I brought my husband. Well, technically he brought me. And he lugged the giant contraption down the stairs and into the back seat of our “big enough for most things, but not this thing” Sonata.
The screen on his iPhone had cracked and he needed to go to Apple. I needed an outing worse than a puppy who has been crated too long.
He dropped me off at the door. He rode the scooter through the parking lot to meet me. Apparently, like so many other things, its a LOT more fun when you don’t need it.
I laughed in spite of myself at the sight of it. I was also glad our teenager had decided to stay home. The sight of it all would have likely been just too much.
People stare right at you, while simultaneously judging you as you drive this thing. The local mall lacks the tolerance of Disney World. In fairness, from face on, it looks like you’re using wheels for fun. It’s not until I have passed, if they bother to look, that they would see the giant walking boot resting on the knee pad.
Today is 8 weeks and 1 day since I’ve been “booted” again. 57 days.
I have had more surgeries in my life than I can count. Not a single one of them kept me down for 8 weeks. This foot has been messing with my life for over 8 months.
Double Mastectomy – back at work in 5 weeks.
Hysterectomy – back in 2 weeks.
I once had arthroscopic knee surgery over a long weekend, and was back on the 4th floor in my classroom the following Monday.
Vascular, over the February break…
Biopsies, a day tops…
We always say recovery pain is the best kind, because you know it’s going away.
And yet the answer to “Does your foot feel better?” still remains “Not really.”
My kind and compassionate local podiatrist, in a combination of frustration at the injury that won’t heal and my insurance company making it harder for him to treat me, has advised a visit to Hospital for Special Surgery. I’m sitting. Foot up, phone in hand, waiting to try to schedule.
I rode that knee scooter all over the mall. I rode it into the grocery store too. Quite simply, I’m tired of being locked in my house. It is truly a ridiculous and ingenious contraption.
If you asked me 2 years ago if I would ever… the answer would have been “NO WAY!”
Except if I keep learning anything through these years of life with a rare disease, and also just life, it seems to be” never say never…”
I had a boatload of things I wasn’t going to do as a parent. I’m pretty sure the first one was undone about three hours in… right after the anesthesia from that c section wore off…
Wasn’t going to… feed certain things, watch certain things, give certain things, etc. etc. And then you find yourself learning that all the plans in the world are suddenly invalid as you just try not to damage the tiny human.
A great deal of my pride was left behind in the OR where she was delivered.
I lost a bunch more of it through a slew of breast biopsies prior to the double mastectomy in 2012.
The uterine biopsies, the hysterectomy, the “cancer screening” human exams took a bunch more.
And there are few things quite as humbling as a breast MRI of your silicone implants.
I was never “in fashion” but I used to take great care in what I wore. Things were dry cleaned. Stockings and heels were worn daily.
Then there was back pain that seemed only better in sneakers. Coupled with a significant weight loss my wardrobe evolved into jeans, t shirts and sneakers. May be a dig at my early judgment of “too casual” teachers…
Life, at it again…
If we are open, and able to be introspective, we are changing and growing all the time.
I am in a painstakingly slow process of relinquishing control.
Control is really largely an illusion anyway.
Faith, trust, hope, and the ability to embrace what the future has in store, these are my current goals.
I’m a work in progress.
So if you see me and my knee scooter, be kind. You may even see me up and down the block. These are, after all, desperate times…
We’re done being caged up. I need some fall air. I am ready to get well. Since my foot isn’t cooperating, I’ll start with my mind.
My sister had a series of hamsters when we grew up. I don’t remember how many. I actually don’t remember much besides the smell of the cage, and the wheel they used to run in. They never seemed to tire of it, and each spent long periods of their day there. Maybe it’s because they were caged with few other options. Maybe they didn’t know any better.
Regardless, I’ve thought about those hamsters a lot lately.
