My Unbelievable SIBO Journey and Cure

My journey down the rabbit hole of major gut issues started around the tender age of 13 or 14. These struggles insidiously integrated themselves into my existence. I battled to keep them from overshadowing my life, but as the years marched on, their intensity only grew.

My twenties were a labyrinth of discomfort, a phase where I, a hairstylist working long hours, contended with a diagnosis of IBS. Every available test of that era in Australia was deployed in my case. Yet, the response remained infuriatingly uniform: “Just stop stressing.” Deep down, I knew this was more profound, but my insights fell on deaf ears.

All the classic hallmarks of IBS – the bloating, the gas, and the relentless pain – became my shadowy companions. Then, a surreal twist of fate took place. One day, after a lunch with friends, I must have dozed off for a few moments behind the wheel and abruptly woke up in a ditch.

A few weeks later, a similar episode unfolded. Driving home from another gathering, I narrowly averted disaster by snapping awake seconds before a collision with a road pole. It was a brush with mortality that jolted me awake – and yet, astonishingly, I had yet to link these incidents to food. Looking back, the fact that not a single soul had even hinted at food being the culprit strikes me as surreal.

There was a time when an intense, itching rash engulfed my entire body, even seeping beneath my feet. Desperate, I sought medical help, only to be subjected to tests for blood cancer due to the rash’s atypical nature. Three days of agonizing uncertainty followed, with no conclusion to my rash. Much later I realized the rash was an allergic reaction to my ice cream binge over a few days.

Around the age of 25, while working at a children’s charity, I decided to reintroduce breakfast to my routine – a meal I had long avoided due to the sluggishness it brought on. Armed with a health-conscious mix of granola, yogurt, and fruit, I brought it to the office. However, my mornings took an unexpected twist: I was caught asleep at my computer three times at 10 am. This was the early 2000s, a time when doctors never broached the topic of dietary choices, and TikTok wasn’t there to offer guidance.

Ana, my caring boss, sensed something was amiss and initiated a heart-to-heart. In this unexpected moment of kindness, she inquired about my well-being, perhaps even suspecting a drug problem due to my sudden sleepiness. I confided in her, revealing my bewilderment at the post-breakfast fatigue. And it was Ana who proffered a game-changing suggestion: a diet she had come across that could be linked to my mysterious symptoms.

While I had always been pragmatic and skeptical of “woo-woo” and “natural” remedies, desperation pushed me to try the “candida diet” Ana recommended. The prospect seemed extreme, almost outrageous for someone who adored food as much as I did. Yet, my desperation eclipsed my reservations, and I embarked on this uncharted path. The changes were almost immediate – not a complete reversal, but a significant shift. Recalling Ana’s intervention still brings tears to my eyes.

Finally, the truth hit me – my struggles were rooted in my diet. Frustration and anger bubbled within, stemming from the fact that no medical professional had ever hinted at such a possibility. I began to probe deeper, leading me to Sue Shepherd, a world-renowned expert who happened to work just 20 kilometers away. Testing ensued, including celiac and breath tests, and a thorough review of my food diary. Astonishingly, even the top gastroenterologist in Melbourne hadn’t thought to test for celiac or IBS.

The verdict was clear – I was told it was IBS. The next ten years saw me steering clear of bread, pasta, quinoa, various vegetables, and all fruits. I plunged into the world of FODMAPs, my passion for food dimming, yet my life regaining some semblance of normalcy. My sensitivity had reached a point where a mere crumb of bread could trigger a storm of symptoms. This forced vigilance became my shield against being bedridden for days.

In my early thirties, my diagnosis underwent a metamorphosis into SIBO. After moving to Spain I searched for solutions, only to find frustration. The Netherlands, my next destination, unveiled a new layer of agony. I found myself reacting to everything, grappling with debilitating headaches that rendered even opening my eyes an ordeal. Post-meal spells of bed rest became my routine, triggering panic in my partner and leaving me drained. Driven by research, I pursued further tests, and the results from my breath test shot through the roof.

