November, 2019
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doctor, doctor
Last week I was fairly certain that I was getting wildly ill.
So certain that I went to see a doctor. Which — while seemingly counter-intuitive for a person with an autoimmune disease — is unusual for me. I see enough doctors on a regular basis that voluntarily going is not high on my list of things to do.
I was convinced that I would be reprimanded for not having gotten a flu shot. Told I had the worst possible version of the flu. And subsequently spend a week (minimum) near death.
Nope.
I was told I have allergies.
Yeah. Anti-climactic. And also, infuriating. Allergies are the worst. Just … awful. There’s no real cure (sort of like the flu, right?) with the added benefit of coming back seasonally to torment my head, my balance, and my sanity.
And here’s where I’m at, nearly ten days since ‘diagnosis’, post-steroid treatment, and saddled with the prospect of squirting sh*t up my nose indefinitely — I’m depressed.
Health is such a tricky thing. My health is compounded by the added bonus of multiple sclerosis, chronic, low-grade inflammation and a myriad of other, delightful maladies associated with the former. But health — for all of us –is tricky. Navigating it is sort of like taking a leap of faith on a wing and a prayer. Hoping that what works for the majority also works for me. Trying desperating to interpret the messages my body is sending me — messages sent in a foreign language that I do not speak and can only vaguely de-code.
Always in the back of my mind are the following (thank you, Dr. M). Is this MS? Is it aging? Is it nutrition? Is it digestion? Is it a reaction to my medication? Am I getting ‘normal’ sick? What did I eat that I shouldn’t have?
Maybe I’m tired all the time because I’m worrying all the time. Because I’m working so effing hard to be as healthy as I can be … and still, sometimes, failing. What a letdown.
And our health system (let’s separate it from health insurance momentarily because — woof — I cannot tackle that thought process tonight) is a mess.
Acute illness and chronic illness are treated … the same? Here’s the diagnosis, here’s the drug protocol. Come back in three months and let us know how you are doing. Thanks and have a nice day.
But wait…. Acute illness can be treated — usually swiftly and effectively — with modern, western medicine. But chronic illness? Why aren’t we talking about food?!? Why are doctors trained with only 16 hours of nutritional education? Why have we abandoned that which saved us for centuries? Because it doesn’t make us money? Because drug companies can’t produce it, market it and profit from it? Because I can grow lettuce in my back yard? Is that why it isn’t a factor anymore?
And functional medical doctors — the ones who do believe in food as medicine, and whole body wellness — yeah, they aren’t covered by insurance. Because that would be crazy, right? Helping people get better and reducing medical costs would be bad, right?
Writing this blog post won’t change anything. Systems take more than angry words to topple. And if there isn’t a better alternative … why destroy what exists? I’m just frustrated, I’m tired. I would really like to not feel completely off balance and woozy every moment of every day.
Ce la vie. Such is my life currently. God Bless America.
xox, g
mondaze
I wish I had something insightful to say today.
I don’t.
I feel so overwhelmingly tired. Every part of my body feels like a one-ton weight. My arms, my legs, my neck. My head is screaming with pain. It is a migraine … something that has become all too frequent of late.
Today felt full … that feeling of eating too much, too fast. It went by in a blur … and I’m fairly sure I accomplished things. But not the things I’d set out to do in the morning. So regardless of how much I accomplished, today feels wasted. How did I run out of time? How did I get to the end with so many things unattended?
Perhaps that’s a mental issue I struggle with. I certainly struggle with perfectionism and OCD. Two things that dictate my day … doing, being, performing perfectly. Checking all the boxes. Doing all the things.
Am I rambling? It doesn’t look like I’ve written much but my brain is running, overflowing. I am frustrated by my disease, by the pain in my body I cannot fix, by my unrelenting fatigue and how it steals my time … my days. Angry at the fog of my brain and the unresponsiveness of my body.
I think about Dr. Markowitz and how he infuriating responds to so many of my concerns … “It could be MS. Or it could be your age.” A pause. “Or something else.”
So, um, life? It could be life. The aches and the pains, the stiffness and the desperate, constant need for more sleep. Of waking unrested. Yes. Life.
I start every Monday with a fresh slate. I begin again. I set goals and strive to achieve them. Hitting road blocks along the way just isn’t my favorite thing. And yet, here I am. On Monday. Exhausted. Fuzzy. Ready to be done.
Reframe it. Find gratitude. It feels nearly impossible. But I sat down and I typed. For the fifth day in a row. And for that, I am grateful.
Ha! I did it.
xox, g
nine weeks
Nine weeks ago today, I decided to stop drinking.
I didn’t necessarily think I was an alcoholic with a destructive addiction. But I did think that maybe, I wasn’t my best self when I was drinking alcohol. And maybe I drank too often and when I did, too much. And maybe I needed to get that under control.
Y’know how in life, you hear certain things, and you don’t hear other things? And the things that you hear are usually the things that ring true for you, the things you can get behind and believe? Well, way back in 2016 a man came to speak to the upper management of the company I worked for. He talked to us about culture, and creating a positive environment. He talked about a lot of things I can speak about in theory. But one thing he said — the thing that stuck with me and I have encorporated into my life — was a concept about habit.
Most people believe that it takes 21 days to create a new habit, or break a ‘bad’ one. This man said no, 21 wasn’t the lucky number. That in order to truly create new patterns and new thought behavior, you needed to commit to something for 66 days. Now, to be fair, I poo-poo’ed a lot of what he said, because I thought that at the time, we didn’t need to be having seminars about culture and vision statements — we needed to tighten up systems and control our cash flow more effectively. But that’s neither here nor there.
