Words Can't Hurt but Your Stares Do

Yesterday marked an achievement for me. I went swimming by myself. Typically any time I exercise I have at least one person keeping track of me, making sure I don't pass out alone. This time I wanted to go alone. When your joints hurt horribly, your chest aches, and your body seems to hate you all you want is alleviate the pain.


Instead of the standard workout I chose the warm water therapy pool. Being in there felt amazing. Yes, I had to avoid the kiddies. Honestly, they really are not supposed to be in there. The pool has a children's area along with a cold water pool. I wouldn't care if they would watch out occasionally. The pool is not tiny. You don't have to be all up in everybody else's business and kids if you want to swim laps, there is a lap pool for that. I get now why nobody who regularly makes use of the warm water therapy pool is there on a Saturday. They risk leaving the pool in need of a whole new round of PT. Physical therapy for getting brained in the physical therapy pool. It's not funny. I lied. I'm laughing right now because it is pretty funny.


(Rant concluded)


I lasted twenty minutes before realizing I needed to get out. Overstaying was going to become a serious problem. Unfortunately I was at one end of the pool with the stairs at the other. To get there meant making my way through a precarious situation of kids playing catch, swimming underwater, playing tag, and heck it was damn far away! I chose to brave the ladder way instead. This is where the problem began. My heart was racing all day and chose this time to make itself attempt to beat hard enough to exit my chest. I was exhausted. The dizziness became worse. Now it became a struggle to pull myself out of the pool.


I am to stubborn to ask for help. I was going to get up that ladder if it killed me. The worst part wasn't the struggle. Usually someone is always there to help me so I can avoid what I hate most. The staring situation. There are those who outright have their eyes glued on this odd sight whether it be fainting or a simple struggle to do what others have no issue with. I can deal with those stares. What really is hard is when they stare but pretend not to stare. The worst is when they outright stare then turn away to either talk or silently communicate with the person by them. If I glance their way they try to 'casually' hide their obvious actions. I am  not an idiot. Unhealthy. Pathetic at times but not mentally deficient.


When I make it up the ladder and ever so slowly get to my chair I am not unaware of my surroundings. When I do mini therapies to help raise my blood pressure, alleviate neuropathy, and hold my chest because it hurts so bad I am not immune to your looks. If you were to ask I could explain but you don't. Words. They don't hurt because I can fight back with my own. Stares. Looking at me like a freak under glass. They hurt.


By the time I could function well enough to leave the pool to shower and get ready my sister was nearly done with her workout. As she led me out the door I caught sight of the same family blatantly staring. "How was the pool? Did I pass out?" Nah but I did tell her about the stares. She looked at me, "Why would they stare? You don't look weird." Then the truth comes out. "Well...you do...(insert stuff on health that does make me weird)."


Yes. I do have health problems. I do need help. I am normally strong enough to keep my head held high when others forget there are people like me in this world. Then come days where physically I cannot fight which bleeds into the rest of me. Today my heart hurts. It's not a physical hurt but one which cannot be solved with medications. In time it will stop aching. I will forget but I may still have moments when I feel this way. I will have to get used to it. After all, someone has to make correct use of the warm water PT pool on a Saturday morning!

7 Things This Chronic Illness Hit Me With

1. The rain makes greens greener and lake views lovelier.
2. Smartphones are worth it. I got one at last and it's love.
3. Just because you don't use your one email does not mean you can ignore it. When the cellphone lady laughs at your inbox of 10,000+ you really feel stupid.
4. Love transcends language but if you know a word or ten you should use it.
5. Perfection is a scary aim in life.
6. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow even when the other person is being an ass.
7. Twin Peaks is effed up but highly addictive.

Have No Fear! Fainting While Exercising is no longer...Here?