Consulting a gastroenterologist in Amsterdam seemed promising, but her youth didn’t equate to new medical knowledge. Armed with reams of information, I pleaded for guidance, only to be met with trivial advice like mint tea and Floradix. This was yet another letdown in a series of disappointments, with the worst yet to come.

Enduring nearly a year of agony, I sought refuge in online consultations with specialists in the United States. Although their insights were valuable, the tests they recommended remained elusive in my corner of the world.

The Fast Track Diet app became my sanctuary, offering a blueprint for my meals. But my intake dwindled to a pitiable level, and I experimented with different eating patterns and portion sizes. Soon, I was left with nothing but jasmine rice and plain meat seasoned with salt and pepper.

Determined to find a solution, I ventured into the realm of the elemental diet. As the store bought option contained sugars. I imported the powdered concoction from the US and this became my sustenance for an arduous 30-day stretch. Despite the putrid taste, I endured. I took the salt as tablets as there was no way I could add salt to this awful drink. Shedding a concerning 8 kilograms and feeling utterly lethargic. The intervention worked, but its efficacy waned after three months.

A renewed cycle of symptoms and relief followed subsequent elemental diet attempts, but this was no life – merely survival. I ceased working for around six months due to the debilitating impact of my symptoms. Rifaximin, the sought-after remedy, remained beyond my grasp in the Netherlands. A friend came to my rescue, procuring it from Ecuador and sending it my way. The result: about 60% relief, coupled with a trove of supplements and the ubiquitous apple cider vinegar.

Months blurred into one another as I dove into research, my life marred by pain, discomfort, and despair.

Then, amidst my relentless pursuit of answers, I found a PubMed study, capturing my attention.

By then, I had invested roughly 100 hours into understanding my condition. The study piqued my curiosity, offering a tantalizing possibility. Staphylococcus aureus, a common nasal resident among up to 80% of individuals, and affects a third of them. The gears in my mind turned – I had undergone nasal surgery to little effect, and one of the symptoms of this bacteria’s overgrowth was gastroenteritis. Could this be the missing link?

Thus began the experiment of nasal rinsing, a peculiar practice touted to alleviate stomach ailments. The results were astonishing – my symptoms saw a marked decrease. Further exploration uncovered a cream that could quell the bacteria within my nasal passages. Armed with research and determination, I approached my doctor. 

The initial response was dismissive, even mocking. She looked at me and no word of a lie said “what did you read about this in your little magazine?” I was FLABIGASTED! She then started to berate me saying there is no way she will test me for it. That I don’t know what I am talking about. I said I am happy to pay for the test and asked her to look up the study on Pubmed, and she said no way. And she was RUDE. So I responsed with “Good thing not all doctors are like you, otherwise we would never have the cures for cancer that we have now. She told me to NEVER come back. And I LAUGHED in her face yelling as I walked out the door “As if I would ever come back to you” The whole waiting room was in stunned silence….. 

Undeterred, a week later, armed with printed studies, I headed back to the clinic to see a different doctor with a stack of papers printed to prove my research. As I started to ask this doctor he cut me off which scared me and he said “Sure, I can give you the prescription” I was SHOCKED. Last week I was being yelled at at told I don’t know what Im talking about, this week I am given more than I even wanted. He said he too uses this when he works in hospitals as a preventive and my reason sounds plausible even though he has never heard of this. He was willing to give me the prescription without the test.

However I needed to know if this was really my issue, so I got the swab and 2 weeks later got the answer that yes I have Staphylococcus aureus. I started using the cream and within days i was CURED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was in tears. But I was still very hesitant. What if things change in 90 days?

The cream was transformative. Days turned into weeks, and my symptoms waned. Apple cider vinegar and the nasal cream became my steadfast allies, bolstered by dietary adjustments that granted me a taste of normalcy. Foods that were once off-limits, like chickpeas and croissants, found their way back into my life, albeit in moderation.

Now, four years down the line, I stand at 90-95% symptom-free. The cream and apple cider vinegar remain as pillars of my regimen, preserving the equilibrium I fought so hard to regain. My journey, born from desperation and frustration, evolved into an emblem of resilience, resourcefulness, and the remarkable capacity for transformative change.