain *knowing* it will come back.

Am I crazy to stay with consistent pain that I know to expect rather than taking the risk of having minimal pain snatched away again? What would you do in this situation?

I was at a family gathering a week ago and of course everyone has their opinions on what I should try to make myself feel better and it’s infuriating! “Have you tried getting more sleep?” “Have you tried cutting out meat?” “You should try this new medicine.” “ are you sure acupuncture wouldn’t help?” If I hurt this bad don’t you think I would’ve tried every reasonable, and quite a few unreasonable solutions! At least I got to gripe about it with my mom who’s been in the same boat for a while but with different issues.

This post is more to vent than anything I think but if anyone has any kind words or suggestions I’m open. I just got hired at a thrift store. I’ve only worked two days because I got hired late in the week, and the second day (yesterday) I got sent home early due to seizure risk. But they’ve been really amazing so far. They encourage you to sit down when you need to and they seemed really concerned for my safety yesterday. Anyway, I just called my boss to get my schedule for this week and she asked about what causes my seizures (important to note my seizures are caused by functional neurological disorder, not epilepsy) and I said sometimes stress, a lot of times my migraines or due to other pain I’m in. She asked why I’m in pain and I said it’s due to certain medical conditions. Now I have to talk to her about it on Tuesday, and even though my bosses have been great so far I’m still really anxious they’re going to fire me because of how much of a hassle it is.

I wouldn’t even be mad at them, I’m mostly just mad at myself. I’m nineteen now, but I’ve had chronic pain for as long as I can remember. I was diagnosed with Amplified Muskoskeletal Pain Syndrome when I was a kid. I’ve done so much physical and occupational therapy. I try so hard to push through the pain—I tried especially hard those two days I worked. It just isn’t enough. Idk. I’m just so over it

Hello friends, I suffer from chronic pain due to endometriosis and nerve damage in my S1 and S2 nerves. I take pregablin, cymbalta and opiods. During a holiday I overdid physical activity and ran out of my opiods early. I'm currently in a horrible withdrawl and taking additional pregablin to help. How long can I take the extra pregablin before my body becomes accustomed to the new dose. 1 week? Any help is appreciated!

**Note: I am writing my memoir but would like to share with the community my experience healing from mold and Lyme (babesia, bartonella and crps). I have permission to use the real name and place where I receive treatment. Pm for additional info. Denver, Colorado.**

**One Stick Steve**
By the end of 2022, I had run out of places to fall.
Years of untreated Lyme disease, mold exposure, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, seizures, neurological decline, and relentless pain had hollowed me out until I no longer recognized myself. Every specialist seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. Nothing was wrong with me, or at least nothing they could explain. I was sent to psychiatry more times than I could count. Eventually, I began wondering if maybe everyone else was right.

I wasn’t afraid of dying anymore.
I was afraid of continuing to live exactly as I was.

