Mulling Over A Dream

It was quiet when my eyes were closed. It was when I could be at peace despite my world falling to pieces. I could be in the middle of a crowded room, or in busy store, or even now, as I lay on this cold bed in the middle of the local emergency room… With my eyes closed, I could shut the ugliness of the world out, maybe even pretend I was well again.

Not even a week had passed of 2018, and here I was with an IV in my arm, my mom sleeping next to me in a cold hospital chair. As per usual, no one had any idea what was wrong with me. A fate I had grown accustomed to. Leaving five hours later with a prescription for painkillers I’d never fill, and a suggestion to “get some rest”.

My problem is I can never get enough rest. Not if I want to attempt to have a life by any standards. I can’t sleep my life away afterall.

So in that hospital bed I lay with my eyes closed, waiting for no news. And in that quietness I fell asleep, mulling over a dream. A dream I’ve had many times. One that I know now will unlikely come true. Not so much a dream, but more of a memory…

The last memory of my other life.

The life I had before this was all I knew.

A life that wasn’t filled with medications, cold hospital rooms, and the constant threat of more pain, more fatigue, and a new diagnosis every six months.

Furthermore, a life where I would find someone who loved me for me. Where they wouldn’t look at me and see broken. Where they would marry me no matter how many years we may have together. A life with choices, and maybe children.

It was a good dream. But eventually I woke up and opened my eyes… Back to the cold hospital bed, to the doctor telling me she could do no more. Back to my reality.

I slept for a long while that day, once I had climbed back into my own bed, and my mom departed for the long trip home. I was used to this aftermath of hospital visits. Used to the bed rest, dehydration, and exhaustion that inevitably followed. Used to the loneliness, the unbearable loneliness that came with my disease.

But this time something new followed, I was not so alone. He came with food, and hugs, and the support I needed to get through it without falling apart. And in the days that followed, I realised his love allowed me to mull over a new dream.

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Our footprints

I recently ended a two week long road trip around the South Island of New Zealand. A trip that I never thought I’d be able to take at this point in my life.

At 36, I never thought I’d be struggling under the burden of multiple chronic illnesses. Never thought that I would live each day in pain and fatigue, wondering if or when it would all end. In March of 2016, one of the eleven doctors and specialists that I saw on a regular basis told me that I was living on a clock. A clock that no woman in her mid-thirties should have had to think about. A clock that was slowly counting down the time unto which my life would end. I had time, years in fact. But not decades, like most my age looked forward to. Ten years minimum, fifteen if I got lucky.

I took that news on my own, silently in his office, starting at my hands as if they were supposed to provide me with the answers he didn’t have. If they could find a medication that worked for me, more time could be bought. But they hadn’t found anything in the years leading up, and every day my disease turned more aggressive. Every time I visited a doctor a new diagnosis would be presented, or the bad news of a failed medication would be shared. Years of allergies and intolerance to the leading drugs for my diseases, countless failed treatments, and pain, so much pain. And then to hear that despite all my optimism I was going to die sooner than maybe even my own parents…

Five months later I landed in the Intensive Cardiac Unit at Queens Medical Center for ten days. I survived a “multiple cardiac event”, according to my cardiologist and the medical team that looked after me. Despite my doctors projections, my body had other ideas in mind for my time left on earth.

But something changed in me the night that I almost died. It’s not that I wanted to go… Sure some of us living with chronic pain have been down that road where we wonder if the pain is worth going on. Nothing as dark as giving into those thoughts though. And in the middle of my second heart attack of the night on my third night in hospital, apparently when the pain became too great that I actually blacked out, I had an epiphany.

No, I did not “see the light“. I mean yes, there was light, but clearly it was the doctors shining something in my face trying to wake me. I did however feel like I had a choice. A choice on whether to let go, or to continue on.

I don’t know how long I was in that place, probably only seconds. Later my doctors told me I could have died. And I knew if I had been willing to give up, I would have. But something had changed. Despite all the pain, and the knowing I didn’t have long, I still wanted to continue. Something told me that I had purpose.

A year and a half later I finally understand what that is.

Earlier this year I made the life changing decision to move to New Zealand, as healthcare was more accessible for me there as I was a citizen. More so than it was in the US, as it wasn’t affordable, even on Federal Disability. It was a chance to turn my life around as well, live healthier, make friends, maybe find my purpose.