I feel very much like we live on the wheel. Every day is centered around executing a well-oiled machine where an insane amount of activities, assignments, and appointments fit into a tiny window. So at an early hour we hop into the wheel in a sense, and we run all day.
When you’re in the wheel you may think about nothing except for the next task. Or you may wonder if there is a better way to get through the day. You may long for a break from the routine and the schedule. You may wonder what you’d do if…
We are chronically busy. Sometimes out of necessity and sometimes by design. Sometimes, in the case of those of us with chronic illness it is a little of both.
In my house we are busily maintaining health, through frequent appointments and therapies. We are also busy trying to fit a regular life around it. There is constant motion.
Until there isn’t.
I spent so many moments wishing I could take things a little slower. I wished I could have some time, for a full nights sleep, to clean my house the way I want it, to visit with friends, to take long walks, and…
And now I’m here.
A January foot injury at work has morphed into a monster that refuses to heal. Stress and strain and alternate gait patterns protecting the original injury continue to set the healing process in the wrong direction. A stress fracture of the cuboid bone continued to worsen. It’s now my first official “fracture.”
It is time for me to pause.
This time there is no rushing out of the boot. There is no making believe its all ok. There is waiting. Resting. Minimal weight bearing. There will be additional imaging to clear the healing before I head to physical therapy. There are only very short car trips to doctor’s appointments and to transport my girl.
I am here. In my house. Alone.
And it sounded to heavenly when I was dreaming about it in the middle of the chaos of the day to day.
Now it sounds a lot like the tick-tock of the clock hanging over my head.
It feels a lot different when I have to let someone else teach my students.
It is not as productive as I’d hoped, since all the cleaning and sorting and organizing I promised myself if I ever had time is currently off limits with the whole restricted movement thing.
It is a battle not to let my head overthrow me with its worry about “real” Cowden’s issues that may at any point smack us in the face. It is tough not to think about the backlog of surgeries that will come, but have now been placed in triage.
And yet I have to make a choice.
There was a very inspirational GoalCast in my Facebook feed this morning.
And I’d encourage you to watch it if you have a moment.
Her life was way more challenging than mine. Yet she made a choice that I still struggle with sometimes.
These last few months without the proper use of my feet have often left me battling depression. I do not have it all together, or have an inspirational message as this young woman left behind in her short time on earth.
What I do know is if I choose to wallow in this I will miss the “pause” that has been placed in front of me.
Instead I will make the conscious choice to make what I can do, more fulfilling.
I am going to try to write a lot more. I am going to have some people visit. I am going to handle a few “sitting down projects” that are in my path. I am going to open the windows and appreciate the fall weather even if I can’t walk in it this year.
I’m going to look at my orchids, and their beauty and crazy, stubborn irregularities that make them magical for me.
I am giving small pieces of my life back to reflectiveness and prayer and simple mindfulness.
Someone took the wheel out of my cage.
For however long it’s gone, it’s on me to decide how to view it.
If you take the time to watch the link above you’ll understand when I say today I am looking to add some lights and a few throw pillows.
This is not easy. If you’re reading this you likely go through hard things too.
I am a work in progress. Thankfully God’s not finished with me yet.
At any given point during our 10 days in Disney, our party of three also had six wheels and a boot.
We must have looked unusual to anyone who passed us by.
I traveled with a virtual pharmacy in my purse, which is really simply a string bag on my back, because who really wants to be fancy anyway?
The week before we left we had a PILE of appointments. I think I lost count at 17 in the 5 days. One of them was the orthopedist Meghan sees a few times a year. He was catching up on the new diagnosis of Ehler’s-Danlos Syndrome, paying careful attention to her knee, which by all accounts has been her ‘Achilles heel’ her whole life. There had been pain in that knee for weeks prior, which is always a concern. One of the surgeries she has had repeatedly has been to correct the tracking of the patella. Anxiety is warranted.