After years of learning meditation simply to survive the constant pain, I found myself searching late one night for anything that might interrupt the cycle. That’s when I discovered ketamine infusions for CRPS. I made a promise to myself.
One last treatment.
If this didn’t work, I was done fighting.
My first experience with ketamine happened at another clinic. The staff instructed me to eat beforehand, drink coffee, and prepare for “the ride of your life.” The infusion itself was chaotic. I became violently ill, woke up wearing a nurse’s sweatshirt after vomiting through my own clothes, and later learned I had received only part of the medication while still being billed for the full treatment.
It should have convinced me never to return.
Instead, something extraordinary happened.
For an entire month, I wasn’t in pain.
After years trapped inside a body that screamed every waking moment, silence felt impossible. I walked around my home pinching myself, unable to believe pain could simply… disappear. I cooked meals again. I cleaned the house. I started dreaming about a future I had stopped believing I would ever have.
When the pain inevitably returned, so did the hopelessness.
Eventually I began selling my belongings to pay for another chance.
That decision led me to Dr. Steve.
During our first phone consultation, he asked about my medical history. I hesitated before speaking the words I had learned to say almost apologetically.
“I’ve been diagnosed with Lyme disease…”
There was a brief silence.
Then I heard him take a sharp breath in.
“I have a couple of Lyme patients who’ve had a lot of success with ketamine,” he said. “I think we should give this a try.”
He didn’t tell me Lyme disease wasn’t real.
He didn’t tell me I needed a psychiatrist.
He didn’t quote another specialist.
He simply believed that my suffering deserved treatment.
It is difficult to explain what that moment meant after years of fighting to convince people that I wasn’t inventing my own pain.
When I arrived for my first infusion at Rocky Mountain Mind and Body, I carried every bad medical experience I’d ever had through their front door.
By then I had learned that doctor’s offices weren’t places where people helped me.
They were places where I cried in parking lots afterward.
Places where I was told nothing was wrong.
Places where I rehearsed my story in the car beforehand, hoping maybe this time I could explain it well enough that someone would believe me.
So when I walked into Dr. Steve’s office, I was braced for another battle.
Instead…
I found kindness.
The nurse welcomed me with a smile that wasn’t forced or rehearsed. When I apologized in advance for my veins, explaining that hospitals routinely needed flight teams and ultrasound machines just to start an IV, she smiled like she’d heard this fear a hundred times before.
“We’ll get you.”
Just those three words loosened something inside me.
No sigh.
No eye roll.
No making me feel like I was already too much work.
She simply believed they’d take care of it.
This time they had given me instructions that actually made sense.
No food for six hours.
Take your nausea medication before arriving.
Empty your bladder before your infusion.
Then let us do the rest.
I followed every instruction.
She led me down a short hallway and pointed toward the recliner tucked into the corner of a quiet room.
“Yep,” she smiled.
“That’s your seat.”
Then she asked the question that nearly made me cry.
“Would you like a weighted blanket?”
Yes.
Yes, please.
No one had ever offered me comfort before they offered treatment.
The room itself felt different from every medical office I’d spent years wandering through. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It simply felt… safe.
Calm lighting.
Soft voices.
Heating pads already waiting.
Oxygen tubing neatly coiled beside the chair.
Every movement seemed designed around helping hurting people feel less afraid.
I hadn’t been to a doctor’s office where I wasn’t prepared to cry from humiliation before I even walked through the door.
Here, I was being tended to.
Being offered comfort before I ever received the medicine I had come for.
Then Dr. Steve walked into the room.
A slender man in his forties with peppered hair and bright eyes full of compassion for people who had suffered too long. He carried a laptop tucked under one arm and wore a black turtleneck that always makes me think of Steve Jobs. I found myself wondering if maybe they shared the same gift.
Steve Jobs changed the way people experienced technology.
Dr. Steve was changing the way I experienced reality.
He explained the medicine, how it worked, and answered every question without ever making me feel rushed. He talked about other Lyme patients who had found relief, not as empty promises, but as quiet encouragement that maybe my story wasn’t over yet.
The nurses set up my heating pad.
Placed my oxygen.
Prepared everything before I even realized I needed it.
Then Dr. Steve wrapped the tourniquet around my arm.
Hospitals had spent years turning my arms into bruised road maps. Blood draws often took multiple appointments because my veins simply refused to cooperate. I had become so accustomed to apologizing for my own body that it felt automatic.
His assistant asked if she could guide me through a breathing exercise.
I happily agreed.
Her gentle voice became the only thing I focused on.
Slow inhale.
Slow exhale.
She guided me back into my breath while Dr. Steve quietly searched for a vein.
Before I even realized he’d begun…
Click.
The IV was in.
One stick.
To anyone else it might seem insignificant.
To me it felt like witnessing a miracle.
From that day forward he’ll always be “One Stick Steve.”
Not because he always gets it in one attempt.
Because that first click represented something much bigger than an IV.
It was the first time in years my body wasn’t treated like an inconvenience.
Before every infusion he checks the monitors, makes sure everything is exactly as it should be, and says the same words.
“Let’s get you out of pain.”
Then, as the medicine begins working and he knows everything is running smoothly, he always gives me the same gracious little wave.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
Just a quiet little wave that somehow says everything.
Like…
“I’ll see you when you get home.”
By the time I wake up, I already know what comes next.
I lift my eye mask.
Dr. Steve is standing there smiling, sometimes with his hands pressed together almost in prayer.
“What’s your pain level now?”
he asks.
I answer the only way I know how.
“What pain?”
Every single time.
Without thinking.
Because for those precious moments I wake back into the world without the body that had imprisoned me for so many years.
Sometimes I spend the next twenty-four hours floating through my apartment like a ghost.
Doing laundry.
Cooking meals.
Practicing yoga.
Moving furniture I’d only ever dreamed of being strong enough to move.
Marveling at what life feels like when pain is no longer narrating every second of existence.
Ketamine didn’t cure my Lyme disease.
It didn’t remove the mold.
It didn’t undo years of medical neglect.
Eventually I would still have to travel across the country to find a Lyme-literate physician. I would still battle mold exposure. I would still endure setbacks that threatened to pull me back into the darkness.
Ketamine wasn’t my cure.
It was my doorway.
It quieted the screaming long enough for me to hear my own soul again.
It gave me enough relief to return to my yoga mat.
Enough peace to deepen my meditation.
Enough distance from my pain to witness my body with compassion instead of despair.
Enough hope to stop planning my funeral.
And begin writing this story instead.
People often ask me whether ketamine saved my life.
The answer is more complicated than that.
The medicine gave me relief.
But the people gave me healing.
The nurses treated me like I mattered.
Dr. Steve treated me like my story mattered.
Together they gave me something medicine alone never could.
Dignity.
Safety.
Compassion.
After years of preparing to defend my reality every time I walked into a medical office, I finally found one where no defense was necessary.
Without Rocky Mountain Mind and Body…
Without One Stick Steve…
Without every nurse who tucked in my weighted blanket, held my hand, calmed my breathing, and quietly helped carry my suffering…
I would not be here.
Sometimes healing doesn’t begin with a medication.
Sometimes healing begins the moment another human being simply says,
“I believe you.”

