Hi. Have been working on something that I thought I would post to share my personal experience of hyperhidrosis / compensatory hyperhidrosis. I hope it's of interest to anyone who has gone through sympathectomy or is thinking of doing so.
My earliest memory of hyperhidrosis is when I was 8 or 9 years old. I do not recall primary school ever been a problem (certainly compared to the embarrassment, self-consciousness and humiliation that my secondary school years would bring), but I know that I was responsible for ruining at least one Amiga joystick due to my extremely sweaty palms (any young or non-UK person may not get the Amiga reference here, but it’s the 90’s equivalent of the excessive sweat from your hands infiltrating and ruining an Xbox joy pad!). This was a source of ridicule by my older brother, who also did his very best to make me feel as guilty as possible for unintentionally destroying a key tool in our gaming duels.
My childhood years were extremely happy ones. Though I clearly was suffering from palmer hyperhidrosis before I’d even reached double-figures, I cannot remember it ever holding me back or stopping me from living a ‘normal’ youth – I had plenty of friends, did reasonably well at school, and overall my future seemed fairly bright. The odd rare jibe aside, I do not recall my palmer hyperhidrosis ever been a noticeable negative part of my life.
Moving on to secondary school in 1994 took me from my relative comfort zone of primary school, and into an environment where nicknames, mickey-taking and at times bullying appeared much more rife.
The first two years seemed to pass without too much stress. Again I was doing what I wanted to do such as playing rugby for a local team. By the end of the third year though as I met more and more people this brought with it a wider knowledge of my embarrassing problem. “Sweaty Betty” and “Sweaty Palms” are two nicknames that I unfortunately still remember too well. People in classes were curious and seemingly fascinated by my (at times) dripping hands, to the point where one lad would actually be constantly trying to touch my palms in lessons to find out for himself how severe they were. Of course, he would express repulsion when he was successful, which always seemed a baffling paradox to me, and to this day I hate him for the embarrassment that he put me through for three years. Even after all this time I cannot forget his desire to make my school life as miserable as possible, and a recent Facebook friend request from him was politely refused.
After underachieving academically in Year 8, my grades thankfully improved greatly in Year 9. Like so many other aspects of my life though this brought both good and bad – the pleasure of achieving certificates tarnished by the anxiety of having to shake hands with senior figures at the school in front of hundreds of my peers.
By September 1997 (Year 10) I was already feeling isolated and ‘different’ from others. My friends would be walking home from school hand-in-hand with girls while I stood to the side wishing to be them.
Over these five years I had – in addition to palmer hyperhidrosis – also developed severe foot sweating. I became more and more self-conscious about the terrible smell that would emanate from any pair of trainers that I wore, and an otherwise fantastic holiday with family in the summer of 96 still carries the memory of my mum arriving back to the caravan with a pair of Odour Eaters and extra large can of deodorant foot spray for me, due to my new Reebok’s stinking out the place!
However, my foot problems reached a dark peak when I forgot my trainers for school PE one day in early 1998 and was forced to attempt to play indoor volleyball in bare feet. At that point it was probably the most humiliating experience of my life, sliding around (which is no exaggeration), leaving trails of sweat behind as both friends and non-friends laughed, whispered and shouted comments at me. From that point on I had “Sweaty Feet” to add to my increasing list of nicknames. I guess one positive for some of the people who seemingly revelled in teasing me at every opportunity was that their portraits of me with hands and feet like running taps gave them an opportunity to brush up on their artistic skills!
Around April 1998 (aged fifteen) I decided that it was time to visit my doctor. My mum was very sceptical but my dad agreed to take me. Over a period of two to three months I had a series of blood tests, and was prescribed Driclor, followed by an aluminium-based solution which I had to bathe my hands and feet in daily. Unfortunately none of this seemed to help, and so that summer an appointment was made for me with a dermatologist at a local hospital.