This doctor suggested an MRI to confirm the knee was tracking correctly. He also said that she was ‘not to walk consecutive distances longer than one block’ at least until the pain in the knee settled. He prescribed a painkiller and a muscle relaxant. He told me she was not to walk the parks in Disney. She needed to spend most of the day confined to a wheelchair. And while there is gratitude for the temporary nature of this situation, there is a mental and emotional adjustment to enduring it.
This was not a totally new arrangement for us, as the knee has limited her walking in the past. However, there is always the hope that with age things will change. And while Meghan is healthier and stronger than I have ever seen her, the realities of Ehler’s-Danlos and its wear and tear on the connective tissue are real and very present. So, out came the wheelchair.
And, one of my appointments was an MRI follow up for the foot that has been a disaster since I fell at work January 8th.
The initial fall partially tore the lisfranc ligament. Which might have been easier to recover from, except ligaments don’t show on xray. So the initial diagnosis was a sprain. Which was treated with 5 days rest. Then 2 weeks later when the pain was more than it should have been and my primary asked for an MRI, GHI decided I didn’t need one yet and I could wait 6 more weeks. So, I forced the foot into a shoe for a total of 8 weeks post injury before I couldn’t stand it anymore. At that point an MRI finally picked up the partial tear.
I was booted for about 6 weeks. I was pulled out of work and off my foot, but largely too little too late. I returned and handled the foot conservatively, waiting to feel better. Or at least closer to being able to walk like I did on January 7th.
Every other week there have been check ups at the podiatrist. Two visits to a specialist in NYC. Days blended into weeks and my patience started to wear thin. I began Physical Therapy, but even the PT was baffled by the amount of pain in the foot and encouraged me to keep looking for answers.
A repeat MRI was scheduled for 8/2. I obtained the results on 8/14. While the pain in the foot should have been an indicator, I was not prepared to hear that I needed to return to the walking boot, as I had a likely stress fracture in the cuboid bone, and a neuroma in between my second and third toes. This mess courtesy of my body compensating to protect the lisfranc ligament while it healed. I had unconsciously shifted all my weight to the outer part of my foot. I was to limit my walking. By that night I was back in my walking boot ordering a knee scooter for the trip to Disney.
I remember after the fall in January, and even after the diagnosis in March, feeling so happy that I would at least be healed and back to walking before our trip. The best laid plans…
So when we headed out for a 5AM flight on 8/18, we had all our suitcases, a wheelchair and a knee scooter. We checked three bags, and Felix pushed Meghan while I scooted behind. We were a sight.
And after waking up at 2:30 for our flight and traveling via scooter through the Magic Kingdom, I wanted nothing more than to go home. Immediately. I felt like I had done a bad step aerobics video over and over on only my left thigh and butt cheek. You might not realize the strain on the thigh when you rest the knee with a way-too-heavy boot hanging off the back. There was just no way I was going to make it.
So Monday morning I released Meghan and Felix to the Magic Kingdom. I sat in the hotel room. I cried for about 10 minutes. I called my mom. I made a cup of tea. And then I made a plan.
I researched a new set of eyes to consult on the foot when I arrived home. I rearranged our return flight to a more civil time to I could book an appointment for the 29th with confidence. I stretched. I took way too much Advil.
And sometime that morning between the NSAIDs and the caffeine, I started to feel the magic. I sat on the hotel balcony. I strengthened my resolve.
I am not sure at all why it seems everything is so hard. I couldn’t fathom why I had sent my otherwise healthy kid off in a wheelchair, while I sweated inside a walking boot, all the while healing from the Fine Needle Aspiration thyroid biopsy two days prior for thyroid nodules recurring on my previously quiet and well-behaved remaining thyroid lobe. (Partial thyroidectomy 1993 – dx multinodular goiter, 18 years before I had ever HEARD of Cowden’s Syndrome)
In that moment most of what we were facing had nothing at all to do with Cowden’s. And yet, the same choice existed in that moment. I had to decide that I was going to make the best of it. I had to decide that I was not giving up my family vacation for more medical nonsense. I had to decide to find a way to enjoy. Because the struggles, the pain, and the drama would all be waiting for me at home whether I found the “magic” or not.
