Giving myself permission to have an off day

March 5, 2015

Some days are obviously really good and some are obviously really bad. Some are in the middle. I generally feel happy as long as I don’t feel really awful physically. But there are exceptions to every rule.

Today I feel off. My pain isn’t too bad, maybe a 4 on my pain scale, so I’m ignoring it. I’m not particularly fatigued. I have a long list of things to do, and I’ve been doing them, bit by bit. So really, it’s a fine day. But I feel…. off.

It’s been dark and overcast. For someone with Seasonal Affective Disorder, that’s a recipe for trouble. I also went back on a med this week, so that could be contributing. But of course, there’s no way to be sure. I’m not sad, exactly, just a bit down. Nothing is wrong. My family is great, my friends are awesome, my health is relatively stable. I didn’t have anywhere to go today but I didn’t feel stuck inside, I just thought of it as an opportunity to get more things done around the apartment. Then again, normally I would push myself to get out and take a walk, but today I didn’t. I knew I needed to; the more I sat, the more I felt my joints stiffen up and become more painful. But then I’d look at that dark sky and I had no desire to go anywhere.

I’m not fighting it. If I felt this way every day, there would be a problem and it would need addressing. But one day? I’m giving myself a pass for one day of feeling this way. I will let myself feel a bit down. I will spend more time than I otherwise would on the computer. I will watch silly tv. And I won’t stress out about it or feel guilty about it, because what’s the point?

I just hope tomorrow is a better day.


On not noticing the pain

March 2, 2015

The point of pain is to make you aware that something is wrong with your body. At least, that’s supposed to be how it works. Unfortunately, for some of us that system is malfunctioning.

In theory, you feel pain, you pay attention to it, you try to fix the source of it. But when your pain is constant, that’s not how it works.

My pain started more than 22 years ago. I’d have it for days, weeks, or months at a time. It would randomly go away, only to return at some unexpected time. Then about 19 years ago, it changed: it got worse and it became a 24/7 presence in my life.

Most people would expect me to have been thinking about my pain every day then and now. And in a way I did and do, but not in a focused or conscious way.

After all these years, I know what movements and actions will trigger pain and I avoid those. If I absolutely had to pick up something heavy or move in certain ways, I literally wouldn’t know how to do those things now. It’s been so many years, that I don’t remember how. Like riding a bike. I stopped riding a bike due to the pain and I’m pretty sure that if I tried now, despite the well-known saying, I’d fall over (at least in part because my center of gravity has shifted quite a bit since I was 16.) So I suppose that in avoiding those triggering actions the pain is on my mind, but only in the background.

These days, I only pay attention to the pain in two situations:

  1. When it spikes. I can’t ignore those sudden increases.
  2. When it’s consistently severe. I can ignore pain up to a 6 on my pain scale (with a range of 1-10) fairly well, and a 7 if I need to, but above that I can’t ignore it. When it hits 8.5 I start considering taking pain meds, even though they have side effects that I hate.

So what about the rest of the time? Well, I notice it sometimes, but it doesn’t take up a lot of room in my brain. Other times I forget that I’m even in pain. When the doctor asks if I’m in pain, I sometimes have to stop and take inventory of my body. Because otherwise I’m not sure. Other times I’m in a lot of pain and it’s obvious even to me.

I’m not saying it’s easy to ignore pain or even that it’s natural. For me, it was a matter of self-preservation. When I was 17 I reached a point of exhaustion and I just had to learn to sleep through the pain. There was no other way to function. So first I began to sleep through the pain, then I pushed it farther and farther back in my mind as it became my new normal. And there were other things on my mind. I was applying to colleges, going out with friends, dating for the first time, fighting with my sister, thinking my parents were unfair (hey, give me a break, I was a teenager!) and spending many hours on homework. I had, you know, a life.

In other words, there was more to my life than just the pain.

Even now, when my life is more taken up by my health problems than it was in those early days and I can’t work at a job, I have non-health things going on, too. I date a bit, I spend time with friends, I volunteer. And, yes, I take care of my health constantly. In an odd way, that’s also a distraction from the pain.

So now, like then, sometimes I’m too busy to think about the pain. Sure, a 5 on the pain scale would upset most people. And I admit, if I suddenly feel a 5 in a new place, I can’t ignore it. But if I feel a 5 in an area where I’ve had daily pain for years then sure, it might not get my full attention. A part of my brain picks up on the pain signals, decides it’s not worth addressing, and relegates it to the back row of my attention theater.

