When you’re not the “right” kind of poor and disabled

August 7, 2019

I just learned about a program for low income and disabled folks to get internet access for $10 per month from Comcast. Too bad I wasn’t eligible, despite meeting all of the criteria. You see, I’m not the “right” kind of disabled and poor.

I looked at the list of requirements for the program. Despite only needing to check off one box, I could check off many: I am on Medicaid, getting SNAP (food stamps), on Section 8 (a housing voucher), and in the Low Income Home Energy Assistance Program (for help paying utilities.) But I’m not eligible. Why? Because I’m not a new customer. You see, it doesn’t matter how little money you have coming in, if you aren’t new to the internet, then you aren’t eligible for this program. Comcast is the only option for internet service where I live and the least expensive plan is $79 per month. It bothers me when I pay my bills every month, especially since the service I had in my last apartment was better quality and only $45. Still, it’s the only choice for internet here, and I consider internet a necessity for as long as I can afford it. Lowering it by $65 per month (accounting for taxes and fees on the new plan) would make a huge difference, though!

I’m not the “right” kind of poor and disabled for a lot of government and other programs either, though I have managed to get quite a few accommodations, for which I am very grateful.

I am so not the “right” kind of disabled according to a lot of people out there. After all, I can mostly walk without any assistive devices, and that’s their only consideration. I mostly look healthy, especially if you don’t look too closely. That’s all that “counts,” as far as they are concerned.

But that’s not the reality. The reality is that I spent all day feeling like crap, not even managing to get dressed until 2pm, because I had to be out of the house most of the previous day for medical tests. The tests were easy, but the travel too and from, plus being alert and interactive, was just too much for me. I came home exhausted and in a ton of pain, and had to spend the next day recovering.

The reality is that I have a lot of money in the bank, and I am so grateful for that. But I also know that the only reason my totals appear to go up is because my investments have gone up. It’s not real. When the market turns, as it always does, those numbers will go way down, and I won’t have any job income to offset the fall. I am thankful for my social security payments, but they don’t cover enough.

For a minute last summer, my benefits covered all of my basic expenses, which meant if I earned a little money from dogsitting or something, I could use it to go out to eat or buy clothes, and not have to take money out of savings. I would need those savings for a bigger expense, like to replace my car or to move, but for everyday things, I was ok. And then a couple months later I lost my food stamps. I had to start taking an expensive medication that insurance didn’t cover. And once again, for basic monthly expenses, I was taking money out of savings.

My savings are my safety net, but I know they won’t last forever, especially if I have to take out money just to cover the basics. So no, I’m not really poor in the typical sense. Yes, there are people who need the help more than I do right now. On the other hand, without these benefits I receive, I would quickly run through my savings. Then I would be in a dire situation, because the benefits wouldn’t cover all of my basic expenses and I would no longer have savings to make up the difference. Then what would I do?

And that is the crux of the issue with the “right” kind of poor and disabled. By the time we meet that definition, things have deteriorated to the point where the help no longer helps the way it would have earlier on. For example, one day I will need knee replacement surgery. Right now I do physical therapy and wear knee braces in order to put off the need for the surgery. If the problem was caught sooner, I could have avoided years of pain. So now I could ignore my exercises and forget the knee braces and get the surgery right away, knowing that it will have to be repeated every decade or so. Or I can use the supports I have now and put off the surgery, in the hopes that I will only need to have it done a couple of times throughout the rest of my life. I choose the latter. But imagine if I didn’t have a choice. Imagine if my only option was to repeatedly have the surgery. That’s what these programs want. They want us to get the point where we no longer have better options, and then maybe they will help us.

I am lucky. I have the option to keep pulling money out of savings to pay for basics. These days, my basics are rent, utilities, groceries, medical expenses, gas, car insurance, and car maintenance. Everything else is an extra, including a meal out, a gift for a friend or relative, or a new sweater. I get help for some of those necessities, like rent, utilities, and groceries. Still, my benefits only go so far, and my medical expenses are high, since a lot isn’t covered by insurance. Without savings, I would be choosing which of those necessities to get rid of and frankly, I don’t see anything on that list that I’m willing to live without (the car is necessary where I live now and even before, when I lived near public transportation, I was often too sick or in too much pain to take it and would have to drive instead.)

So screw the folks who only want to help the “right” kind of poor and disabled people. We all deserve help, and these programs should be available to those who need them.

