The End Details First, How Toxic Mold Almost Ruined My Life

My Mold Journey Part 1

Trigger Warning: miscarriage, suicide

It was never just one thing, but it was the toxic mold exposure that did me in.

I was excited to start my new job as a Project Manager in 2014. I was in a place in my life that I needed change, but I still enjoyed the comfort and connection to people of my past. So, I was all in when a friend had suggested I apply for a job where she was working. She gave me a heads up that the work environment could be stressful and demanding, and even a bit offensive at times, but as always, I loved a good challenge.

The first couple weeks I was there part-time, slowly transitioning from my old job. I wasn’t set up in an office. I was shuffling throughout departments, learning the pace, and just doing some odd jobs, mainly clerical work. I was enjoying the atmosphere; I was enjoying learning and I went gung ho. It was about a year into the job that I started noticing a shift in my weight, but I didn’t think much of it. I wasn’t exercising as much, I had a desk job now and being with John, who’s an Italian, I started eating foods that I hadn’t for the last decade. Not a lot, but enough to explain the 10 pounds. My full-time personal training days were over, and I simply was not as active as I’d been since college.

It was about two years into my employment when some of the staff shuffled offices and I settled down into a corner office that was once occupied by the General Manager. I was thrilled for the change of scenery, to be away from the hustle and bustle and to have some privacy. I was a busy woman and had a large workload that was only growing. My new office space had two exterior walls, and one of them had the outdoor sprinkler system main shutoff in the wall that could be accessed through a hatch in my office. The photo of this blog post shows the exterior of my office and to the left of the window is an outdoor water tap. Directly above that is the area you would find the interior access hatch. In the winter there would often be a cold draft that would come in from there, but as you can see I also had a really big window, so I just made sure to bundle up, always having an extra sweater nearby.

Looking back as my job duties got greater and the workplace harassment grew, I also had a lot of personal stress going on and my body was rattled. But it was different. I always felt like I was vibrating. Like I had static running through my body. I was always rushing and felt like I was under the gun. Wine had been part of my life for about 6 years at this point, but it became my crutch. It was the only thing that could make me calm, make my body feel still. So, I drank. And not just a glass, it was nothing to drink a bottle or 2 a night. It became my coping mechanism, my support, and it was feeding my unknown illness, while the toxin burden in my body was increasing, and the candida was overgrowing.

In 2016, things were starting to get bad. I had a fibroid discovered in 2010 at 2 centimeters, and it was now 14 cm. It was growing rapidly, the weight coming on with it, and I started to feel like my skin couldn’t expand anymore. I was inflamed. I was fatigued. I was having an extremely hard time getting through any type of workout. My endurance, my strength, my balance was all deteriorating. My mental health growing worse by the day. I blamed my circumstances. My heartaches. I kept going.

The doctors had wanted to proceed with surgery to remove my fibroid in 2015, but my boss had conveniently told me that if I took time off work for the surgery, that I would have to work from the hospital and home during my 6-week recovery. That they couldn’t allow me the time off. I chose not to have surgery.

It was at this time I started noticing a musty smell in my office, and it wasn’t just me that noticed. People commented all the time. “Eww, what’s that stink?” was common from co-workers coming in to talk to me. And it was smelly, especially after the rain, or humid days, or even days when the weather would get a sudden warm spell. I knew something was up. I was experiencing brain fog, my vision would get blurry, my joints were sore, my hips felt like they were in a vice, but I never connected these symptoms to a smell. That’s almost laughable. No, I blamed it on sitting, staring at a screen all day, and using my cell phone since there was no inner office phone system. I blamed it on the weight gain and the pressure of the ginormous fibroid against all my organs.

I finally requested that someone inspect the hatch in my wall, and seal it up, especially due to the cold. I also requested a mold test. The smell was getting worse, and so was I. I was catching every sickness known to man. The common cold was super common to me, the stomach flu, bronchitis, the seasonal flu…. And it kept getting worse. A mild fever was the new norm for me and recorded throughout my medical records. The Health and Safety guy at work decided to open the hatch one day, and of course, I was working from home. I was told nothing was wrong and they stuffed the hole with bubble packaging from the shipping department to stop the draft. Yup, you read that right. The stuff you squish and pop, that protects things from breaking in transit. The plastic stuff. I asked for them to open it so I could see, and they refused. And that mold test was a cheap Petri dish test from the local hardware store. Ya, those don’t work, I know that now. And I was told the results were negative, with no mold, but again, I was not allowed to see the dish. It had been discarded.

In 2017 I was up almost 60 pounds from my fittest as a Personal Trainer and had over 70 symptoms. Things were awful. I was struggling with my words, I was stuttering, speaking backward. I had vertigo and passed out a couple of times, including once at work, in my truck, on a hot summer day, for 3 hrs. And there was so much more. The doctors were now blaming my fibroid and mental health, the trauma from my past, and current life circumstances. Work was heavy, I was on call 24/7, my boss was evil, and my partner John was struggling with his work as well. I was getting no answers or solutions under my current medical care, just prescriptions to ease my emotions. Panic attacks were horrendous and suicide thoughts became daily. I was losing hope.

