I am honestly terrified for this semester. In so many ways, this is my last chance to turn things around. But I am so, so very worn– physically, mentally & emotionally. Simply getting out of bed or responding to text messages seems too hard some days, nevermind successfully functioning as a student. I know that worrying fixes nothing, and I’m trying not to get too ahead of myself: it’s only been three days. But before the semester even began, I felt like I was drowning. I’m working my very hardest and trying to keep my head up, but I really don’t think I can do this…
Today I had another slew of appointments, one of them being with my urologist at Duke South. It was a pretty uneventful appointment, but I am incredibly frustrated with the state of my urological health…
I have my THIRD infection in two months! The first two were complicated infections with uncommon strains of bacteria, and they really kicked my butt. This most recent culture grew Klebsiella pneumoniae which is a pretty common culprit of UTIs…but it is a difficult bacteria to get rid of nonetheless.
I honestly do not remember what it feels like to not have a UTI! My bladder and kidneys are constantly hurting, with pain ranging from slight soreness to knock-you-to-the-floor sharpness.
My urologist reassured me today that I am doing nothing wrong to cause these problems.
These infections are a result of EDS causing my bladder to be ‘too stretchy’ and dysautonomia affecting nerve signals to my smooth muscles. She also said that prednisone is likely complicating things as it is an immunosuppressant.
As far as managing my condition(s) goes (in this case, taking prophylactic antibiotics and self-cathing), I am doing everything right. I suppose knowing that makes me feel a little better…but in a way, the fact that this is not my fault increases my frustration because there isn’t anything I can do to improve the situation… agh.
On a more positive note, appointments with mom are always an adventure! She’s truly a character, that one. Here’s a video of some post-appointment shenanigans with my partner in crime.. 🙂 Love this crazy woman so much! ❤
If we have to be chronically ill, we should at least be granted a ‘get out of jail free’ card when it comes to colds, stomach viruses, strep, the flu, etc… ugh. Oh well. Feel even crappier than usual, but there’s no use getting upset over it.
Breathe in strength; breathe out bullsh*t” 👌🏼
In light of everything that has happened this semester, I’ve been working to come up with ways I can make a difference in this world without a college degree. Here are some ideas…
- Become a guardian ad litem
- Establish a restaurant that feeds the homeless
- Foster to adopt medically fragile children & teens
- Fundraise to pay for surgeries for children whose families cannot afford it
- Get my CNA license
- Help runaway teens reunite with their families or become independent/emancipated from them
- Make my home into a shelter for homeless women & children
- Publish book about life hacks for tubies– for tubies by tubies
- Start a nonprofit organization like Chronic Lifestyle Understanding & Education (CLUE)
- Start an orphanage or group home in conjunction with an animal shelter so each child can have a pet
- Start support groups for chronically ill teenagers & young adults
- Throw birthday parties for children in the hospital
- Volunteer and/or work at a nursing home
- Volunteer for Crisis Text Line
- Work as a missionary
To be continued… 🙂
After a difficult semester full of medical twists and turns, I am needing to request a retroactive withdrawal. To begin the process, I had to submit a statement detailing the reasons why I was needing to withdraw.
I found myself struggling for words and anxious about the withdrawal process, so my mom kindly got on the phone and tried to help me figure out how to phrase the letter.
After rattling off a long list of symptoms, procedures, and medical vicissitudes, she finished with:
“This is something I’ve been dealing with for the past 5+ years…”
Wow, she’s right: 5+ years of this crazy, inconsistent life.
5+ years of waking up to fight fatigue, widespread pain, nausea, dizziness, tachycardia, low blood pressure, vertigo, migraines, dystonia, syncope, anaphylaxis, chronic infections, subluxations, dislocations, cognitive impairment, tachycardia…
5+ years of taking more medications than most 80 years olds. Drugs to treat symptoms and disease processes and then even more drugs to treat side effects of those drugs.