All the positive thinking in the world was not going to make anyone’s pain go away. Not even a stomach burning amount of Advil and a few strong cocktails could do that. But, I am a huge believer in a positive mindset. And in that Monday morning overlooking the Hawaii themed resort, things started to fall into place in my mind and my heart.
We get 2 weeks a year to spend as a family, free of other obligations. We get 2 weeks a year. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
I joined them later that day, and never left them again. We traveled together – a family of three, six wheels and a boot. We laughed a lot, we argued a little, and generally found the best in each other. We met up with my sister and her family for a super fun night together.
We got to Mickey’s ‘Not So Scary’ Halloween Party for the first time. We saw more characters than we’ve seen since she was quite young.
Finally, after many years of staring at the giant “Hot Air Balloon” in Disney Springs, I got myself on. Because, Why not? Magical.
We found that our resort had a stand serving dairy free Dole Whip – the first time my 16 year old ever had soft serve. Magical.
Some people wonder how we do the same vacation year after year. They wonder how we don’t tire of it all. For us, there is a magic that can’t be explained, only felt. There is wonder in eating safely in restaurants and having access to a bakery free of gluten, dairy and soy. There is joy in eliminating something so basic as food isolation, and sharing meals, sometimes as a family of three, and other times with some Disney friends.
There is magic running into Pluto in the lobby of your resort, or finding the Seven Dwarfs waiting to meet your family.
There is magic in roller coaster selfies, and Figment reminding us to use our imagination.
There is magic in all things familiar, and always finding something new.
There is magic when you seek it, even with six wheels and a boot.
Because there will always be battles to fight. So sometimes they can just wait 2 weeks.
The foot problem is not solved. It’s time to find some serious answers. I won’t open the school year for the first time in 22 years. These next few weeks will be about making plans to heal.
There is no magical solution for my foot. There will be more MRIs, and more doctors.
My patience will be tested in new ways. I am not sure what to expect, and that makes me nervous.
But there will never be a single second that I regret adding 4 wheels and a boot to my own self to enjoy and appreciate the magic with my family.
I know the body can not heal if you don’t nourish the soul.
A new diagnosis came our way this week. On top of the existing one. I have wavered between frustration and relief. I have felt some questions answered and developed a lot of new ones. My girl got her words together before I did…
My name is Meghan. I am a 15 year old high school student. I just finished my second year of high school in a place I love. I am an A+ student, who loves to learn. I am in all honors classes. I strive to learn and grow as much as I am able. I live, laugh and love. I hang out with my friends. I lay outside and tan. I take my dog for walks. I swim for a competitive travel team where I work my butt off in the water 6/7 days in a week. I improve. I grow. I train. To anyone who only knew me superficially, it’d seem like I was living the dream. I’ve got a couple close friends, good parents, a nice house, a dog who loves me. It’s perfect. Right? Wrong.
Here’s the other side of my life most people don’t know; I’ve got some shitty genetic luck. Because on the inside, I am far from an ordinary high school student with the perfect house and parents.
I was diagnosed with my first- yes that’s right, my first- rare genetic disorder when I was eight years old. By then I’d already had so many surgeries it was hard to keep count, and a bunch of random medical problems that never seemed to add up. That disorder is Cowden’s Syndrome. It’s a mutation on the PTEN gene that causes benign and malignant tumors, increasing cancer risks and letting things pop up all over my body that hurt like a mother.
I’ve lived with this disorder my entire life. Hospitals, waiting rooms, specialists, MRI’s, and every other extremely uncomfortable medical situation you can think of became my life. To date, I’ve had 18 surgeries, multiple procedures, over 30 hospital visits, and 25+ MRI’s that have put wayyyy to much metal into my body. From countless medical traumas I’ve developed PTSD, anxiety, and depressive disorders. What doesn’t help that is the fact that I’m always in pain. I fight every damn day. I fight to live my life, and to get my body to the levels that others can reach with half the effort.
