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Toxic Aerobics

We all know that exercise is supposed to make you healthy, right? So in theory, the more you work out, the healthier you will be.

Well, what happens if you are exercising in a toxic environment? I’ll tell you what happens: your health and your life go straight to hell, and you wonder if you will ever be the same again.

My husband and I had worked out at the Cedar Hills Rec Center in Beaverton, a suburb of Portland, Oregon, for over four years.  The rec center was part of the Tualatin Hills Parks and Recreation District, owned by our county and paid for by our taxes. We took various classes in a large hot double room, which had three very old air conditioners in the windows, two on one side, and one on the other. We had always exercised in the side with the two units, taking classes twice a week. We took classes like Step Aerobics, Aerobics and Cardio Combo. We had fun and had some great teachers who worked our butts off. We enjoyed our classes and our local rec center. The rec center was originally a school, perhaps 50 years old. We laughed at the buckets in the hallways every time it rained, which in Oregon is almost a daily occurrence. We made fun of the pathetic air conditioners that spit ice chips at us at the end of each class. We weren’t listening well, or we would have heard the ominous music in the background. We didn’t realize that the rec center’s lack of proper maintenance procedures could cost us our lives.

I wanted to get into top shape and decided to up my workouts to five times a week, so I started going during the day without my husband. I ended up on the far side of the room, in front of the single air conditioner. It was visibly dirty and barely blew. At the end of class it would blow ice chips and junk at us. It was right next to the furnace, which more often than not was on, making the stuffy room even more unbearable.  

After about a month of this accelerated schedule, I started having problems breathing. It felt like I had small bricks in my lungs, and the bricks were growing.  As I felt fine otherwise, I kept working out, thinking it would go away. I yawned all through class and anytime I did anything slightly strenuous, trying hard to get a full breath. One night it hurt so bad and I was having so much difficulty trying to breathe that I almost passed out. I ended up at emergency, where, because I’m female and “looked fine”, I wasn’t taken seriously and was sent home. I went back a few nights later when it happened again. This time I didn’t comb my hair or put my contacts in and wore old sweats; it seems you have to look sick to be sick. It worked; they took a chest x-ray and lo and behold, I had a vicious lung infection! My lungs were fused to my chest wall, and every time I tried to take a breath I experienced excruciating pain. They gave me some Vicodin for the pain, which I promptly threw away, and I saw my regular doctor the next day.

My doctor said I had costrochondritis, which basically means a chest infection. She said it was typical of a dirty, moldy air conditioner and asked if I had been around any lately. Seeing as how it was February in Oregon, there are not too many places I’d be around an A/C unit. The only unit I had been near for the last six months was at the Cedar Hills Center, while I was exercising. It didn’t take a detective to figure out where I got sick.

My doctor said that the chest infection would go away on its own, and I spent the next two months lying in bed in complete pain. On a scale of one to ten, attempting to breathe was a twelve, at least. But it wasn’t just my chest that hurt; I started having other weird body things going on. I slept 23 out of 24 hours, and eating was becoming increasingly difficult. It seemed like every organ in my body started to ache, as did my muscles, and my mind would spin like I was on one of those carnival rides that I avoid. I was so weak I couldn’t sit up, read or even watch TV because it took too much energy.  I felt like I was falling apart, and I didn’t know what to do. I lay in bed, coma-like, with my heating pad and two cats to nurse me. My husband hated to leave me, but he had to go to work, as I certainly wasn’t in any shape to do so. Besides, all I did was sleep. I was too weak to do anything else. I was so excited when I got strong enough to listen to a book on tape! I wasn’t always able to turn the tape over, but I didn’t stay awake long enough to hear more than one side at a time, anyway. Yes, I was that pathetic.

I finally got better, sort of, and tried to resume some kind of life. I now had so many weird things going on in my body, I couldn’t even keep count. My heart was doing strange rhythms, food made me nauseous, my menstrual cycle left me in complete and utter pain, and I had no energy. Plus, I still had problems breathing and now had anxiety issues, something I had never experienced before (actually, I had never experienced any of these symptoms before). But I forged on, trying to take back my life. My husband and I had a fun life; we were strong and active and enjoyed sports such as mountain biking, roller blading and our Wave Runners. We liked going out to dance, listening to bands and socializing with our friends. Summer was coming and I wanted to be the partner I always was for my husband. I had many exciting projects lined up and I couldn’t wait to get back to normal; I had a life to live.