Already though I did not feel much support or sympathy from the NHS – one doctor at my GP’s practice even appearing to mock the condition by commenting (in reference to my extremely sweaty hands) “Hey at least they don’t smell eh!” which was said with a laugh. Needless to say I did not see the funny side! Looking back though the Driclor prescription was a correct step by whichever doctor prescribed me it (and something I would probably still be using for my hands and feet today as a supportive treatment, which I will get to). Another good move was the dermatologist referral – or so it seemed to me at the time. When I visited the hospital around September, my heart sank as I was told by her that there was nothing they could do. It seemed unfathomable to me (even at just fifteen years old) that there was no effective help available for a skin condition such as this – how hard could it be to devise a product or treatment to safely control it? I thought.
With her verdict in mind, the dermatologist said that she would refer me to a surgeon. This recommendation I naively accepted. In 2012 I would dash straight home from any doctor’s and immediately look up any recommended treatment or course of action online. In 1998 however (with me not even owning a PC / laptop or really having access to the internet at the time) I accepted what was said and agreed to the referral. Big mistake!!
As 1998 was drawing to a close I visited the surgeon who was based at a different hospital to the dermatologist. He seemed very nice and genuinely keen to help. He told me about Endoscopic Thoracic Sympathectomy and how it could potentially make a significant difference to my palmer hyperhidrosis. Of course, this was music to my ears. I may be wrong here, but the only possible side-effects that he informed me of were some compensatory sweating on my back (in line with the shoulder blades) and perhaps some drooping of my eye-lids.
With these possible negative effects appearing to be outweighed by the prospect of dry hands (and with no apparent alternative options) I said yes to the ETS procedure.
In April 1999 my first ETS was carried out. I had a two-night stay in hospital, and aside from some to-be-expected pain and discomfort I would say the operation seemed to go well.
In the coming weeks it appeared that my right hand was around 40%-50% dry, my left hand 30%-40% dry. This I feel made my transition from secondary school to college in the September easier, but by early 2000 I realised that the remaining sweat on both hands was still causing me a lot of embarrassment and self-consciousness, and all the usual ‘nightmares’ we hyperhidrosis sufferers experience like shaking hands and carrying out presentations remained almost as challenging. I therefore in May 2000 underwent a re-do of the ETS for both hands (God what the hell was I thinking?!!). In the meantime, between August-November 1999 I had gone through an exploratory procedure to stop or improve the sweating of my feet. I cannot recall exactly what it was, but on each occasion (they did one side at a time so it was technically two separate procedures) I was placed under anaesthetic and a small incision made to the side of my stomach. No improvement occurred with my very sweaty feet, but the small scars that still remain are a reminder of another stupid teenage decision made!
By the summer of 2000 therefore, I had now had ETS done twice (which I would say has resulted in a 70%-80% improvement to my right hand, and 60%-70% change to my left), and had also gone through two small unsuccessful exploratory procedures for my foot hyperhidrosis.
My foot sweating had never made my life as difficult as my palm sweating had, but it had still caused me plenty of headaches through the years, such as the aforementioned odour problems, blisters (which I rarely suffer these days so I believe they were linked to the sweating), and all the usual disappointment and despair that you feel as a foot hyperhidrosis sufferer, such as seeing people walking carefree in bare feet or confidentally wearing stylish flip-flops in the summer and wishing you could be them.
In 2001 I consequently decided to have a lumbar sympathectomy operation. This was carried out again under anaesthetic, and two large incisions made across the stomach, for the surgeon to cut through the relevant nerves (the big scars still cause me plenty of self-consciousness to this day). To the reader this may read like a self-inflicted path of personal destruction. All I would like to say though is that at no point before my operations can I ever recall being informed of such treatments as botox or iontophoresis, and it is this second treatment that I will believe until the day I die could have helped made a huge positive difference to my life without the need for surgery, which forms part of my resentment towards certain sections of the NHS for their lack of information and good advice. Nonetheless, from mid-2001 until early 2002 my quality of life temporarily seemed much improved by the operations. My feet we overall 60%-80% better, and with the aforementioned reductions in sweating to my palms I did feel more able to do things that I would previously have avoided or turned down, such as working in a retail store serving customers.