I started bi-monthly Infliximab infusions in June, and had successfully gotten myself off most of my hardcore painkillers by October. I’d even lost a large portion of weight that I’d gained from years of Prednisone usage. I got some new hobbies, joined groups, and made friends, so many friends. I even started dating for the first time in two and a half years.

Sure, I was still in pain. My disease didn’t magically disappear because I moved. Chronic illnesses don’t drift off when you find love, despite what Disney movies try to teach us. I still spent multiple days in bed, fatigued beyond repair. Lung Disease reared its ugly head in a new diagnosis in August. Lupus followed soon after..

The change was that I felt I was around more people that supported me. People didn’t treat me as pitiful, and because of that I was able to let the real me shine through. I reclaimed the person I used to be, maybe not in body, but definitely in spirit. And I realise now it’s all because of footprints.

Just like others footprints made an impression on me during my illness, my footprints were helping others too. I accepted the love and generosity of friends and strangers in Hawaii because my blog had reached them in ways I didn’t know. I couldn’t see that the knowledge I’d learned in my own experiences were helping people just as those whose generosity helped me. Just by listening to a friend, or sharing a meal, I was leaving footprints on the journey of others, just as they leave theirs on mine.

Today as my partner and I concluded our two week vacation, one that I wouldn’t have taken had I not left footprints on his journey as equally as he left his on mine, I had my epiphany. We were talking with our Airbnb host, just as we were getting ready to depart for the airport, and she shared that she had lupus. She shared this only because I shared that I wrote a blog about living with invisible illnesses. Through this tiny piece of information she came to not only understand that she shouldn’t feel alone, but also some references I gave her for support groups. She had no idea the resources that were available to her, feeling isolated by friends and family who couldn’t or wouldn’t understand.

On the plane ride home I thought about my footprints… If I can leave pieces of myself behind, to help or to grow or to love, then no matter how much time I have left, that time was worthy. I have and will continue to make a difference on those who choose to share my journey with me, just as I share theirs.

Our footprints, my footprints, matter…

Personal Purgatory

I’ve been doing a lot of inner reflection lately, and it seems to me that those of us living with chronic illness do a lot of destructive thinking. I don’t think it’s on purpose either. I’m not talking about the inevitable depression and grief that comes with living with chronic disease, that’s a whole other can of worms… I’m talking about the depression we let ourselves slip into.

Rheumatoid Disease is shitty enough on its own, without having added Osteoporosis, Lupus, and Lung Disease to the mix. While I have accepted each of these as they have come, and deal with my diagnosis the best way I know how (smiles and realistic expectations), I find myself under a rain cloud. But it’s a rain cloud of my own conjuring.

There is a point that I think we all go through where we have had enough. The pain has become too great, or we lose support, or medical help, or all of these things, and we start to feel like we want to give up. I’m not talking about ending our lives, but more of an acceptance of defeat. At one point in our illness we accept that it can’t or won’t get better. It seems easier to accept that our disease has won, not only by conquering our body, but also our will. 

I realise that recently I have let myself get to this point. And I really do mean I let myself. At some point my loneliness joined forces with the disease destroying my body, and they decided to get married. And instead of dealing with my illness while trying to stay positive, I let myself slip into depression.

See, most people think we (the chronically ill) keep to ourselves because we want to be alone. When most of the time the reality is that we just don’t want to bring anyone down with us. We keep our feelings, pain, and sadness within, convincing ourselves that it’s better this way. In my case, I like to take it a step further by emotionally cutting myself off from others. I guess my logic is that I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, or treating me like I’m broken. But in doing that I end up putting up walls, especially around my heart.

I haven’t been in a romantic relationship in a long time. I’m talking years. Wanna know why?

I wouldn’t let myself. 

In hindsight I now see that my logic was really flawed. Because in keeping people at arm’s length, I not only hurt myself, but others around me as well. I started to use my disease as an excuse to not live my life. Not in the giving up sense, but I did throw away opportunities to have meaningful relationships with some great people because I justified to myself that I was saving them from dealing with my health issues. In truth, I was just building my own personal  purgatory.

It’s taken me a few years, but I’ve recently seen the light. Maybe not the light at the end of the tunnel, but at least a flashlight that will help me find my way. I realise now that letting people in is important. Sharing how I feel is important. It may not always get you the results you want, but it sure as hell is better than keeping it bottled up inside. I need to not let my disease define me as a person, and I have to remember thank don’t have to walk in this life alone.