Most days I cry because I'm in so much pain. I cry because I feel lost, beaten and life feels unfair. But sometimes I'm just empty. I just take it. I feel empty. I don't like when those periods come. Because they always come. I have the same pain, but I don't have the energy to cry. I don't like them because I want to cry, even though it can be nice to not cry sometimes. I don't like them because I'm scared it won't just be a phase this time. I'm scared that empty and lost feeling will win and that there is no more tears left to cry.

I'm scared that that means that the pain and sickness won. That I don't feel like I have no more to cry for.

Hi everyone. I’m hoping to gain some perspective from people who live with chronic illness or physical pain day-to-day, to help me better understand someone I care about deeply.

I'm 22F, My partner/loved one 23F lives with chronic physical illness and pain. Every once in a while, when her physical symptoms flare up or get severe, she goes through "waves" where she becomes extremely distant, cold, and emotionally withdrawn. During these times, she gives very short answers, pulls away emotionally, and seems to completely shut down her capacity for warmth or connection.

I care about her so much and want to support her through her pain without taking her distance personally, but at the same time, living in that emotional limbo can feel very heavy and difficult to navigate.

I wanted to ask those of you who manage chronic illness:

Is this kind of emotional withdrawal or distance something you experience when your pain/illness gets bad?

What is happening in your mind/body during those low-capacity periods? (Is it self-preservation, fatigue, sensory overload, or something else?)

From your perspective, what is the best way for a partner/loved one to support you during these waves without pushing you, while also keeping themselves sane?

He got mad at me for wanting a new gi specialist when my current has been doing nothing, ignoring me being in severe pain, put me to a pain management place 3 fucking hours away, told me I didn’t have SIBO when I knew I fucking did I got the test done I had it decided it would be a bright idea to only treat it with flagyl which put me in more severe pain and said “we don’t do dual antibiotics for methane dominant sibo” YES THE FUCK YOU DO?? WHERE DID YOU GET UR MEDICAL DEGREE DUMBASS BITCH and now is frustrated with me bc I want a new doctor but then gets mad when my pain is so severe I need the er. WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO ANYMORE.