In the summer of 2001 I successfully completed a two-year business course at college, and though I was very apprehensive decided to try a business studies degree at university. Long story short the degree was a complete disaster for me and I felt unable to continue after only three months. Basically I was just totally out of my depth, and I think this was probably the first time that I had really experienced depression. Walking around a university campus feeling so alone and alien (the main reason being because I felt that I did not match up to the other students in terms of intelligence and so did not belong there).
Having withdrawn from the degree I started working for a recruitment agency at a large local healthcare and household product company, while still keeping my retail job on weekends.
In the spring of 2002 I noticed – to my embarrassment and concern – that I was starting to sweat through my back during the day, such as while just walking a short distance. Working in an office became extremely stressful and embarrassing (constantly trying to see your back in your reflection to see if sweat marks are showing sure gets tiresome!), and by the summer things wear becoming unbearable. After some hot days at the retail store where my self-consciousness and discomfort had risen to a very high level I felt forced to give up this job (the way I left with only a few days notice I still feel guilty and regretful about to this day).
That summer I worryingly discovered that alcohol seemed to temporarily reduce / stop me from sweating (which by this time had already spread to my legs), and this is something which I hate to admit I still sometimes fall back on to this day. Not in an alcoholic way, but I certainly drink more and quicker when out with friends on hot days because it is the only thing in this situation that seems to ease my compensatory sweating.
By late 2002 I felt really low. The thrill of having relatively dry (though not completely dry – so all the surgeons promising a ‘cure’ are wrong in this and many other ways) hands and feet had been eclipsed by the discomfort and humiliation of ever-increasing compensatory sweating. From having huge sweat stains all down the back of my work shirt, to looking like I’d peed my pants because of leg sweating, things were becoming more and more difficult, and at 19 years old I felt my energy and enthusiasm for life decreasing. I would back away from girls, and spent most Saturday nights sat in my local pub, glancing around at couples and groups of blokes oozing confidence and starting to feel different and an outcast.
Around this time, in desperation I spent around £35 on some herbal medicine from a local Chinese medical centre. Despite this having no effect at all on my compensatory sweating, for the next five years I must have spent at least £2000 on herbs and acupuncture in a futile attempt to improve my symptoms. In 2003 I also contacted my GP for help. What followed were more wasted time and money, as I moved from my GP, to the surgeon who had destroyed me, and to a dermatologist, none of them providing the hope that I needed. My GP told me in 2003 that it was just taking time for my body to settle from the operations, and that things would improve with time, but nearly a decade on and my compensatory hyperhidrosis (and all the other symptoms and side-effects) are worse than ever, so that’s another surgical myth blown away!
In 2004 I turned 21, but instead of a Dutch Dash or Tenerife with the lads, this landmark birthday was ‘celebrated’ with me having a dozen acupuncture needs inserted in me at a back-street Chinese doctor! What is memorable about this time however was that while out with my brother for a celebratory drink (who as sad as it sounds had become my only friend by this point) I discovered a rock bar in my city, which although situated in an industrial area and appearing to be in need of more than just a lick of paint, I felt a sense of belonging and ‘fitting in’ that I had not felt in a long time. Down the road from here was another rock club, which I had developed a love for in 2002 and 2003, but by 2004 with me seriously lacking in friends due to self-consciousness and limited scope in my job (which was now in an NHS office) for friendship-building, I was no longer attending it.
As 2004 rolled on I was now trying homeopathy for what was now very severe compensatory hyperhidrosis. This again though uncovered no miracle, but over the past twelve months I had at least taking a positive step in trying to carve a future by doing some voluntary work with children and families. This led to me considering giving university another shot with a social work degree. September 2004 however felt too soon. This led to a depressing conversation one morning with my mum, who felt that I was making excuses and not wanting to move forward with my life. Over the years I have felt a lack of support and understanding from my parents when it comes to my condition. I love them to death and I could not have asked for a better mum and dad, but a very small part of me still resents them for not stopping me at fifteen from having sympathectomy. I must say though however that there is certainly every chance that if they had done this then I would have simply held on until I became an adult at eighteen and underwent the operations then.