Now here’s the best part, so I’ve got a crazy smart mom, who wouldn’t stop poking around to figure out the other piece to this puzzle. Because, we both knew Cowden’s wasn’t it. There was something more, because this debilitating chronic pain in a relatively healthy 15 year old, plus other random symptoms that just didn’t add up, had to come from somewhere. So, we went back to my geneticist. And, guess what? We BOTH got our SECOND rare genetic diagnosis. hEDS( the hyper mobile sub type of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome). Fun, right?
I know it’s a lot to write at once. It may seem crazy to anyone else who lays eyes on this post. But guess what? One very valuable life lesson I’ve learned from living this life is to stop giving so much of a damn what other people think.
My Grandfather told me many years ago that I was “difficult to work with.” He said it with love. I don’t remember the exact context. I do remember it was said with a smile.
And he was undoubtedly right about that, like so many other things.
I had a boss a few years back that told me, “If you continue to hold everyone to the same standards you hold yourself to, you will always be disappointed.” Strong words, but also not inaccurate.
I am a lot to take.
I am intense almost all the time. I have a mouth full of words that last long past the attention span of anyone I strike up a conversation with.
I am passionate about things I believe in.
I make lots and lots of mistakes. But, I truly do my best all the time.
So I just sometimes struggle to understand why it seems everything I touch or encounter is a battle.
I spend hours upon hours sorting through medical claims. I look up who paid what, and when. I call on bills that need to be refiled. I take names on post-it notes with dates and times, in case things don’t get rectified.
I file out of network claims, and then I watch them processed in error. I make three phone calls to try to sort out the change in policy, which was simply just a mistake no one will own. I take names again. I am told to wait 6 more weeks for hundreds of dollars owed to me to be reprocessed. It’s only a little about the money. It’s mostly about the notebook, and the folder with the copies of the claims, and the alarm in my phone to remind me when I need to follow up on the call again.
I send medication to the mail order pharmacy because we have no choice. And then I wait for them to screw it up. That sounds negative, but it’s simply accurate. They have an entire notebook in my world to help manage the 9 mail away prescriptions between us. There is a perpetual box on my ‘to do’ list which tells me to check on the progress of any refill.
I make appointments. The list has 20 specialists between us. They vary from twice a week to once a year. A psychologist once told me not to let the appointments interfere with “preferred activities.” So there is a matrix with the impossible task as the ultimate goal. Except none of the 20 doctors know about the other 19. Or the full time job. Or the high school honor student’s schedule. Or swim practice. Or theater. Or voice lessons. Nor do they care. And I get it. They can not hear everyone’s story. So when I call to try to carefully place that appointment in a very tiny window of time, they are always unhappy with me. They think I’m being unreasonable. And maybe I am. But, I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t TRY to get everything to keep her physically healthy and still let her be a teen.
I deal with unexpected schedule changes. Like when I carefully stack 2 appointments in one day, and then one has to move to right smack in the middle of a week long summer internship that was planned forever ago, because now instead of two doctors with Friday hours at the same facility, one has Monday and one has Friday. No overlap. So I erase, and juggle. Except I’m not great at juggling in a literal sense, so one got cancelled and hasn’t been rescheduled. Actually two… because summer can not be ALL about doctors. Nor can every day off. But, neither can every day at work or school…
“What do you mean you’re not going to reschedule today?”
So much of our condition relies on screening. Early detection is a blessing. It is the key. It is also tedious and time consuming. It is possible to be grateful and overwhelmed simultaneously.