A little while ago, in the middle of typing an earlier paragraph, the pain got bad enough that I could no longer sit up in a chair. I noticed the pain. I had been ignoring it for most of the last week and my body finally gave me some clues that if I kept ignoring it, I’d be paying a steep price later. And that’s why I’m now typing to you from my couch. But while I was busy continuing this post, I forgot about the pain completely. I wasn’t aware that I was even in any pain at all. Now that I think about it, yes, it’s still there. It’s significantly better than it was when I was in the chair. No doubt that it’s better. But it’s there. And if I wasn’t so used to it I’d probably be worried that something was wrong with my body.

But I know better than that. And that’s why I’ll keep going about my day, doing as much as I can so I can cross things off my “to do” list for the day, and only noticing the pain if it gets worse again. Until then, it won’t even cross my mind.

And if it does, I’ll shove it away.


My improved health: how I got here

February 16, 2015

A friend recently asked me what has helped me the most. I’ve thought about that vaguely from time to time, but this time I really considered what got me to where I am.

Three years ago I had left my job hoping to go back soon, and instead I found myself feeling steadily worse. I was house bound 3-5 days per week, on average. An afternoon with a friend would leave me barely functioning that evening and all of the next day. My memory was lousy, I was nauseated all the time, the fatigue was debilitating, and the pain was getting even worse.

Now, I only spend 1-2 days at home each week, and when I go out, it’s for longer stretches of time. I do more each day. When I’m home, I don’t feel as bad. The GI symptoms are almost entirely gone, the pain is mostly stable and an acceptable (for me) level, my memory is better (but not great yet), the fatigue has improved so much, and I can recover from an afternoon out pretty quickly. It feels like a miracle! But it wasn’t a miracle, it was a lot of hard work and a bit of luck.

I think what helped me was a bit of an insurance doctor, a lot of my naturopath, and a huge amount of me.

The doctor that the disability insurance company made me see encouraged me to see a sleep doctor. I had been thinking about it, but he nudged me more in that direction. I did sleep studies and started using a cpap machine, and it made a huge difference. For the first time in ages I was waking up feeling slightly better than I had when I went to sleep!

My naturopath did a lot for me. I was already gluten free, but she got me off dairy and helped me figure out the other foods I should avoid. She got me on various supplements that have been helpful (and some that weren’t, but that’s ok – it’s all trial and error, right?) She got my vitamin D levels up, improved my zinc levels, and found a multivitamin that didn’t make me feel ill (something have had problems with for many years.) She tested my adrenals and got me on supplements to help them. She guided me through every step of the process.

The luck was that I had medical conditions that could be improved. Not everyone is so fortunate, and I am grateful every single day that I had options, even thought I had to work incredibly hard to find them.

And then there’s me. When I was barely functioning 3 years ago, and the doctors were all telling me there was nothing they could do, I decided to at least learn a bit more about my situation. I picked up a book at the library, and that led to more books, blogs, and online support groups. Reading was slow thanks to the brain fog and fatigue, but I eventually learned that my hypothyroid treatment wasn’t the only option, despite what my doctor had said. I did more research. I learned which kinds of doctors I should see. I made many phone calls. I learned about naturopathy and researched naturopaths, eventually choosing the one that I see now. I went on a gluten-free diet. Later, I stuck to the more restrictive diet that my naturopath recommended. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. More recently, I cut out all trace amounts of gluten, like from lotions and from kissing someone who’s eaten gluten. Again, it isn’t easy, but I’m doing it. I’ve swallowed more pills per day than I’d like to think about. I’ve stressed about the financial cost of it all. I’ve fought with insurance companies and with doctors. When a doctor I’d waited months to see was unexpectedly out of the office and I was given a substitute (who was useless, by the way) I complained to the head of the office and got an immediate appointment with the doctor I wanted (who was incredible!) I pushed myself to do more than I wanted to do. When a doctor didn’t want to give me the hypothyroid treatment I wanted, I found someone new (and the treatment change was a good move!) I found a new podiatrist when I felt my orthodics weren’t right, I restarted physical thearpy, and I learned about trigger points. As I felt better, I moved on to new lines of research. I followed up every lead from books I read and from patients I spoke to. I like to knit, and sometimes, as you’re knitting along, pulling at the yarn, you’ll encounter a knot, and it’s hard to untangle it. I’ve been untangling the knot of my health conditions for the last few years.