5+ years of needle sticks, blown IVs, invasive therapies, painful procedures; “eating” through a tube in my intestines; relying on a wheelchair (though using it less than I should due to fear of judgement); stabbing myself with EpiPens, grabbing at my throat gasping for breath; faking smiles, forcing laughs and constantly hiding behind an “it’s all good”; trying, and usually failing, to balance health, family and school, struggling not to define my existence by my disabilities…
No wonder I’m exhausted.
Earlier tonight, I went to a house party with my roommates. I hadn’t been feeling well all day and I really did not want to go, but it was the first time all three of us were going out together since Halloween and I didn’t want to be a party pooper.
It turns out my gut feeling was right and I should have stayed home, as I got really sick at the party. There were so many strong odors, loud music and yelling and bright flashing lights…
The room began to spin like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. My head was splitting…my heart was pounding, racing around 180 and skipping beats…I was shaking, fighting not to throw up…and I was teetering at the point of pre-syncope where I was sure I was going to lose consciousness.
I ended up running outside to the front yard and sitting in the grass. My throat was beginning to close, and it was getting very hard to breathe– I needed an EpiPen.
But this story isn’t about getting sick at a social gathering and needing to go home…unfortunately, that is a pretty common occurrence and nothing worth writing home about… 😉 This is about what happened after I realized I needed to leave.
As I searched frantically through my tube bag, I realized I left my keys at another apartment at College Inn. I ran back inside to where my roommates where playing beer pong. Standing there, shaking from epi and further set off by all the overwhelming stimulus, I explained the my situation to them.
Lucie held my arm and tried to help me come up with a plan. It was difficult because she was a little drunk and the music was booming, but she was trying her best and eventually suggested I use her keys and just leave the apartment unlocked for when she and Shannon returned later. It wasn’t an ideal plan, but we figured out a way this could work.
After thanking Lucie profusely, I was ready to run out of the house when Shannon loudly interjected, “You’re leaving? But you look FINE!”
I explained to her that I just had to use an EpiPen, I felt like I was going to pass out, and I was NOT fine. She rolled her eyes, and then rudely proceeded to touched all over my face and neck saying, “Your face is not even swollen!” and making a bunch of similar comments, callous and even accusing. She ended her unsolicited assessment with, “You’re fine, you just don’t want to stay at the party. Come on, you told me that at the beginning.”
Not only did she brush me off and only begrudgingly offer advice, rolling her eyes every time I repeated I could not hear her over the music and the ringing in my ears (that was signaling I was about to faint)…she even stopped Lucie from trying to help me!
After helplessly trying to explain my health situation a few more times, I couldn’t take it anymore and ran outside. I needed to get an uber and get out of there fast.
When they came outside with me, where there was no loud music or crowd of partiers, it became obvious that I wasn’t lying about or exaggerating my situation.
Then Shannon was like “Ohhh, I thought you were faking it! I guess you’re not!” and then and ONLY then did she care, stop making rude comments, and proceed to try to help me.
The lights and the loud, crowded party atmosphere made me feel so scared as my body was failing me…and things certainly would have been a lot scarier (perhaps even escalating to needing an ambulance) if Lucie were not there. I am so thankful for her.
Now, I understand that Shannon, too, was a bit drunk. And I’ve seen her drunk multiple times before & know that she gets really wrapped up in the moment…but I cannot help but feel a little hurt (especially in this fragile extra sickly epi’ed-up state I suppose, haha). I don’t mean to be emotional, but Shannon’s callousness and aggressive assumption that just because I ‘looked’ okay in the moment, meant I must be fine and merely “faking it” really, REALLY hurt my feelings and made a bad situation much worse…
I got home and cried so hard. It still stings to think about, honestly.
I am not going to hold a grudge…not just because she was slightly intoxicated, but because continuing to dwell on it won’t help anyone. I will be fine and bounce back by the time she & Lucie get home from the party…
But interactions like this one tonight are the reason we desperately need more awareness about these complex, debilitating invisible illnesses. We must stop accusations like, “But you don’t look sick” and save others from having to endure the judgement, mean comments, and unwillingness to help that I faced tonight.