With 2005 approaching I had now almost given up on ‘natural’ treatments for my compensatory hyperhidrosis, and was now buying glycopyrrolate in the form of medicated wipes from Canada (I had done the same in 2003 but in pill form, and had also tried Ditropan from the internet). The wipes were pretty costly to have shipped to England, but did provide a degree of relief on areas such as my back and stomach, and in fact with the price of prescriptions in the UK it was probably not much more expensive then obtaining the drug from the NHS.
I had also decided during this time to take that shot at university, and I was accepted onto a social work programme, to start in September 2005.
As discussed earlier, by this time I had few (if any friends). I had distanced myself from school friends over the years, not because I wanted to but because my condition just placed so many barriers in front of me that I felt unable to overcome. Dancing in nightclubs, girlfriends and other pleasures that most men take for granted seemed completely unreachable for me, though I did still keep in mind the two aforementioned rock clubs, and I promised myself that when I started university that I would not only do everything possible to build new friendships, but would find a way to become a part of this rock scene that I felt attracted to.
Under the circumstances of my condition, university was a fantastic experience. The friendships that I craved arrived, and I became a part of the rock scene, meeting some amazing people that I am friends with to this day. Like every aspect of my life since April 1999 however there’s always a downside! Through university I was still struggling with the hyperhidrosis, and though I had become more confident around women (and people in general) I still had a lot of those moments that you experience as a HH sufferer where you just want to run away and hide. By 2007 I had realised that it was pointless trying to stem the tide of sweating (although I must give a shout out to Odaban, which is the best of the prescription-strength products that I have found for general hyperhidrosis), so had instead started to taking supplements (and yet more of that wonderful acupuncture!) to try and somehow repair the nerve damage that I have. More money was spent – and still is – as I tried literally dozens of vitamins, herbs, fish oils, minerals and more to work on healing the damage that the NHS has done to me. In all honesty nothing in 2012 has really improved, and actually the compensatory sweating has spread further still to larger areas of my legs for example. Nonetheless over the last five years I have done everything possible through supplementation and health to hopefully in the long-run get some of the old me back.
In 2008 I graduated from university, and since then have worked for several different teams in my area, as well as voluntary work for an emotional support charity. This has been incredible work, and I hope that I am able to volunteer until I’m very old, as it is something that has given me a real sense of purpose, and has given me so much, while of course allowing me to give back and help others.
As I type this I struggle on an almost-daily basis with compensatory hyperhidrosis. The operations have had a devastating effect on my life when I look back and think of how I was until that spring day in 1999. I feel very limited now and on many days sweat severely through my back, stomach, chest, legs, groin and buttocks. For anyone considering surgery there are also many other side-effects to consider, such as not being able to sweat through ‘normal’ areas like your underarms, face, forehead, scalp and neck. This causes a constant burning sensation and feeling of overheating. In terms of another aspect of my life, girlfriends still feel out of the question for me (which at nearly 30 causing me a great deal of depression), and I know I’ve hurt girls over the last 5-6 years such as by letting them down (I have wanted so desparately to live a ‘normal’ life and at times it’s felt possible, then you’ve realised that you just cannot be like most other people). From 2006-2010 I had developed a binge-drinking problem, downing a minimum of 25 pints over the weekend (Friday-Sunday), and the side-effects of the procedures have, I feel, led to a lot of emotional / mental health issues such as low self-esteem, low self-worth, anxiety, stress, paranoia etc. However, I continue on and work as hard as possible at my jobs and condition to make the best of things.
This was written not as a sob story or for sympathy, but just to give an account of a person who had sympathectomy 11-13 years ago, and whose life has been greatly affected in a negative way as a result. I hope it gives some comfort to anyone suffering with the side-effects that you are not alone and others know what you’re going through. We all just have to keep battling and hopefully in time things will get better, for example as medicine and the NHS hopefully improve.