I put his theory of 66 days to the test when I decided to start riding the stationary bike that had — for several months — been collecting dust in our spare room. I began riding every day on March 1, 2016. And today, November 3, 2019, I still ride the bike most days. Because those 66 days DID create a habit. So, I’m a believer. And I put that concept to work every time I want to change something in my life. I commit for 66 days.
To be honest, I should have waited until Wednesday to write this. On Wednesday it will be 66 days since I stopped drinking. But the change really begins to be noticeable around the 50-55 day mark. It’s almost as though your whole body, your whole brain, kinda gives into this new ‘normal’ and it stops being an effort, and it stops being strange, and it just becomes who you are.
I really like being sober. And sometimes, it isn’t easy. When people think you aren’t honoring a situation or occasion because you are not raising a glass in a toast. When you realize that you don’t know what to do with your friends because all you’ve ever done is socially drink. When you ponder what you will do on vacation when all the guidebooks talk about is drinking. When you become truly concerned that all your friendships will change … or fade away. Just because you don’t drink alcohol anymore. It’s grounding. But … still, I really like being sober.
I like being clear-headed. I like sleeping well. I like having energy (always a challenge with MS). I like not worrying that I said or did something offensive or stupid or just … ill-advised. I like being able to drive home at the end of the night.
I like most things about sobriety. But culturally, socially, it’s hard. As each day goes by, it gets easier to handle. I feel more confident. I own it more. I realize that I could probably drink again and have a lot more control … but do I want to?
It’s an interesting question.
xox, g
pause
I’m not a very nice person. I mean, I try. But I don’t succeed.
I get grumpy when I’m tired. I get down right vicious when I’m hungry. I snap. I say mean things. For no reason, really.
It’s an interesting thing to contemplate. This evening I snipped at my husband because he asked me a few times if I was okay with the movie he picked for us to fall asleep to (I almost need a movie and background talking to fall asleep. It’s probably not healthy). Maybe he asked me more than once because he didn’t hear my response the first time. Maybe he wanted to make sure I wasn’t just humoring him. I don’t know. He wasn’t being malicious. But I spewed venom for no reason.
And here’s the thing. Words are very powerful. Words can heal. But they can also hurt. They cripple. Do untold damage. They stay with you for years, a haunting echo in the back of your brain. I can name multiple things that have been said to me over time that I still carry with me — that have affected the way I live my life and the person I am. And who knows if I truly need to be carrying those weights? Who knows if I even understood the message at the time … if I’m even remembering things correctly. I know how they made me feel. And when something hurts you, wounds you to the marrow of your bones … it isn’t easily forgotten.
I want to pause for a moment and remind myself that it is important to always think before I speak. To consider the consequences of my words. Is hurting someone instantly worth it in the long run? What do I get out of that? What does it say about me?
I find that oftentimes my words are most harsh in moments of my own insecurity. When I feel vulnerable. My ability to cut someone down is a defense mechanism. Trying to be conscious of that is a forever job. I don’t think it ever gets easier. Perhaps, with time, I just get a little more thoughtful and I pause.
begin again
I don’t know if anyone reads this blog. And I’m totally okay with that. I like having a space to talk (even if it’s just to myself!). I like having a space to think things out. Oftentimes, after I’ve written I feel lighter, as though heavy thoughts that have burdened me are no longer weighing on my shoulders.
I began this blog in June 2011 as a way to learn to cook. And in January 2013 when I was positively diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, it became a place I came to to work through things. To share the chaos in my mind. This past year, it has been an outlet for the grief that has pulsed through my veins since losing my mother.
And now, I need it to be something else. I need it to be where I write every day and share my world view. Because I’ll turn 40 in just over a month, and I need to feel like my life has purpose. As though it has shape. We all spend an amazing amount of time running the rat race — pushing through minutes and hours and days to get to a nebulous destination. I have had the great priviledge of not having to work for the last few years. And it has given me such perspective on the question “Why?”.
I thought about beginning this month as daily postings about gratitude. I love the exercise and I think it’s so worthwhile to focus on what we are grateful for, and give thanks to those people who positively impact our lives. But … I can do that on Instagram. I can do that anywhere. What can I do here that will mean something?
Honestly. I don’t know.
Life feels fraught at the moment. We are all doing the things we need to do to survive, to be part of society. We hand out candy on Halloween, our front stoop a riot of mums and pumpkins and scarecrows. We do the laundry and call the contractor about the leaky roof. We make sure to order our dog’s medicine and pick up the dry cleaning. We do the things.
To what end? What are our goals? Why do we do the things we do? Have we prioritized our time? Are we acting in the best interest of our loved ones — and more importantly — ourselves?
I have deeply struggled for many months … perhaps years … with the question of “What’s Next?” What should I be doing, what am I obligated to do … what will garner the least judgement from my peers (this is a real concern, and I’m not proud of it, but I do worry about judgement).
It hasn’t been an easy road. And I have had many other things to consume me, as well. I have wavered, I have tried things, I have made decisions only to renege. I have wondered and soul searched and felt completely and utterly lost.
I don’t know if I’ve found my way. But I do think I have an idea. And for right now, I’m beginning here. I’m starting small. And I will grow, one day and one moment at a time. And if you are reading this (if anyone is reading this! haha!) — Thank You. And I hope you enjoy this new journey.
xox, g
D5 Creation