I want to add a final, important note. I doubted myself. Maybe I was being too harsh? Maybe it’s good to limit these programs to only the most needy among us? Maybe I’m being selfish? Self doubt is a big problem for a lot of people, and it comes up a lot for folks with chronic illness. Personally, I was told for years that I wasn’t “sick enough” to get help, and that ended up making me a lot sicker. If only I had been diagnosed and treated a decade earlier, I might not be disabled now. I might be able to work full time, and these money issues wouldn’t be on my radar. So yes, I still doubt my needs. And then, while I wasn’t sure if I should hit “publish” I went over to Facebook, and saw a bunch of comments on a post I had made about this program. Several folks were really excited to see it, then disappointed to learn they weren’t eligible because they already had internet through Comcast. Those who were able were already talking about switching to another provider, with the plan to switch back in three months in order to get on this program. Because yes, there are people with internet access who have health and money issues and who need the help. We need help, not gatekeeping. This is a federal program, and should be open to everyone. And that is what made me decide to publish this post after all.

What do you think? Should programs like this be available to everyone who is low income, even if they have internet access already? Are the restrictions reasonable or bullshit? Please comment below, because I would love to know what you think.

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“Don’t let the hormones make you think that you’re crazy”

April 8, 2019

I’m an over-thinker. I always have been, I just didn’t realize it was possible to be any other way. In more recent years, as I have had a lot more time to think and a lot less ability to do other things, I have found myself thinking things through even more. This can be incredibly useful, and has allowed me to research my health condition, for example. But it can also lead to trouble, like when I worry about what certain things mean.

I read a lot, too. I read books, blogs, news articles, Facebook posts. I read about chronic illness. This reading means that I find useful information, but I also learned about things I would probably be better off not knowing. I often wish I could unlearn things.

One thing I wish I didn’t know what how much sicker and more disabled some people are than me. Obviously I knew this in an abstract sense, but being involved in the chronic illness community makes it a lot more real. I also see the high rates of mental illness among those with physical chronic illnesses. I worry that one day I could develop some of these issues. I could become more disabled, develop new physical chronic illnesses, develop mental illnesses, or all 3. This isn’t something I worry about all day every day, but it comes to mind a fair amount.

Last week I had a horrible bout of anxiety. I was nervous about the upcoming iron infusion, and the closer it got, the worse I felt. By the evening before, I was a complete wreck. I should have used some medical marijuana, but for some reason that didn’t even occur to me until the next day! I did everything else I could think of: I messaged some close friends, told them I was anxious, and asked for distractions. The kid videos, cat video, stories about their lives, etc. were very helpful. I read the questions my therapist had suggested I ask myself to determine if my anxiety is founded. I ate comforting foods while still having to avoid inflammatory foods, thanks to the food reaction a week earlier. The next day I stayed busy as much as possible. I was annoyed but managed not to panic when I got my period, only 3 weeks after the last one. I had a friend come with me to the infusion. But I was still a wreck.

On the way to the infusion, I told my friend who it would work. It’s a very short thing, but they keep patients around for a while afterwards because there’s a not-insignificant chance of a potentially fatal reaction. “No wonder you’re anxious,” she said. As I responded, “Oh, that has nothing to do with it” I realized how strange that was. I wasn’t worried about a horrible reaction. So why was I so anxious? I couldn’t figure it out.

Several days later I went to my therapy appointment and I immediately brought up the extreme anxiety. It was worse than just about any I’d had before – it rivaled how I felt the night before my food surgery several years ago, and that made no sense! We talked it through for a while. Eventually she pointed out that I have been hypothyroid lately, right? Yes. “Hypothyroid can cause anxiety. In fact, any psychiatrist who has a patient with anxiety will test their thyroid function.” (I pointed out this unfortunately isn’t the case and she said, “If they’re any good, they’ll do it.” Boy do I like her!) Then she pointed out I had unexpectedly gotten my period that morning, and I usually get more emotional a day or two beforehand. Of course, I hadn’t connected the two because I hadn’t known my period was coming. And then she said it:

“I know you worry about developing mental health problems, but don’t let the hormones make you think that you’re crazy.”