Thanks for reading, and I hope it’s not been too boring!
My earliest memory of hyperhidrosis is when I was 8 or 9 years old. I do not recall primary school ever been a problem (certainly compared to the embarrassment, self-consciousness and humiliation that my secondary school years would bring), but I know that I was responsible for ruining at least one Amiga joystick due to my extremely sweaty palms (any young or non-UK person may not get the Amiga reference here, but it’s the 90’s equivalent of the excessive sweat from your hands infiltrating and ruining an Xbox joy pad!). This was a source of ridicule by my older brother, who also did his very best to make me feel as guilty as possible for unintentionally destroying a key tool in our gaming duels.
My childhood years were extremely happy ones. Though I clearly was suffering from palmer hyperhidrosis before I’d even reached double-figures, I cannot remember it ever holding me back or stopping me from living a ‘normal’ youth – I had plenty of friends, did reasonably well at school, and overall my future seemed fairly bright. The odd rare jibe aside, I do not recall my palmer hyperhidrosis ever been a noticeable negative part of my life.
Moving on to secondary school in 1994 took me from my relative comfort zone of primary school, and into an environment where nicknames, mickey-taking and at times bullying appeared much more rife.
The first two years seemed to pass without too much stress. Again I was doing what I wanted to do such as playing rugby for a local team. By the end of the third year though as I met more and more people this brought with it a wider knowledge of my embarrassing problem. “Sweaty Betty” and “Sweaty Palms” are two nicknames that I unfortunately still remember too well. People in classes were curious and seemingly fascinated by my (at times) dripping hands, to the point where one lad would actually be constantly trying to touch my palms in lessons to find out for himself how severe they were. Of course, he would express repulsion when he was successful, which always seemed a baffling paradox to me, and to this day I hate him for the embarrassment that he put me through for three years. Even after all this time I cannot forget his desire to make my school life as miserable as possible, and a recent Facebook friend request from him was politely refused.
After underachieving academically in Year 8, my grades thankfully improved greatly in Year 9. Like so many other aspects of my life though this brought both good and bad – the pleasure of achieving certificates tarnished by the anxiety of having to shake hands with senior figures at the school in front of hundreds of my peers.
By September 1997 (Year 10) I was already feeling isolated and ‘different’ from others. My friends would be walking home from school hand-in-hand with girls while I stood to the side wishing to be them.
Over these five years I had – in addition to palmer hyperhidrosis – also developed severe foot sweating. I became more and more self-conscious about the terrible smell that would emanate from any pair of trainers that I wore, and an otherwise fantastic holiday with family in the summer of 96 still carries the memory of my mum arriving back to the caravan with a pair of Odour Eaters and extra large can of deodorant foot spray for me, due to my new Reebok’s stinking out the place!
However, my foot problems reached a dark peak when I forgot my trainers for school PE one day in early 1998 and was forced to attempt to play indoor volleyball in bare feet. At that point it was probably the most humiliating experience of my life, sliding around (which is no exaggeration), leaving trails of sweat behind as both friends and non-friends laughed, whispered and shouted comments at me. From that point on I had “Sweaty Feet” to add to my increasing list of nicknames. I guess one positive for some of the people who seemingly revelled in teasing me at every opportunity was that their portraits of me with hands and feet like running taps gave them an opportunity to brush up on their artistic skills!
Around April 1998 (aged fifteen) I decided that it was time to visit my doctor. My mum was very sceptical but my dad agreed to take me. Over a period of two to three months I had a series of blood tests, and was prescribed Driclor, followed by an aluminium-based solution which I had to bathe my hands and feet in daily. Unfortunately none of this seemed to help, and so that summer an appointment was made for me with a dermatologist at a local hospital.