We went away for a week to visit family in Georgia in October of 2017. It was the first week away John and I had in the 5 years we were together at that point. It was lovely but stressful. I had booked the flights myself but had zero organization regarding the drive to Detroit Michigan from Cambridge Ontario. I didn’t plan the parking or properly allocate time for travel. I didn’t even have our passports ready. This is completely not my style. I was usually on the ball and in control.

While away, my mom had her driver’s license revoked due to dementia, she was 2 years into her diagnosis. Mom was frustrated that I was on vacation, and she was very short with me on my daily calls to her, forgetting that we had talked or that I was away. I was informed that my cousin had been admitted to the hospital. He was only 37 and they couldn’t figure out what was going on, but it was serious, and he was on life support. My darling 5-year-old chocolate lab, Jersey, injured himself while at the boarding kennel, on Thanksgiving Sunday. It was a mild fur tug, an open wound, nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own, but looked sore, as per the kennel attendant. I felt guilty for leaving Ontario. Story of my life, always carrying guilt.

When we got home, I felt like I was hit by a bus. Almost psychotic in my mind. Jersey went to the veterinary clinic, and a substitute vet saw him. She told us the gouge on this side was healing up well and to put some antibiotic cream on it. A couple of days later it wasn’t sitting right with me, I took him back to the clinic to see his vet, Dr. Ken, and this time, sure enough, he needed surgery. After surgery, while healing with a drainage tube, his neck lymph nodes swelled, and sadly a week later he was diagnosed with Lymphoma, cancer of the lymphatic system. I was crushed.

Shortly after Jersey’s diagnosis, my cousin’s body was failing, and the decision was made to take him off life support. Such a kind soul. Such a short life. At the same time, a work colleague that I had grown close with, was battling cancer and he had taken a turn for the worse. This was a friend that was a regular part of my day, on a work level and personal level. My heart was more than heavy that Autumn.

While we had been away in Georgia, work got worse too. No one covered me, even though I had left a little list that needed to be taken care of. I came back to a mess while trying to train a new full-time employee as a Jr Project Manager. I had been promoted in the summer to Senior PM and the plan was to build a team. The fact was, I was overwhelmed, underappreciated, and started deteriorating even more. I broke out in herpes and shingles. My body had had enough.

And cancer won. My dear friend passed away, no longer able to fight. He needed a break and peace.

I carried on and in the new year 2018, I couldn’t do it anymore. My boss texted me one night at 10 pm telling me that I needed to get into the office earlier. Normally, people would ignore a work message this late or maybe even respond with “OK”, but my nervous system was fried. I had just come off a week of holiday time over Christmas, which was unpaid as per my contract negotiation and I was to be unavailable. There were 2 serious projects on the go, and I ended up working most of my holiday, including Christmas Eve. Surprise, surprise, I was sick, yet again. I had a severe panic attack when my boss texted me that night. I ended up at the doctors’ office first thing in the morning and was given a medical note to stay home. I would have gone to the hospital, but at this point, my fear for the ER outweighed my health. I didn’t know then that I wouldn’t be returning to the office I had dedicated my life to for the last 4 years, but I never went back. To this day, I have no idea the type of mold or how many spores were in that building. I do know that it almost took my life.

Yet, that wasn’t the worst of it. I thought having the relief of work stress would alleviate most of my symptoms, not even thinking about the moldy office. I just figured less stress would fix me. And at first, with a good Psychologist and a Naturopathic Doctor, I was feeling like I could lose weight, lessen the anxiety and depression, eat better, and get working out! We even decided to go back to the fertility clinic that we had left in 2016 after John had his car accident.

Well, something worked, we got pregnant in March. I was shocked, we were shocked, and both over the moon! And we did it naturally! Since I was a patient at the fertility clinic, we were being monitored and at 6 weeks I was glowing and preparing to be a mommy to a little human.

And guess what? A couple of days later we found mold in the master bedroom closet. A roof leak.

We called the Landlord, which wasn’t of much help. John working in construction and being a go-getter and clean fanatic decided to at least get the contents of the closet out. So, we did it. I helped bag things, throw things out, wash some things we thought were salvageable. The thing was, we didn’t know. We just didn’t know better. I won’t speak for John, but I was raised that mold was gross, to get rid of it, to bleach it, but that it also wasn’t a big deal. Wow does that sting my heart now.

The Landlord wanted to try putting it through insurance, so we had it assessed by a restoration company. The technician said the black mold on the wood floor and drywall was nothing to be concerned about. He followed up with an outrageous quote and it couldn’t be an insurance claim due to the Landlord’s policy. So, we ended up fixing it. We bought mold spray cleaner and removed and contained the drywall. John scrubbed the wood flooring and put up new drywall, using the blue board kind that is water-resistant. And that was it. All fixed.

Our 8-week ultrasound went well and had the baby proof in my hand with a sonogram image. I asked the fertility doc if I could tell my parents and if there was much risk at that point, He said with the vitals, that he didn’t see a concern. I know, I know. Some people wait and some people don’t. It’s all a personal choice. But honestly, I was desperate to bring my mom some joy and make my dad proud. To let them know that I would be giving them a grandchild. We told them, and it was beautiful. We had the dogs walk into the living room carrying little signs around their necks that they were going to be a ‘big brother’ and a ‘big sister’. We caught it all on video. What a glorious memory.