And I instantly knew she was right. I worry so much about developing anxiety (yeah, I know, totally counterproductive, right?) or depression but so often, the worst of my anxiety, depression, or other similar feelings are related to my hormones. When I was feeling down last fall it turned out to be a problem with my thyroid medication. When I suddenly feel like crying for no reason at all, it’s always my hormones. At that moment, that was exactly what I needed to hear.

So yes, in this case I would have felt anxious anyway, no doubt about that at all. Medical procedures worry me for a lot of legitimate reasons, and the last time I got iron infusions it didn’t go well, but I wouldn’t have typically felt this anxious by any means. On a scale of 1-10 I would have normally been a 5, not the 8+ I had been experiencing.

I immediately felt better. It was the hormones. That’s all. I have no doubt about that now that I have had some time to think about it (and my period has ended.) It was horrible timing, but there you go.

Could I one day develop horrible anxiety or depression or something else that has nothing to do with a hormone imbalance? Absolutely. Anyone could, but also, my paternal grandmother, father, and sister all had/have depression; my mother and several of her first degree relatives have anxiety. But that also doesn’t mean that every instance I experience is the sign of something chronic. It could just mean that my hormones are temporarily messed up.

Let’s face it, odds are good that I will eventually develop a new chronic illness. It could be physical or mental, and either way, I will have to deal with it. I worry about both, because I feel like I can’t handle anything else, yet I have felt that way before and have somehow managed to handle each new thing. For now, though, all I can do is keep trying to deal with my current health problems the best that I can, while attempting to not worry too much about what may or may not come in the future. And reminding myself that when I find myself feeling overly-emotional, it’s probably due to my hormones.


Winning the battle against my fears

December 22, 2018

I used to travel a lot. I flew to Florida twice a year to visit my grandparents, I drove to New York twice a year to visit my other grandparents. I drove to Maine many times a year to spend a weekend or a week in my family’s vacation home there. Sometimes I flew to another state to visit friends. On top of all of that, I would take one week long bigger trip to someplace I hadn’t been before. Yes, I knew how to squeeze every last hour out of my vacation days! (There were many exhausting long weekends!)

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My last trip overseas: London

That was my life before. Before my chronic illnesses became quite so disabling. I can no longer drive the 4 hours to New York. I have not been on a plane in 8 years. Eight years! I used to fly 3-4 times every year and now…. I feel stuck at home.

Travel opens up our eyes to new experiences and unfamiliar cultures. Without that, my world has been feeling very small. I first went overseas in college and I immediately got the travel bug. I have been to a handful of countries, with tons more that I want to see. There are also so many places I want to see right here in the U.S. But that requires flying.

I was never scared to fly before, but now I am. I’m not scared of terrorists or of crashing. I’m scared of triggering a flare-up of my health issues. I’m scared of feeling sick while trapped in the air. And it’s holding me back.

The first years of my self-imposed ban flying were absolutely legitimate. Flying would have been horrible for me. Even car trips to New York when someone else drove were hard. I barely saw my grandfather in New York in the final years of his life, and that was brutal. We spoke on the phone often, but still.

But I realized recently that it’s no longer my health that’s stopping me as much as my anxiety. Sure, there are health issues too, but I think that I probably could have managed some travel in the last year or so. It’s time.

So over the summer I promised myself that this fall I would go someplace I haven’t been. But I’m not ready to fly. If I can’t fly and I can’t drive far, that means taking a train. Trains are pretty good for me, and I will write a separate post about my experience with Amtrak’s accommodations for folks with disabilities. Still, they’re limiting. I chose Philadelphia. I’ve heard good things, I’ve never seen the city, and it’s a reasonable train ride.

Not long after this decision I began seeing a therapist, and she encouraged me to try flying as well. I want to start with a very short flight, so Washington D.C. seems reasonable. I flew there once many years ago (the times I drove) and it’s super fast. I figured I would go to Philly first, then DC later. If those went well, I could build up, and maybe finally manage to visit friends on the west coast, see the Grand Canyon, and more! Maybe I could even visit my friend in England! But first things first: a train ride to Philly.

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Last week I saw the Liberty Bell!

This was HARD! Buying the train tickets took a lot of emotional strength. It was difficult to find an AirBnb in the neighborhood I wanted that was on the first floor. I thought through every aspect of the trip many times: what medications to bring, how to handle food, how to manage my limited energy. I was ready. I had planned. But I knew that things could fall apart at any time without warning. Should I really do this? Maybe it was all a big mistake!