Already though I did not feel much support or sympathy from the NHS – one doctor at my GP’s practice even appearing to mock the condition by commenting (in reference to my extremely sweaty hands) “Hey at least they don’t smell eh!” which was said with a laugh. Needless to say I did not see the funny side! Looking back though the Driclor prescription was a correct step by whichever doctor prescribed me it (and something I would probably still be using for my hands and feet today as a supportive treatment, which I will get to). Another good move was the dermatologist referral – or so it seemed to me at the time. When I visited the hospital around September, my heart sank as I was told by her that there was nothing they could do. It seemed unfathomable to me (even at just fifteen years old) that there was no effective help available for a skin condition such as this – how hard could it be to devise a product or treatment to safely control it? I thought.
With her verdict in mind, the dermatologist said that she would refer me to a surgeon. This recommendation I naively accepted. In 2012 I would dash straight home from any doctor’s and immediately look up any recommended treatment or course of action online. In 1998 however (with me not even owning a PC / laptop or really having access to the internet at the time) I accepted what was said and agreed to the referral. Big mistake!!
As 1998 was drawing to a close I visited the surgeon who was based at a different hospital to the dermatologist. He seemed very nice and genuinely keen to help. He told me about Endoscopic Thoracic Sympathectomy and how it could potentially make a significant difference to my palmer hyperhidrosis. Of course, this was music to my ears. I may be wrong here, but the only possible side-effects that he informed me of were some compensatory sweating on my back (in line with the shoulder blades) and perhaps some drooping of my eye-lids.
With these possible negative effects appearing to be outweighed by the prospect of dry hands (and with no apparent alternative options) I said yes to the ETS procedure.
In April 1999 my first ETS was carried out. I had a two-night stay in hospital, and aside from some to-be-expected pain and discomfort I would say the operation seemed to go well.
In the coming weeks it appeared that my right hand was around 40%-50% dry, my left hand 30%-40% dry. This I feel made my transition from secondary school to college in the September easier, but by early 2000 I realised that the remaining sweat on both hands was still causing me a lot of embarrassment and self-consciousness, and all the usual ‘nightmares’ we hyperhidrosis sufferers experience like shaking hands and carrying out presentations remained almost as challenging. I therefore in May 2000 underwent a re-do of the ETS for both hands (God what the hell was I thinking?!!). In the meantime, between August-November 1999 I had gone through an exploratory procedure to stop or improve the sweating of my feet. I cannot recall exactly what it was, but on each occasion (they did one side at a time so it was technically two separate procedures) I was placed under anaesthetic and a small incision made to the side of my stomach. No improvement occurred with my very sweaty feet, but the small scars that still remain are a reminder of another stupid teenage decision made!
By the summer of 2000 therefore, I had now had ETS done twice (which I would say has resulted in a 70%-80% improvement to my right hand, and 60%-70% change to my left), and had also gone through two small unsuccessful exploratory procedures for my foot hyperhidrosis.
My foot sweating had never made my life as difficult as my palm sweating had, but it had still caused me plenty of headaches through the years, such as the aforementioned odour problems, blisters (which I rarely suffer these days so I believe they were linked to the sweating), and all the usual disappointment and despair that you feel as a foot hyperhidrosis sufferer, such as seeing people walking carefree in bare feet or confidentally wearing stylish flip-flops in the summer and wishing you could be them.
In 2001 I consequently decided to have a lumbar sympathectomy operation. This was carried out again under anaesthetic, and two large incisions made across the stomach, for the surgeon to cut through the relevant nerves (the big scars still cause me plenty of self-consciousness to this day). To the reader this may read like a self-inflicted path of personal destruction. All I would like to say though is that at no point before my operations can I ever recall being informed of such treatments as botox or iontophoresis, and it is this second treatment that I will believe until the day I die could have helped made a huge positive difference to my life without the need for surgery, which forms part of my resentment towards certain sections of the NHS for their lack of information and good advice. Nonetheless, from mid-2001 until early 2002 my quality of life temporarily seemed much improved by the operations. My feet we overall 60%-80% better, and with the aforementioned reductions in sweating to my palms I did feel more able to do things that I would previously have avoided or turned down, such as working in a retail store serving customers.