I now understand why the Mayo Clinic doctors kept insisting it would take more mental strength than anything to work on recovery. You gotta be dedicated to do this shite! I try to be. Every day I ask 'whose going to take me to the Y?' Anybody? Anybody? And I'm proud when I get there. I'm even prouder when I feel I can kinda do it alone. So proud I announced after my standard recovery period and gulping of a bottle of water 'I can get up by myself!'

Er. I did or tried to anyway. I pulled myself up then promptly started to collapse. My little sister snorted at my proclamation when she caught me before I could fall. Alright. I have a ways to go. I still have a problem. When I don't do a proper recovery, drink until I swear I'm about to be about 99% water, and rest a good ten minutes I get up my body loudly announces 'We are returning to supine position. Now!'

Without the fainting, crappy blood flow, and whatnot I swear I might be able to get close to not being chronically ill. Unfortunately my body and my mind are still at war over that one. I'm proud of my exercising. To be able to do fifty minutes on the recumbent bike has taken me over eight months of work. Most of it is mental. I get now why weight loss via exercise is so difficult. If you don't want it, you won't make it. You have to be able to say 'eff. I don't want to go work out and I feel like crap BUT I don't want to live this life like this. So I will go to workout. I will do it. For me. Because in the end it may be worth it.'

I can't loudly swear I have no fear about fainting. Every day I face the battle between my body and my mind's abilities. I swear one day I think we are over this only to be proven wrong the next. But I plan to keep on going. Keep on doing it because when you've got a chronic illness you've got to keep on rooting for yourself. One day I want to be able to work out solo with no one there for support. Jump off the bike at the end and walk myself out of there without a lick of help.

As for today? I already asked who will be taking me and yes, they will. Off to exercise. Hopefully not to faint. I hope you all get out there and do the same. Have no fear because a little exercise keeps up the good work!

Need a Job? I Feel the Same. Time to use Life's BS for Fertilizer

Being chronically ill has made finding a job a nightmare. As one lady put it, "it's great you're doing a lot better but you really don't have much hope for getting a real job." I found this a bit offensive. I know my medical problems limit my ability to hold a typical job. I can't sit for hours in an office and my driving allowances are nil. Still this doesn't mean I don't long for a job. 

I am a people person. Someone capable of talking to anyone about pretty much anything. According to others I have a talent for writing, one of several reasons I take freelance jobs. I once wanted to work in a lab but lost the ability to do simple things like using a microscope (my eye-brain coordination gets thrown off which triggers vertigo and double vision meaning all those beautiful cells start doing a carousel ride). I wanted to do a job focusing on one aspect. Now I want to work with people to help in many aspects. I want to reach out so they know when life hands you a curve you may have to slow down but it does not mean giving in. 

I have learned a great deal about what makes us function. Humans are complex in every way but a part of us is always going to be simple. The need to feel validated, to know our lives have a point. Many people have asked me, 'why bother? What I do doesn't matter. People who say otherwise are full of BS.' I will agree with you even the 'nicest' people have some type of BS. If I had a dollar for every BS statement I wouldn't need a job.

So here is what I have to say "let's take that BS and use it as fertilizer. Fertilizer for something better. I don't mean the 'insert inspiration words here' and then life is great. Life isn't a Lifetime movie. Let's acknowledge the BS in our lives. It's there. It's reality. So what do we do with it? First we take a step back and look at the greater picture. Look at how it is and honestly admit it. Now clear you head and honestly state what you want. Happiness? A bigger home? A better job? What do we want? And now, were do we start to get there. I could detail the steps but I don't want to right here, right now. Why? Because I believe a two hour talk on finding success starts with a ten-minute personal moment of honesty. I can't tell a person what to think or do. That's a great way to change one's thinking for a day but to make a true change in life? That's a bit deeper.

Do a Grouch a Favor Day...Today!

Ironically someone very grouchy informed me this week there is to be a ǵive a gift to a grouch day type thing.' I laughed at this. Looked it up and found not only is there a National Grouch day (October 15th if you are wondering) but today is actually legitimately Do a Grouch a Favor Day.