Less than a week before the trip I had a bad night. My adrenals crashed, which happens sometimes, and it’s the worst of my symptoms. I was nauseated, fatigued, weak. I was shaking, crying, and scared. And I panicked.

I started to think, not for the first time but definitely more strongly, that I should cancel the trip. That was the last day that I could still get a reimbursement on almost everything. I could have a quiet week at home. Things had been so hectic. I was planning for an event that week. Yes, I had planned a full 2 days between the event and the trip so that I could rest and pack. That was plenty of time. The event wouldn’t be that tiring, it just took planning. Still, it was overwhelming. I couldn’t manage. I could cancel the trip and stay home and get shit done around the apartment. That sounded really nice!

Thankfully, I had a therapy appointment the next day and she talked me down. I cried the entire time. I was crying before we even started talking. I was a mess of fear and anxiety. I had put a ton of pressure on myself, because if this trip was a failure, I knew I’d be too scared to try travelling again. But I WANTED to travel. And if I didn’t try, I’d never know.

After an hour of talking, I felt better. Not great, but better. I would do this. But I was still nervous.

The next day, I felt confident again. I could do this! What changed? One thing: I felt better physically. My anxiety gets much worse when I feel sick. That makes sense, since my anxiety is about being ill.

For the next few days I slowly got shit done. I wrapped up things at home. I told myself I didn’t need to do it all. I went to the event. I had many days of low energy and I let myself stay home and rest. I cut more things off my to do list. I kept it to the bare minimum. Now, a full week after I got home from the trip, I still haven’t done some of those things, and that’s ok! 

The day came. I had packed the day before. I didn’t need to leave until noon, something I planned very intentionally. And I did it. I got on that train.

I will probably tell you about the trip another time, but the short version is that it was great! I didn’t do nearly as much as I would have liked, even given my health limitations. One day I was fatigued and couldn’t go out much. One day I was in so much pain I could barely walk. Still, I did it. And somehow, miraculously, I didn’t have any adrenal crashes! Almost as amazing (and probably related,) I spent the last 2 days with friends who ended up getting very sick, and I never caught their bug. Incredible!

I came home feeling like it was a success because I traveled someplace new and my health managed ok. That makes me feel much better about getting on a plane to DC. Not great – I’m still nervous, and when the time comes I might panic again – but at least now it feels doable. And while my grandparents are sadly no longer alive, I have several cousins and close friends in New York, and in a few months I will take a train down there to visit them.

Yesterday I went to therapy and she eagerly asked how my trip was. I was happy to tell her about my success. But honestly, even just going was a huge win for me, no matter how it turned out. I was scared and anxious but I went anyway. I’m proud of that.


But did it help?

September 25, 2018

I go to so many medical appointments, sometimes I just take for granted that I have to go. But last week, after I wrote about having 13 appointments in just one month, I also mentioned it to a friend, and she asked me something that shocked me: were they helping?

It shocked me because I hadn’t thought to ask this myself! You would think that of course I’d be evaluating each appointment to see if it was worthwhile, but at some point, I just stopped doing that. I have gotten all too used to “follow up” appointments where the doctor reviews my symptoms, nods, and then tells me to come back in 4-6 months without suggesting any changes to what I’m doing. And often this is fine, because I feel like I’m on a decent course. Or because I know the treatments come with bad side effects that I want to avoid. Still, it’s worth taking a step back every now and then to ask,

Is this working?

Is this worthwhile?

I’m glad to say that in the case of this hectic September, the answer is a resounding, YES! The hand therapy has been making a huge difference. My sleep doctor suggested one small change that has had a big positive effect. My naturopath offered me some hopefully changes. I haven’t seen any changes from my new therapist, but it’s early, and there’s nothing negative, so I’ll give it some time.

This means that what I’m doing is working and it’s worth it. At least for now.

Still, 13 appointments in one month means very little time to relax, to deal with household chores, or to have fun with friends. And it’s really getting to me. I’m looking forward to one day soon actually being able to do those things again!

In the meantime, take a step back and ask yourself, are all of those appointments helping? I hope the answer is yes but if it’s not, it might be time to ask yourself how to change that answer. (Obviously I’m not a medical professional and I’m not suggesting you stop seeing your doctors even if you’re not seeing positive results right now. Use your own good judgement!)


The stress of dealing with stress

March 12, 2018

When the doctor told me I needed to avoid stress because of my autoimmune disease, I laughed to myself. If it was that easy, wouldn’t everyone do it?