In the summer of 2001 I successfully completed a two-year business course at college, and though I was very apprehensive decided to try a business studies degree at university. Long story short the degree was a complete disaster for me and I felt unable to continue after only three months. Basically I was just totally out of my depth, and I think this was probably the first time that I had really experienced depression. Walking around a university campus feeling so alone and alien (the main reason being because I felt that I did not match up to the other students in terms of intelligence and so did not belong there).
Having withdrawn from the degree I started working for a recruitment agency at a large local healthcare and household product company, while still keeping my retail job on weekends.
In the spring of 2002 I noticed – to my embarrassment and concern – that I was starting to sweat through my back during the day, such as while just walking a short distance. Working in an office became extremely stressful and embarrassing (constantly trying to see your back in your reflection to see if sweat marks are showing sure gets tiresome!), and by the summer things wear becoming unbearable. After some hot days at the retail store where my self-consciousness and discomfort had risen to a very high level I felt forced to give up this job (the way I left with only a few days notice I still feel guilty and regretful about to this day).
That summer I worryingly discovered that alcohol seemed to temporarily reduce / stop me from sweating (which by this time had already spread to my legs), and this is something which I hate to admit I still sometimes fall back on to this day. Not in an alcoholic way, but I certainly drink more and quicker when out with friends on hot days because it is the only thing in this situation that seems to ease my compensatory sweating.
By late 2002 I felt really low. The thrill of having relatively dry (though not completely dry – so all the surgeons promising a ‘cure’ are wrong in this and many other ways) hands and feet had been eclipsed by the discomfort and humiliation of ever-increasing compensatory sweating. From having huge sweat stains all down the back of my work shirt, to looking like I’d peed my pants because of leg sweating, things were becoming more and more difficult, and at 19 years old I felt my energy and enthusiasm for life decreasing. I would back away from girls, and spent most Saturday nights sat in my local pub, glancing around at couples and groups of blokes oozing confidence and starting to feel different and an outcast.
Around this time, in desperation I spent around £35 on some herbal medicine from a local Chinese medical centre. Despite this having no effect at all on my compensatory sweating, for the next five years I must have spent at least £2000 on herbs and acupuncture in a futile attempt to improve my symptoms. In 2003 I also contacted my GP for help. What followed were more wasted time and money, as I moved from my GP, to the surgeon who had destroyed me, and to a dermatologist, none of them providing the hope that I needed. My GP told me in 2003 that it was just taking time for my body to settle from the operations, and that things would improve with time, but nearly a decade on and my compensatory hyperhidrosis (and all the other symptoms and side-effects) are worse than ever, so that’s another surgical myth blown away!
In 2004 I turned 21, but instead of a Dutch Dash or Tenerife with the lads, this landmark birthday was ‘celebrated’ with me having a dozen acupuncture needs inserted in me at a back-street Chinese doctor! What is memorable about this time however was that while out with my brother for a celebratory drink (who as sad as it sounds had become my only friend by this point) I discovered a rock bar in my city, which although situated in an industrial area and appearing to be in need of more than just a lick of paint, I felt a sense of belonging and ‘fitting in’ that I had not felt in a long time. Down the road from here was another rock club, which I had developed a love for in 2002 and 2003, but by 2004 with me seriously lacking in friends due to self-consciousness and limited scope in my job (which was now in an NHS office) for friendship-building, I was no longer attending it.
As 2004 rolled on I was now trying homeopathy for what was now very severe compensatory hyperhidrosis. This again though uncovered no miracle, but over the past twelve months I had at least taking a positive step in trying to carve a future by doing some voluntary work with children and families. This led to me considering giving university another shot with a social work degree. September 2004 however felt too soon. This led to a depressing conversation one morning with my mum, who felt that I was making excuses and not wanting to move forward with my life. Over the years I have felt a lack of support and understanding from my parents when it comes to my condition. I love them to death and I could not have asked for a better mum and dad, but a very small part of me still resents them for not stopping me at fifteen from having sympathectomy. I must say though however that there is certainly every chance that if they had done this then I would have simply held on until I became an adult at eighteen and underwent the operations then.