The main thing I did was I ignored all of the naysayers. The doctors told me I couldn’t get any better. Friends and family thought I should stick with “traditional” medicine. But I stuck at it. I didn’t do anything that didn’t seem to have some solid research behind it. I listened to patient experience, but I didn’t follow up on anything unless multiple people had had good results, and then I was still careful. And all along, I knew it might be for nothing. I knew the doctors might be right and I might not get any better, but I held out a glimmer of hope, too.

I won’t pretend I’m perfectly healthy now. Or that I ever will be. I know that my health conditions are permanent. The best I can hope for is to go into remission, and even that is a long shot. But I’m trying.

Because I could have given up. I could have accepted what the doctors told me. I would now be bedridden, with no hope of any improvement. That could still happen some day. I know that. But I’m focusing on one thing: today is not that day.

I’m not suggesting that my story is one that can be replicated. I’m not trying to be inspirational or any of that other bullshit. I’m not pushing anyone to do what I did if they don’t want to. I’m simply trying to answer the question I hear over and over from friends and from readers: “How did you manage to improve?” I’ll gladly give more details if anyone wants them, but for now I’ll just say, it was a bit of luck, a fair amount of searching for the right medical providers, and a whole lot of effort by me.


Feeling figuratively itchy

February 8, 2015

I have this itch I can’t scratch and it’s driving me up the wall. It’s a desire to do something!

How do you spend your days? Think about it. Now ask yourself, could you be doing more?

For a long time, my answer to that last question was no. I was doing all I could. Well, I was doing enough, anyway. I was working, socializing, volunteering. I was sick and trying to take care of myself. I was spending hours dealing with lawyers, insurance companies, and benefits. I was seeing many doctors. I was doing combinations of these. But now, suddenly, I’m not doing any of them Well ok, I’m still seeing doctors, but not as often.

The insurance nightmare is over. I’ve received all of the benefits I’m eligible for. My health is stable enough. I have some more research to do and some more treatments to try, but they’re on hold as I adjust some of my current meds. On top of all of that, miraculously, I’m feeling better! I’m able to do more each day than I could a year ago. I still need to rest, but usually for only a day or two at a time, which is a big improvement. Sometimes just half a day of rest is enough. I have more time. And when I’m being productive, I’m able to think more clearly. My memory still has gaps, but they’ve shrunk a bit. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have the potential to do more!

So you may be wondering what my problem is. Well, it’s simple: I feel like I have potential, but I’m not confident that I really do. And if I do something to earn money, and I lose benefits, it would somewhat defeat the purpose of working.

I mentioned the other day that I want to get a new apartment. I’ve been looking at apartments and each time I do, I’m completely exhausted and need to rest the next day. This is a physically and emotionally tiring process, but it’s short term. In a few months, hopefully, I’ll be mostly unpacked in my new home. Still, if this is so exhausting, then can I really manage even a part time job? I don’t want my health to backslide. I also don’t want to lose my new-found ability to take care of myself properly, lose my ability to socialize, or lose this feeling of actually feeling ok a lot of the time.

Another other thing that’s on my mind when I look at apartments is the cost. Right now, I’m pulling money out of savings every month. That’s ok for a while, but at some point I’ll run out of savings. My social security payments can cover my rent or all of my other expenses. (Yes, my rent is almost exactly half of my total monthly expenses.) So any rent will be too much. Still, I’m trying to find something slightly cheaper than my current place, which isn’t easy to do around here. At the end of the day, I know I need to earn some money to go towards my rent. Let’s say I can manage to earn $1000 per month eventually. That’s not enough for me to lose my social security, but I’m guessing I’d lose my food stamps and fuel assistance. Once I account for the loss of those other benefits, it would be like I was only earning $750. So I’d be putting in $1000 worth of effort and time to only getting $750 in return. That’s hard to swallow. I need to figure out a way to earn that $1000 with as little time and effort as possible to make it worth it. And then I still wouldn’t be breaking even, either. But I’d be closer.

I want so badly to do something useful. And I know I need to get paid for it. I also know I need to wait. I need to wait until I’ve figured out the financial angle and until I know my health is stable enough. So I’ll wait. I wouldn’t want to try any sort of work until after I move anyway. But still, there’s this feeling, this need, to do something. Because it’s been a long time since I’ve had that option. And deep inside, I have the fear that this almost-ability won’t last long, so I better seize the chance while I can.

But I need to wait.

Hence the itch.