But over the years I learned how to stress out less. I’m still Type A. I’m still controlling, But I managed it. I get stressed out in more reasonable ways. It doesn’t feel as extreme as it used to, or last very long. I almost never lose sleep.

Until this month.

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The last few weeks have been really rough. I have been struggling a lot. And finally yesterday, I just felt so frustrated by it all. I wasn’t sure what to do. I called a friend who also has chronic illness, because I felt stuck. I wanted to stay home and rest and be alone. But I had already done that several times in the last week and it didn’t help. So was it fair to cancel plans with a new friend?

She helped me realize that I did need to stay home and take care of myself. And that while spending a day watching tv and crocheting will help me when I’m physically exhausted, it’s not enough for my current anxiety and stress. Emotional issues require a different approach.

She suggested a journaling exercise: write for 10 minutes without stopping. Make it a stream-of-consciousness writing exercise, and do it for 4 days. The key is not to write about *what* is causing me stress but to write about *how* it makes me feel. That’s harder. I’m not good at that.

But the minute we hung up the phone, I set my timing and got started.

Within a few minutes I was crying. It was wonderful! You see, my problem is that I have gotten so good at compartmentalizing my feelings when I need to, that I’m doing it even when I shouldn’t. Like right now. For the past week I have felt like I needed to cry, but I couldn’t. I knew it would help me feel better, but I couldn’t do it. I tried cutting onions. I shed some tears, but it wasn’t a real cry. I watched a sad movie. Again, I shed tears, but it wasn’t the sobfest that I really needed. It wasn’t enough.

But the journaling exercise got me to cry. Then I got in the shower and cried more. Seriously cried. It didn’t last long, but I had tears streaming down my face and snot running out of my nose and it felt good. Cleansing.

I need to cry more. Maybe today’s journaling will help. Maybe not. But it’s worth a try.

We’re taught not to cry. Crying is bad. Not crying shows strength. I am proud of the fact that I almost never cry. I feel embarrassed when I do cry. But why? It’s a natural expression of emotions. What’s wrong with that?

My health issues also bring up a lot of negative feelings. I usually deal with them by setting them aside while they’re raw, then dealing with them a bit later when they aren’t quite as strong. That works for me.

The problem is that it stopped working. At least in this case. A few weeks ago my girlfriend and I broke up. We weren’t together long, which was part of the problem: it made me feel like I didn’t have the right to be upset. But I was. This relationship was different. I thought it would last a long time. So did she. The breakup itself isn’t the point of the story, though; the point is that I didn’t mourn. We broke up at night, and I called my mom and cried. The next day I had a medical appointment in the morning. On the drive there I wanted to cry but I stopped myself, because I didn’t want to be an emotional wreck during the appointment. I didn’t want to be distracted. By the time I got home, I was too tired to deal with my emotions. The next day I had another appointment. Again, in the car I almost cried, but I stopped myself.

And then that was it. I never really cried. I just went on with my life. I didn’t talk about it much with friends. What was the point? The breakup was no one’s fault. I wasn’t mad at her. I missed her, but talking wouldn’t help, right? The thing is, pushing aside my feelings just meant that I felt fine at the time, and now it’s caught up with me. Now I’m stressed out and anxious.

But it took yesterday for me to figure that out. I thought I was stressed about other things. I knew my response to them was way out of proportion, though. I wasn’t sleeping well. I was anxious a lot. I was overwhelmed. I was yelling at people. What was wrong with me?

What was wrong was that I wasn’t dealing with things. I was pushing them aside.

And as if that wasn’t enough, I have autoimmune disease. Thankfully, I didn’t get sick! But it was definitely a strain on my adrenals, and I had to increase the dose of adrenal supplement that I was trying to decrease. There has definitely been a physical toll.

I have a pretty good handle, all things considered, on managing my physical symptoms. I have had decades to figure that out. But when it comes to emotions, I have to unlearn years of bad habits. I have to learn how to stop hiding from my feelings and to let myself feel them. I have to ignore the daily messaging from society that says crying is bad, being sad is bad. It’s ok to not be the happy, cheerful poster-lady of chronic illness. It’s ok to be sad, stressed, anxious, or whatever else. I just have to stop hiding from it.