Except I never got back to normal. I got sort of well, then I’d hit bottom again. I’d pull myself back up, then drop down even further. I went to doctor after doctor, searching for the key, but all the MD’s I saw were just interested in drugging a few symptoms; no one cared about finding the actual problem. The drugs they wanted to give me had such horrible side effects, and I was worried about the effects the chemicals would have on my liver, which was waving red flags that something was amiss, but nobody seemed to care. I saw MD’s, a gastroentologist, countless OB/GYN’s, and to my horror, a cardiologist. I had started fainting when I was under the gastro’s care, but he wouldn’t believe me. I was just depressed, you know. If I would only take the antidepressants and maybe the birth control pills that every doctor seems to throw at women, I’d be just fine. I wasn’t sick, there was absolutely nothing wrong with me, in my gastro’s majestic opinion. I have to tell you, as much as I hated fainting, I secretly enjoyed passing out during an appointment with another doctor in the same clinic. My now ex-gastro did come in to check on me (probably to see if I was faking it), and I didn’t say, “I told you so”, but only because I couldn’t get out the words.

Ahhh yes, not being able to get out the words. That was happening more and more. My tongue would feel so thick that I couldn’t form, or even remember, words. Me, who has a quick comeback for everything, I couldn’t speak. My mind was swirly, and try as I might, I couldn’t remember simple things, like how to write or use a calculator, or even my name at times. Five years of college and two degrees down the drain; I was turning into an imbecile. I couldn’t even explain the memory loss to people, because I didn’t really understand what was going on. Plus, I didn’t want to admit it; Alzheimer’s at 40 is a scary thought. I even casually questioned my mom, to see if Alzheimer’s ran in the family. It doesn’t, but yet here I was, losing my memory and my mind.

The fainting got me my own cardiologist, who, while very nice, didn’t know what to do with me. I was stuffed in the hospital and given test after test, but the only results were that I had a healthy heart (thank you, Lord!!!) that was reacting strangely, but no one knew why. I had to take the horrible table test, where they strap you to a table ala’ Frankenstein and stand you up at a ridiculous angle to try and make you pass out, but it didn’t work. They then injected something to make my heart rate push up to around 90, but mine jumped to 130 (behold! Another clue!!!) So I was now strapped to a table with my heart doing aerobics. Yeah, that’s a memory I’d like to forget. I also took a stress test, and except for not being able to breathe and the fact that I hadn’t been able to exercise for awhile, I did great. The cardiologist at the hospital said there was nothing wrong with me, and my cardiologist decided to put me on a low dosage of beta-blockers, used for people with high blood pressure (never an issue with me) to keep me from fainting. I hated those pills. I should have listened to my body trying to reject them; just holding the pills would make my hand tremble, and I dreaded taking them every single time. But they did stop me from fainting. It didn’t stop the feeling; the cold sweats, body waves and blackness coming over me (my “evil spirit”), but it did stop me from hitting the ground, which I appreciated. 

My female problems were increasing, and on days when I was strong enough to sit at the computer for short periods of time, I did my research. I knew that I now had Endometriosis, and I had to decide my course of action. Hated drugs, hated the side effects, hated that they didn’t cure a thing; so I opted for the surgery. But not just any surgery, there was only one form of excision that I wanted. Problem was, I couldn’t get an OB/GYN in Portland to take me seriously. One swore I had nothing but a bladder infection (never had one in my life), another put me on Detroil LA, pills used for incontinence (also not my issue), all of them thought I should be on birth control pills (which cause nothing but problems for women even when you’re not deathly ill). I finally decided to make the painful 250-mile trip to Bend to see Dr. David Redwine, the world famous Endometriosis surgeon and researcher. He agreed with my diagnosis- I had Endo. We did the surgery that summer. Dr. Redwine cut all the Endo out (important, so it doesn’t grow back), but suggested that the Endometriosis probably wasn’t everything, and that I should continue my quest for answers. He thought it was especially strange that my Endo came on so suddenly (I had no symptoms of it until my vicious lung infection) and wondered why my hormone levels were so screwed up. I did get better after my surgery, because I now didn’t have the Endometriosis pain to deal with, but I still had all the other painful, scary issues going on. 