This is definitely not in reference to Shannon (she’s not usually like this & she’s my friend) or this situation at all…but as we spoonies like to say: I don’t look sick? Well, you don’t look stupid, but ya know…looks can be deceiving.. 😉
“Not everyone will understand your journey. That’s fine. It’s not their journey to make sense of. It’s yours.”
My life went to hell in August of 2012. It had been headed that way for years and years, but August 9th was the day that all was officially lost, with no hope of ever even returning to baseline…
And on that spiraling path to hell, I not only lost my family, my home, my belongings, many of my friends– I also lost my health. At a time in life where most were at prom, doing college tours, vacationing with family and friends, I became sicker and sicker with mysterious symptoms until I was completely disabled.
As time went on, I tried a multitude of medications, procedures, therapies and diets just to be met with more sickness, pain and fear.
I grieve who and what I once was. I used to be healthier and full of energy, able to eat whatever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. I was good in school. I volunteered. I dreamed big dreams and made strides toward making those dreams a reality. Despite a life of turmoil and inconsistency at home, I was able to push through and keep going. My friends remember me that way.
But now this body of mine is limited and thus my life is limited…
Every time life hands me a new limitation, I embark on the path of adapting to a new reality. Accepting new limitations throughout these years has been difficult for me and seems to be even more difficult for my parents.
I suppose I should not have been surprised that my peers and friends struggled with them too…
As I grew sicker, my friends became distant, one by one, until they eventually fell off the map altogether.
Their disappearance was due largely to my inability to keep up– physically, of course…but often mentally and emotionally, too, as life circumstances and the 24/7 nature of chronic illness wore me out so intensely…
I would often find myself feeling sad, guilty, even angry…and always very, very lonely.
Where were all those who I helped in their time of need? Those I had stayed up all night with, holding them as they cried? Those whose aid I rushed to at 3am, regardless of what was going on in my own life? Those who I defended, fought for, even lied for? Those whose children I cared for as my own while they tried to piece their own lives together?
It hurt for my friends to leave me and not support me through some of my darkest days, but I have slowly come to realize it’s really not about my limits but about their own.
We whose worlds are colored by chronic illness and disability are physically limited, but others are limited in their ability to understand and empathize.
At this point, the majority know I struggle with my health…my feeding tube and wheelchair use make it pretty obvious at times. However, when I am around others, I wear a mask I’ve perfected over the years: a smile, a laugh, a “pretty good, thanks, how are you?” I do my very best to hide the truth about the debilitating pain and discomfort I constantly endure. I do this for their sake, sure– but also because I have an EXTREMELY difficult time admitting things are not okay or that I need help (even to doctors and therapists). I am perpetually optimistic, at least outwardly. All of this to say, it is no surprise most have no idea the kind of impact chronic illness has on every part of my life and daily functioning.
Everyone has battles and struggles in this life, but for most, their difficulties do not reside in their bodies. They experience sickness and physical pain, sure– but not in the way we do. Pain is not their constant companion, always lurking in their shadow. They are unable to truly comprehend the realities of a life battling your own body, and therefore they easily dismiss it as an exaggeration, nuisance or simple idiosyncrasy.
I cannot help but feel annoyed, isolated or hurt by the gross lack of understanding at times…I am only human. But I have realized that it is not about me. It’s taken a long time to accept this, and many days I still struggle to…but I am finding strength in my fragility and lessons amidst my pain.
“Not everyone will understand your journey. That’s fine. It’s not their journey to make sense of. It’s yours.”
Keep fighting the good fight, guys.. ❤
I have been SO sick these past few days. My mast cells are kicking my butt big time, & I’ve had to use three EpiPens in the past 19 hours alone. I really should stop complaining & appreciate that life isn’t like this every day…but the pain & nausea is crippling & all I can think about is how I want it all to just end…