So that’s my lesson for this week. It’s taken me far too long to learn it. Before long I’m sure I’ll be learning some other lesson. But for now I am focusing on this one. Because I’m still sad, and I’m still learning.

Now it’s time to go do my stream-of-consciousness journaling again. Hopefully I’ll cry.


Wanting and despising pity

February 17, 2018

I’ve been off my feet for the last week, more or less. Some days I could barely hobble around my apartment, even with crutches or a cane. Other days I could walk around the apartment fine, but putting on shoes was incredibly painful. This doesn’t happen often, but it’s happened many times over the last 13 years.

The difference is that this time, there are new people in my life who aren’t familiar with it.

More than once, a neighbor, a friend, and my new girlfriend all noticed me using crutches or limping, and they offered sympathy. Some were clearly pitying me as well.

Most days I despise pity. Instead of pity, I wish people would offer sympathy. And I wish they would do things to help. Hold open a door. Don’t come near me when they’re sick. Call their legislators and ask them to vote against the new bill that guts the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). (Seriously, call them! The bill is described here and you can find your senator’s contact info here.) Those things are helpful. But not pity. Pity sucks, and it’s dehumanizing. It means they’re seeing me as a set of symptoms instead of as a whole person.

And let’s be honest, we are taught by society that we shouldn’t like pity. We should be strong and resilient, blah blah blah.

But some days, that’s just how I feel. Some days, life sucks and I want more than sympathy, I want pity! Like when my feet hurt so badly I can barely hobble to the bathroom. Like when the pain is so bad, I can’t even wear socks. Like when I have to cancel plans so that I can stay home and feel like crap. Sympathy is good. Usually that’s enough. But every now and then, when I’m feeling especially sorry for myself, I also want pity from others.

Now here’s the thing: I talk to people about being in pain. Because I’m in pain. Every day. It’s a part of my life. I don’t dwell on it, and I only complain on the worse days, but I mention it a lot. And sometimes, people offer pity, even though that’s not at all what I’m looking for. And I hate it.

Then again, sometimes I bring it up because I DO want some sort of acknowledgement. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. Sometimes, I want people to know I’m in pain, to feel bad about it, to offer me some sympathy, and maybe to offer help with something I struggle with.

It’s a hard line to toe. I want to be able to say that I never want to mention it, I want it to be ignored, I want to be treated like everyone else. I want to say that, but it’s not true. Because the truth is, I’m human. And sometimes we humans want a little sympathy and support. Some days we even want pity!

Like I said before, society tells us we shouldn’t want pity. We should be strong and inspirational. Others should be able to point to us and say, “Look how amazing she is! If she can do what she does despite her health problems, I have no reason to complain.” Talk about dehumanizing! I’m a real person. I’m a whole person. I laugh and cry, feel optimistic and pessimistic, go out with friends and stay home feeling sick, do laundry and errands and cooking and other mundane chores. I’m more than a set of symptoms. I have feelings.

And yes, sometimes those feelings lead me to wanting pity.

I’m not proud of that, but I’m not going to be ashamed of it anymore, either.

I don’t live in the land of pity. I know that would not be healthy for me. But if a few days here and there I feel this way, what’s so wrong with that? I can’t compel someone to pity me. More than that, I know I’d be pissed if a bunch of people started doing it. But if for a few days I’d like my mother or a friend to pity me a bit, to offer condolences for what I’m dealing with, then so be it!

I won’t ask for pity. And most days I will still despise it. But if every now and then I want it, that’s ok.

Is it just me? Do you ever feel this way? Do you feel guilty for wanting pity? How do you handle it? Please share in the comments!


Struggling to endure

December 6, 2017

Last week was a really good week. And that made Sunday so much harder to deal with.

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First I took a long walk around beautiful Walden Pond (and took this photo), stopping a bunch of times to admire the view. It was unseasonably warm, and sitting down to watch the water was lovely. I was able to clear my head and figure some things out.

I made plans. I worked through ideas that had been weighing on me. I made some tough decisions about my finances and my health. By the end, I was super excited to get started! I walked about 2 miles total and felt ok afterwards. I rested that evening, but that was it.

A few days later my mom came to visit. After a lovely lunch, we took a walk in a wooded area. The sign said it was a 1 mile loop, and that seemed ok to us. Well, I don’t know what went wrong, but the path never looped. We eventually made it back to the car, but we walked about 4 miles. I was surprised I felt so good afterwards. Tired, but good. Hmm. Maybe this was a new trend?