Problem is most of us tend to have a case of the 'I'm grouchy simply because it's another effing Monday.' Do this mean we should take ourselves out for something to cheer us up? Do ourselves a favor by giving  our grouchy self something to feel good about?

I say...YES YES YES! Let's do our grouchy selves a favor or if you are not feeling grouchy then find someone who is. I promise if you head out you will come across a grouch sooner or later. I would do my best not to offend them as being grouchy is a personal choice. However doing something as simple as giving a simple compliment can end up being a favor to make their day.

As for myself I will do my best to cheer up the grouch I love. For myself I will do a favor to my grouchy moments by enjoying a healthy heap of ice cream tonight. Maybe with a glass of white wine. 

So have a happy February 16th and do a grouch a favor today!

Shooting Star...Death or Love?

Years ago I read when one sees a shooting star it means someone has died. I imparted this wisdom under a night filled with stars. My boyfriend and I were laying out on a summer's eve, under a clear night sky. "Look a shooting star!" Later he told me he thought this would be a romantic moment. The two of us under a starry sky like something from a romantic movie. I think this was the part where I was supposed to lean in and we share a romantic-movie style kiss.

Instead I looked straight at him and proclaimed, 'that means someone died.' Later I would explain this may partly have been due to being under painkillers. The other part being my own belief behind the meaning. Logically our sky would be filled with shooting stars if it meant one for every person who died. No one ever clarified precisely what the death part meant.

I don't view a shooting star as an omen of bad luck. One which should make us afraid of death. In a way I find it a beautiful thought. Almost like a sign the person has moved on from this life. They disappear in a blaze of glory before their soul is sent to one of two places.

I lack a great deal in expressing the romance beauty in life. Love is love. Starry-eyes, kisses under a night sky, and all those Hollywood ideals pale in comparison to true love. Love like spending a night holding the hand of the woman you love as she lays in the ICU. Being there for her through the good days where tremors are few and a chronic illness is easily hidden. Then giving support on the bad days. The ones which are filled with pain, loneliness, and a thought of how much more one can actually take before giving up. To me, this is love.

Every day which passes I feel like I am growing a bit more at understanding this chronically ill life. I am trying my best to understand more to this life. My attempts at growing in the understanding of starry-eyed movie romance woman are not perfect. The long-time boyfriend pronounced the change 'unnerving and a bit weird' at first. I'm not perfect in anything especially not deciphering shooting stars. No matter how many times I see one I will always instantly think 'someone died.' Hardly the thought which prompts delicate kisses.

Instead of declaring love on a shooting star I have started to say it every day. This sent my boyfriend into a panic. He used to feel as though I was saying it because I was going to die. I'm not dying (I hope not anyway). I just don't want to ever face a life where I wish I had said I love you and didn't. No one knows what life holds but we can control what we say about it.

No Idea on Who You Are...Thanks for the Card!

Since being released from the hospital I had one of the most interesting experiences of 2015. My father works in a position where many people know who he is. Thereby, those people generally know who his family is. Especially when one family member gets sick. I received cards from many people who I knew, sometimes just vaguely. Then came the card.

Like almost all the others it was Hallmark made or some top card brand. The envelope was colored although looking back, I don't remember what color and it is relevant to this tale. The same goes with the outside and message inside. Both were lovely but I can't recall either and besides, it is the thought which counts.

The thought which came from...um...who??! I read the name. Blank and Blank Last Name. I hit a blank. Sometimes I have a vague idea only of who a card is from. This time I had no idea. Nada. It's a strange sensation knowing someone cared enough to send a card but you have absolutely no clue who they were. Furthermore, it's nigh impossible to try to decipher it from handwriting.

My father is a master of remembering names although there are still times where a name eludes him. He tries very hard not to have those moments as it is highly awkward to hold a conversation like that. Although there have been several Christmases where my mom opens a card and has to ask him just who the person is. His descriptions alone generally jog the mind.