With 2005 approaching I had now almost given up on ‘natural’ treatments for my compensatory hyperhidrosis, and was now buying glycopyrrolate in the form of medicated wipes from Canada (I had done the same in 2003 but in pill form, and had also tried Ditropan from the internet). The wipes were pretty costly to have shipped to England, but did provide a degree of relief on areas such as my back and stomach, and in fact with the price of prescriptions in the UK it was probably not much more expensive then obtaining the drug from the NHS.
I had also decided during this time to take that shot at university, and I was accepted onto a social work programme, to start in September 2005.
As discussed earlier, by this time I had few (if any friends). I had distanced myself from school friends over the years, not because I wanted to but because my condition just placed so many barriers in front of me that I felt unable to overcome. Dancing in nightclubs, girlfriends and other pleasures that most men take for granted seemed completely unreachable for me, though I did still keep in mind the two aforementioned rock clubs, and I promised myself that when I started university that I would not only do everything possible to build new friendships, but would find a way to become a part of this rock scene that I felt attracted to.
Under the circumstances of my condition, university was a fantastic experience. The friendships that I craved arrived, and I became a part of the rock scene, meeting some amazing people that I am friends with to this day. Like every aspect of my life since April 1999 however there’s always a downside! Through university I was still struggling with the hyperhidrosis, and though I had become more confident around women (and people in general) I still had a lot of those moments that you experience as a HH sufferer where you just want to run away and hide. By 2007 I had realised that it was pointless trying to stem the tide of sweating (although I must give a shout out to Odaban, which is the best of the prescription-strength products that I have found for general hyperhidrosis), so had instead started to taking supplements (and yet more of that wonderful acupuncture!) to try and somehow repair the nerve damage that I have. More money was spent – and still is – as I tried literally dozens of vitamins, herbs, fish oils, minerals and more to work on healing the damage that the NHS has done to me. In all honesty nothing in 2012 has really improved, and actually the compensatory sweating has spread further still to larger areas of my legs for example. Nonetheless over the last five years I have done everything possible through supplementation and health to hopefully in the long-run get some of the old me back.
In 2008 I graduated from university, and since then have worked for several different teams in my area, as well as voluntary work for an emotional support charity. This has been incredible work, and I hope that I am able to volunteer until I’m very old, as it is something that has given me a real sense of purpose, and has given me so much, while of course allowing me to give back and help others.
As I type this I struggle on an almost-daily basis with compensatory hyperhidrosis. The operations have had a devastating effect on my life when I look back and think of how I was until that spring day in 1999. I feel very limited now and on many days sweat severely through my back, stomach, chest, legs, groin and buttocks. For anyone considering surgery there are also many other side-effects to consider, such as not being able to sweat through ‘normal’ areas like your underarms, face, forehead, scalp and neck. This causes a constant burning sensation and feeling of overheating. In terms of another aspect of my life, girlfriends still feel out of the question for me (which at nearly 30 causing me a great deal of depression), and I know I’ve hurt girls over the last 5-6 years such as by letting them down (I have wanted so desparately to live a ‘normal’ life and at times it’s felt possible, then you’ve realised that you just cannot be like most other people). From 2006-2010 I had developed a binge-drinking problem, downing a minimum of 25 pints over the weekend (Friday-Sunday), and the side-effects of the procedures have, I feel, led to a lot of emotional / mental health issues such as low self-esteem, low self-worth, anxiety, stress, paranoia etc. However, I continue on and work as hard as possible at my jobs and condition to make the best of things.
This was written not as a sob story or for sympathy, but just to give an account of a person who had sympathectomy 11-13 years ago, and whose life has been greatly affected in a negative way as a result. I hope it gives some comfort to anyone suffering with the side-effects that you are not alone and others know what you’re going through. We all just have to keep battling and hopefully in time things will get better, for example as medicine and the NHS hopefully improve.
Thanks for reading, and I hope it’s not been too boring!