And then it was gone. Two weeks later, 2 days after Mother’s Day, without a clue in the world, my 3^rd ultrasound showed no heartbeat. I had lost our baby. I won’t get into the details, but this ended up being a blow so hard, that lasted almost 3 weeks until I could say that I wasn’t carrying a child. This was when the doctors finally took me seriously about my fibroid again, and we scheduled an appointment with the specialist, to have it removed.

I was broken. I was shattered. I was getting more sick.

Everything was a struggle. I started picturing cancer in my body. I was so scared to go for surgery, thinking that they would open me up and I would be full of cancer, and they would close me and say sorry, we couldn’t proceed. I envisioned the cells in my body moving slowly, impaired, and not working properly. I knew at this point it was bad. I was bad. I felt like death.

The therapy was helping but not, because of my unknown toxic state. The tools were great, but I was having a hard time computing. My Naturopathic Doctor was treating me for candida overgrowth and adrenal fatigue, and providing acupuncture treatments for the panic attacks, which worked great, but truthfully, I felt like a sitting duck. Like I was just waiting for my life to end. So, I drank more. And I put on a good show at family functions, or when my mom came over, or friends, but it would tank me for days. Everything I did I was exhausted. My medical leave benefits were denied, I ended up in a lawsuit, John and I were angrier than ever with one another and life. My furbaby, Jersey, was dying of cancer, my mom was progressing with Alzheimer’s’ and I was just existing.

The surgery went surprisingly well. I was to be in the hospital for 3 days and was released the day after surgery. Recovery went well, I used all the pain meds prescribed and antibiotics of course. I kept surviving, but nothing changed. I swore removing what ended up being 2 subserosal fibroids, would solve all my health issues. Surgery would be my lifesaver. How could it not! One was the size of a small watermelon, the other a grapefruit.

My scar healed and nothing changed. Not the weight. Not the incontinence. Not the sadness. Nothing.

The landlords sold the house, we were forced to move. We moved May 2019. Dakota blew her cranial cruciate ligament (ACL in humans) the first night we were in the new house, just 3 months after her operation for her opposite CCL. Two weeks later I won my lawsuit with the insurance company and that night decided I was better off gone. I attempted to take my life. I didn’t care about the money I would be receiving; I didn’t care about my life. I just wanted it all over. I was sick of being misunderstood, being caught in a system of gaslighting, and not having any answers. I was unsuccessful that night and will be forever grateful that I was. Four weeks later, my sweet boy Jersey died, his little body just couldn’t handle the lymphoma and leukemia anymore.

It was all so much to take in, but it was finally time to spend money on functional lab tests for myself. My ND had recommended it, not pushing it, but I had put it off due to lack of income and heavy expenses in other places, which were more important in my eyes.

It was August 29^th, 2019, I was ready for my test results. I had received the copy of the hair analysis directly and was ready to review that with Dr. Sarah. She had the results for the Organic Acids Test. I sat down beside her desk. No computer in her office and the lights typically dimmed, she looked at me, kindly as always and I said, “I’m ready, let’s do this”. I went on to talk about the hair analysis and she looked at me gently, and softly said “not today”. She continued “today we’re going to talk about this one” as she pointed to the Great Plains Laboratory OAT report. She told me I had a lot going on, that she was surprised I could walk, that my results were worse than those with Cerebral Palsy. Dr. Sarah told me I was full of mold, that I had an extreme overgrowth of candida, my body wasn’t methylating, I had gut dysbiosis and overall my body was toxic.

Crazy enough, I was stunned, obviously, but I was relieved! I had no idea what was ahead of me, but I felt empowered. I wasn’t my diagnosis, but I had a diagnosis. I had something to work with. I had a direction. I had a reason to live. I knew in my heart that I was on the road to recovery. That I would kick mold in the ass. That Jeni loved a good challenge and was going to make this one for the record books (my personal record book).

So it began. I didn’t dive right in because we had a vacation booked in September, but I did start prepping and doing some lighter steps, like diet changes and taking a couple of supplements. When we got back, I went at it hard. I literally fought for my life and promised myself that I would overcome this. And here I am. I did it! I’m so proud of myself, and so grateful for my cheer squad. My friends, my family, my care team. But it was me that had to do the work. There were no excuses. Hard days, sad days, joyful days. Now, I take them all in stride, grateful to be alive and here to share.

And you, who’s reading this, you can do hard things. You can dig. You can overcome. You can survive. You can thrive. And I want that for all of you so very much.

For those of you not familiar with mold toxicity, this blog is not intended to provide recommendations for your health or the health of your home or workplace. I do recommend that if mold is ever discovered or suspected that you hire an expert. Mold can be toxic, it can be deadly, and should not be handled without protection and knowledge. John and I learned the hard way. Please be cautious.

This blog is for entertainment purposes only and not medical advice. Some names have been omited to protect their privacy.

Follow me @mymoldjourney

Contact me at info@jenipherwellness.com