So much of this is case management. And, when last I checked my master’s degree is in education, not medicine. But, with no one to coordinate care I have to guess a whole lot. I have to decide if 9 months will be ok instead of 6. I have to decide when to push the doctor for more lab tests when the fatigue won’t quit and the thyroid is ok but the spleen…eh, no one is quite sure about the spleen…
And there are doctor’s whose pride won’t let them return a call because I haven’t seen them recently enough.
There is the genetics appointment lingering again. Because maybe Cowden’s wasn’t the WHOLE answer…
And the “normal people stuff” like the seemingly never-ending root canals because my stress is played out in the jaw clenching that overtakes the episodes of sleep. That is on the occasions everything is calm enough for me to make it to my bed.
Or the foot injury. The “rare” lisfranc ligament partial tear. Close to 6 months later. Not a soul wants to hear me tell the story again. No one wants to believe that it still hurts badly enough that I haven’t take a real walk since last fall. I’m not lazy. I’m horrified by the state of my body in the absence of real physical activity. I am trying to be patient. My patience is running out alongside my sanity.
And the IEP. Oh, the Individualized Education Plan… and the meetings. Over and over and over again… Meghan is on the waiting list for a service dog. She has PTSD and generalized anxiety disorder. The dog is coming. The process is wearing me out.
I am a lot to take.
I am often “difficult to work with.”
I hold myself and others to a high standard.
I am intense most of the time.
I am tired.
I am so very tired of fighting all the time.
There is no choice though. No choice at all.
So, in the mean time I will be here. Strengthening my resolve. I may bend, but I will not break. I will continue to strive to show my girl that she can have a rare and currently incurable disease, while excelling at school, at sports, being active in the community, and being a generally decent human.
Last month we walked out of a screening appointment. It was not critical. It was an hour behind. We rescheduled. Also a valuable lesson.
I am tired of fighting, but I am far from done.
As my Grandfather said, I am “difficult to work with.”
I am also loved. I am flawed. I am also forgiven.
When I have no more, I put my hands together and ask… and I am never disappointed.
We don’t post the awful pictures. We leave out the ones where we look less than our best. Social media allows us to live in the delusion that everyone’s life is “perfect.”
I’ll be the first to admit the ugly truth. It’s far from perfect. It’s not neat or clean. There is no bow. And yes, most of the time I do delete the awful ones. Those images and experiences are seared into my soul.
I prefer to go with the theory that the body forgets pain… At least your own. It’s how we survive. But, if you live watching a loved one in pain – you know the memory will not slip even a tiny bit. If you hold your child as they cry out in pure agony, or when they are weak from fever, you can remember where you were each time. If you watch your teen wince simply through a series of steps, or check to make sure they are breathing as they sleep the better part of two or three days at a clip – you don’t forget.
Recently, Meghan was in a production of “Beauty and the Beast Jr.” with the Staten Island Children’s Theater Association, Inc. She loves the experience of working with a theater group and has been with this one a few years now. It is such an enjoyable time in her life. She spends months of Saturdays with genuine quality people preparing for the show.
And during those same months she is thriving academically.
And training for swimming.
And making regular appointments, routine, follow-up, and therapy.
And contending with seasonal allergies that are nothing less than relentless.
And, she is, every single day a person living with Cowden’s Syndrome and the effects it has on her, both physically and emotionally.
The show was almost 2 weeks ago. It took me a little bit to get my thoughts together.
I think I have it now.
Living with chronic illness, chronic pain, chronic life altering physical ailments, is in some ways similar to putting on a production.
You set your sights on what you want to accomplish – large or small. In some cases it’s going to a party, and in other’s it’s going to the backyard. But, you plan for it. You practice it. You consider every detail. You may have to select the right costume and even stage it so you don’t sit or stand for too long. You know just what your body can do and there is a short window where you have to make it all work.
The rest of the time you are backstage.
You are in pin curls and shorts with a tank top.
You are rubbing your feet. You don’t have make-up. Backstage and rehearsals, these are what life is made of. But, we don’t take the camera out while we are there.