"Whose the card from?" My dad asks more of routine then curiosity. "I have no idea. Who are these people?" What followed was a description of where I might have seen them (doubtful). Brief overall of the way they looked (total blank). And a round about of 'the man used to go barefoot skiing' (because that is helpful?).

After five minutes of 'helpful' hints I still had a blank. No idea. Obviously they knew who I was, knew my father, and knew me? After thinking about this conundrum several days I have figured out the answer! I have no idea who you are or if we have actually spoken but I do want to thank you! Thank you for the card and thoughtfulness. I appreciate them both! So there. Now whoever you are, if you read this and sent me a get well card then met me and I didn't tell you thank you....well here's a thank you again. And maybe next time you could include a nice photo or a description more helpful than 'excellent at barefoot skiing' (although that is pretty sweet).

Good Friends Make Life Sweeter

Discovering the terrors of turning over twenty-five has been a whirlwind of 'I'm so old!' to 'what is the deal with insurance wait time?! I just need one question answered!!!' Having to recover from surgery which doesn't help the old feeling either, just doesn't make one thrilled over turning another chronically ill year. Had it been a day or two before I would have been starting out my over halfway to fifty from a hospital bed. Since the hospital transistioned to cheap bacon I have to admit even I can only suffer through so many gluten-free muffins before begging for forbidden food.

Yes. I know I am supposed to be sugar-free. Heck. I do pretty well considering my 'cake' was actually a small cupcake which someone creatively arranged three candles in. Since you couldn't only buy one from the GF bakery my mother had to get a second. I ate that on my real birthday where my decision on how to spend it was a let down to just about everyone. I wanted to recooperate. They all wanted to take me out. My boyfriend was the opposite. He wanted me to recooperate. I wanted to get out.

I could go on in stir-crazy frustration if not for one very sweet package. Amidst cards and familiar handwriting arrived a box. I knew it was coming, even had a clue to its contents but had completely forgotten until that moment. I saved it for last because I knew who it was from. She may be five states and hundreds of miles away but she never forgets to say Happy Birthday in her own way. This time with a package from my favorite gluten-free bakery.

I felt like laughing to realize she had gone to the trouble of ordering from hundreds of miles away for me to get my favorites from ten-minutes from here. Then again, when you are not allowed to drive those minutes can feel like a thousand miles. Eating a soft, perfectly delicious, chocolate chip cookie brightens up even the worst insurance malfunctions.

Having good friends in this chronically ill life is like a warm coat in a negative windchill winter storm. They help protect you from the worst and keep you from freezing up in this life. They make life sweeter from a simple card reminding you the miles don't matter. And on the days which make you think life is looking pretty sour they send sweetness your way.

Thanks for the delicious reminder my fellow PGS-fish-duck-impingement-entrainment partner and former roomie. And as your cards says, BFF of course.

ICUs Bring January?

After spending a very eventful Friday in the Intensive Care Unit I find myself musing on January, the month that is down right tricky. For some reason on a month which should be great for many ways I seem to attract hospital visits like vultures to a carcass. Instead of mere Emergency Room visits or surgeries I end up going to the extreme. Friday being the prime example. Okay so my surgery was not something precisely routine. Still having had several laparascopic surgeries I am no stranger to it. Evidently nor am I now to the ICU.

What I know is this: I went in for a day surgery and woke up the next day in the ICU. What I am told is this: I went into a seizure in the recovery room. Every one went a little crazy while I got drugged up to my eyeballs to prevent another one. I do know a lot more now about the situation but everyone is so traumatized I am trying to just do what they are doing. Putting it behind them because hearing your daughter may have to be intabated is just a little to scary to deal with.

Funny how what we remember so little of can have affected the lives of other people so much. Maybe its the cold or just the grey skies but it makes me like January a little bit less each year.