The next day I hung out with friends and had a wonderful time. I got home later than I expected and was too tired to go out to a friend’s house that night like I had planned. Too bad. I really wanted to go, but I knew that resting was the right move.

It had been such a fabulous week. I exercised, got fresh air, got clear on a new mindset, spent time with friends.

And then it all changed. I spent all day Sunday feeling run down. I never left my apartment. I cancelled all of my plans for the day. This sucks, but it isn’t unheard of. And I did a lot this week, so I couldn’t complain, right? I trudged through the day, mostly reading a novel and wishing I could do more.

That would have been ok. It would have been disappointing but totally fine. If only that was it.

Sunday night I got really nauseated. Sometimes I know what causes the nausea, but usually I don’t. I tried Pepto Bismol, which usually helps, but this time it didn’t. I tried medical marijuana, which usually helps, but this time it didn’t. The nausea was really bad. My pulse was racing (114 while I was still sitting) and I felt bad all over.

Over the years, nausea has because an emotional trigger for me. I don’t know why it has, when the pain hasn’t, but it just has. So as usual, I started thinking about how horrible this is, and when will it end, and why won’t it ever go away. Yes, I have these episodes a lot less often now that I’m off gluten, corn, and a couple others triggers.

But why does it still happen? Was it something I ate? Something I did? A delayed reaction to the 4 mile walk 2 days before? How will I handle another 50+ years of this? Why did I bother to make plans? Obviously it was stupid to think I could ever get off of benefits and support myself. I should just stop trying. Then I started thinking about how it might be easier to just kill myself and end this. Except that would be very upsetting to my family and friends. I couldn’t do that to them.

I started having those thoughts a few years ago. I know it’s temporary. I’m not too worried, because I only have them when I’m curled in a ball on the floor, too nauseated to do more than stagger to the toilet occasionally. I have never gotten to the point of really wanting to kill myself but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to until the worst of it had passed, and I never think about wanting to die except when I’m in the worst of it.

So all these thoughts were floating around in my head, and then something strange happened: I started to cry. And cry. And cry. Before I knew it, I was sobbing. Big, ugly sobs. I couldn’t stop crying. I thought I should call someone. (If you’re new to this blog, I live alone.) I ran through a mental list of awesome people in my life, and finally decided to call a friend who lives in my apartment complex. I asked him to come right over and he did. I didn’t explain, but he must have heard it in my voice, because he showed up with his dog, saying the dog was for therapy.

The dog, of course, immediately started to nuzzle me and lick me. He’s that kind of dog. Very sweet. But what I really needed was a hug and some understanding, and I got that.

We sat on the floor while I cried and talked. I always sit on the floor during these spells – for some reason, it just works for me. I cried myself out and we just sat there for a while. Then for some reason, I started crying again. Still, having someone there was extremely comforting.

Eventually I wore myself out. My friend and his dog left (he mentioned leaving the dog, but I was too weak to care for him.) I fell asleep on the couch to an old movie that I often watch when I don’t feel well. I woke up less than an hour later and found the nausea had subsided enough that I could drink a little water. Lots of diarrhea and lots of crying can really dehydrate a person. Then I stumbled to bed. I slept fitfully, but got through the night.

Monday was a bust. I cancelled plans and ate almost nothing. But it didn’t get that bad again. Tuesday was better, and I even left the apartment. And today is better still (though it’s after noon and I’m still in my pajamas, so it’s not fantastic – I try to get dressed by noon every day when I can.)

So why am I sharing this? I’m sharing it for a few reasons. For one, amongst my friends with chronic illness, I’m often seen as the strong one. Strangers online (both through this anonymous blog and under my real name) say that I’m a role model. I have my shit together. I’ve got a good handle on all of this. I work my butt off to take care of my health, research new treatments, find the best doctors and practitioners. That’s all true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have really bad times, too. I think we all need to remember that the people who seem to be great probably have bad times behind closed doors where we can’t see them. It’s important not to idealize people, but to see them as they are.

It’s a reminder that we all have our struggles. We struggle, and then hopefully we have better days, too. We don’t need to assume someone is perfect in order to have them as a role model.

I’m not perfect. I’m still continuing to fight every day for the best health possible. I want to believe that one day those episodes will end. Until then, I will just keep on trying. Because what else can I do?


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