Everyone’s preparation is different. I can only write about ours and confidently say everyone has some level of preparation before the “show”. Some people make it onto the stage more often than others. Some people have fewer performances, but make them count as much as they can. Those people take nothing for granted because they have no idea when they will step out into the “stage” again.
That’s what social media looks like to me, anyway. Every picture is on the stage. Some have more than others. But, because of the world we live in it is easy to judge based on what we see without considering what we DON’T see.
The night of the show Meghan went to the diner with her friends. She got home close to midnight. It was Sunday, and a school night, and I had already decided she’d stay home the next day. It wasn’t a reward. It was a necessity. The amount of energy her body had expended could not be recovered quickly. She slept until 2pm the next day, and was asleep again by 9.
I sent her to school that Tuesday – ready to roll. She swam at 5am, did a full day of school, an hour of physical therapy and another 2.5 hours of swim practice.
Probably not the best plan.
The physical therapy is in place to try to strengthen her overall. Joint laxity, ligaments subluxing… all sorts of cracking, popping and shifting. The search for answers is on, but in the mean time we do PT…
By Wednesday she couldn’t move. She made it to school – barely.
Her IEP meeting was that afternoon, and we had lengthy conversations about all sorts of physical and emotional needs relating to school. We also spoke at length about the service dog we are in a holding pattern waiting for, and how he will fit in to the big picture. So many questions…
Thursday we got in the car to go to school. By 7:30 I had her back in her bed. She just could not. She slept until early afternoon Thursday, followed it with and early bedtime and slept again until early afternoon Friday. There was a little less sleep as the days went on but it was a slow process.
The show that was so incredibly worth it in every way – cost her a full week in recovery time. Her body hurt so deeply. This is not an out of shape child. This is a person living with a chronic pain and illness that is affecting her body in ways not even the doctors fully comprehend yet.
But I didn’t post pictures of her wincing in agony, or sleeping for days.
To the outside world she doesn’t look sick. She’s 5 foot 8, full of muscle and extremely well-rounded.
She works hard at it.
Some days are easier than others. But every day she works. She is fierce and relentless and she does not quit.
Next time you catch a photo of her smiling or singing in a pretty dress know that it took a lot of staging to pull that off, and there will likely be a lot of recovery on the back end.
But, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Not for a moment. She is my inspiration to remain…
As of today, my records show 78 appointments between the two of us since January 1st. That’s 148 days. More than one every other day.
78 scheduled appointments. Some appointments are close and some are far. Some are routine, some are emergent, some are therapy and some are follow up.
Every single one of them interrupts or controls a day, depending on its location and wait time.
So what do you do?
This is reality. This is chronic illness x2. This is what it is. These appointments are non-negotiable. They also can easily become all-consuming.
What do you do? How do you keep it in check? How do you keep it from swallowing you up? How do you keep it from winning?
I thought I knew. I though I had it all mapped out for a while. But, the oppressive weight of chronic illness can be crushing.
It happened slowly to me.
I was carrying a bucket. Every appointment was a drop. Every hour wasted in traffic was another. Every time I picked up the phone to fight a medical bill, every time I juggled a full time job, and the full-time extra curricular calendar of my teen, the bucket just got more and more full. Now, I carry the bucket. All the time. Everywhere I go.
And it’s full. Really full.
So I try not to spill.
But there isn’t much room for anything else at all.
I’ve said no to one too many events.
I have turned away from one too many dinners.
I have declined get-togethers because I just don’t feel like I can breathe.
I spend the whole day with this bucket. My mission is to keep it from spilling. It holds too many things too valuable to spill even a drop.
I say out loud that I am fitting chronic illness into our lives. But, many days I feel like I am fitting life into our chronic illness.
I am not complaining. There is so much I am grateful for, and so many things I would never ever change.
I am however simply trying to keep from drowning in my bucket.