I saw a few more doctors after my surgery, but nobody worth seeing ever again. A new friend recommended her doctor, an ND who specializes in hormones. The new ND took tons of information. He compiles pretty much a book on the patient, and does research on you before he even meets you. Then he does an extensive interview with you, and does even more research! It was like Sherlock Holmes, MD. And then he came up with the startling news: I HAD TOXIC MOLD.

Yes, the air conditioner that gave me the severe lung infection TWO YEARS AGO, that I had seen scores of doctors for, wasn’t just moldy, but TOXIC. And now these toxins had been growing, spreading, flourishing in my body for two freaking years! My body was just one big mold ball. I had the same mycotoxins that our armies use for GERM WARFARE growing in my body, that I had contacted in a PUBLIC BUILDING! The toxins caused it all: hormone problems (I was later diagnosed as being allergic to my own Estrogen, courtesy of the mold), Endometriosis, memory loss, confusion, slurred speech, Central Nervous System damage, malabsorption, anxiety attacks, respiratory infections, loss of balance and coordination, heart palpitations, liver damage, tremors, major ear aches and ringing, lots and lots of nausea and other intestinal distress, sinus infections so severe that I cracked a tooth clenching my teeth from the pain (resulting in my first root canal and crown), strange red dots on my arms and upper torso, unexplained weight gain (actually, it has to do with your mold-clogged liver not being able to process your fat cells- we all get this funny “mold pouch” around our bellies), Sympathetic Nervous System damage, fainting, incredible aches, pains and fear… so much fear. 

It wasn’t that I had a fear of dying; it was the fear of living like this forever.

Because of the Cedar Hills Recreation Center, I am now physically, mentally, emotionally and financially exhausted. I can’t work, my insurance doesn’t cover my treatments, and without my treatments, I can’t get the poisons out of my body that I contacted at the Cedar Hills Center. My husband is exhausted from carrying the burden of this all and we are probably going to have to sell our beloved house that we have worked so hard on because it is too expensive to pay cash for my treatments coupled with my not being able to work. But for a toxic mold victim, moving isn’t an easy thing. I will have to have all houses we consider tested for molds, at my expense. Oregon has no laws regarding mold disclosure. Admittedly, mold is practically the state flower in this damp state, but the toxic molds in our buildings are different than the useful molds we see in our forests. We would do best to build again with our trusted builder, although this time we will have to follow new rules, as mold victims are forever hypersensitive to chemicals, odors and, of course, molds. But we can’t afford to build the house that I would need, so that’s not an option right now. It would really be best to stay put, as we know I don’t react to this house, but thanks to our rec center, we are stuck in this vicious Catch-22. 

I find it interesting that our government is hell-bent on denying what toxic mold does to the human body, yet we use the same exact strains for biological warfare. Then-governor Bush Jr. spent $300,000 taxpayer dollars to remediate the Texas governor’s mansion, but mold claims in Texas for normal folks (those who don’t contribute large sums to the Republican party) get refused right and left. Vets, ranchers, and farmers have known for centuries what molds do to animals, yet we deny the same symptoms in humans. Whitaker School in Portland was blasted every year for consistently producing the lowest scores on standardized testing. Guess what? It had so much Toxic Mold that the building had to be destroyed. No wonder those unfortunate children tested so poorly.

But mold doesn’t make us sick. Nope. It’s just a “coincidence” that toxic mold victims across the nation and across this world have the same symptoms. That’s why we have no laws to protect us in our homes, our schools, our public buildings. There are scores of research and testing proving the hazardous effects of mycotoxins on the human body, but our government chooses to ignore it. Because of that, there is no government agency that will help me demand that this sick building be tested and cleaned up. It is perfectly legal to poison people in a public building with toxic molds. They have the right to poison you and me, our families and our friends.  If the people at the Cedar Hills Rec Center had actually planned to ruin my life, they couldn’t have done a better job.

Because thanks to their toxic building, my life, as I knew it, is over. 

Click here to contact this author via email :::  toxicaerobics@moldacrossamerica.org

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