No matter how many days I have left, mine is a life meant to be shared.  I will climb out of the purgatory of my own making. I will remember I am strong, beautiful, and worthy of happiness.

My cold is not like your cold

I know time and time again I have advocated for the fact that being sick is not a competition or a race. We are not in the Pain Olympics, and no one gets a medal for being sicker than someone else. But I have to stomp my  foot today and cry out for all my sisters with Rheumatoid Disease and declare “Our colds are not like your colds!”

Its cold season for sure. I can’t get on a bus or be in a doctors waiting room without hearing a sniffle or a muffled cough. A lot of people are sick, and its no ones fault except for maybe the weather and this damn rain that keeps everything damp and chilled. So, we all walk around with crumpled tissues in our pockets, and and extra sweater in our bags, and we look like crap. All of  us. No one looks awesome when they have a cold. And everyone, men and women alike, has a little pity party for themselves about how shitty they feel.

Here’s the thing though, having a cold is shitty enough when you’re a regular healthy human. You get a cough, or the sniffles, and a sore throat, and your head becomes a bit fuzzy. Sometimes you gotta stay home from work for a couple days because you feel so lethargic and icky. Eventually after a week or so, your symptoms start to fade, you pull through, and its only a matter of time before you’re having a beer with friends around the corner again.

Let me paint another picture for you though… The picture of what its like to get sick when your entire life is already about being sick. When the cold symptoms start you’re praying that you don’t have the sniffles because of a cold, but maybe because you just breathed in dust from the curtains that you’ll never have the energy to clean. The sore throat starts and you force feed yourself a gallon of OJ because you know you can’t get a cold. But you know, you always know. Because no one knows their body more than someone who lives with a chronic illness.

Colds for us can last as long as three months if we aren’t strong enough to fight it. They can turn into Pneumonia, Bronchitis, Strep, and worse. A week can pass in bed where the only thing we can do is shuffle to the bathroom to pee, and then back into bed so we don’t get chills. Headaches turn to migraines. Those of us with chronic pain can sometimes be blessed by our diseases taking a back seat to let the cold do its worse. But other times we are stricken with flares, whilst also dealing with sore throats, raw noses from blowing too hard, and brain fog. A common two week cold for an average Joe turns into a two month long nightmare. And one of the worst parts is that we often aren’t allowed to get our regular treatments for our chronic diseases if we are fighting a cold or infection. Chemo and biologics have to be put on hold until the current illness clears our system. But they can’t if our flare ups contribute to them. So we get stuck in what seems like a never ending cycle of illness. For days, weeks, months…

So, next time you feel like responding to your friend that suffers from chronic illness that their cold can’t be as bad as that one you had last week…maybe take a moment to think about the differences between your every day life and theirs. Because from where I’m standing, I’d much rather a week long cold than the four weeks and counting cold I’m currently enduring.

 

“If” is not the question you should be asking 

If I’m in pain all the time, you may ask is it even worth it, to do the things that I do.

If it’s so painful to run errands, pick up your meds, and go grocery shopping, why do you do it? 

If you’re in so much pain, then why get dressed and put make up on, and go out into the world, why not just stay home so that you can sleep and sleep?

If the sickness is as bad as you say, then why bother getting up every day, why don’t you just stay in bed?

If you’re in as much pain as you say, why are you not in a hospital, why aren’t people like you talking about how much pain they are in, and why have we only heard about it from you?

If your disease causes as much weight gain as you say, how come we haven’t seen in it others?

If is not the question you should be asking.

Because IF you truly listened, watched, and heard, you would know the answers to your questions.

That if I didn’t force myself out of bed and do the things I do, I’d become a prisoner inside my body. That if I stayed in bed I would get sicker and sicker as hope would be lost. That I’ve been to the hospital several times already, don’t you remember when I told you? That there are thousands of people around you every day that suffer from sickness, pain, and weight gain due to illness, but that all you see is fat, and so you judge without question.

If you really wanted to help instead of judging, you would look at me with eyes wide open, and see my reality for what it is, instead of judging me for something you refuse to understand.

Texting Doesn’t Say I Love You 

Have you noticed how texting seems to be the only way people communicate these days? We now live in a world where we feel naked without our cellphones, and texting has become our life line with the rest of society.

 When I was 17, and in college, my mom bought me my first cellphone. I was so stoked about it, because unlike a lot of my peers, I never had a pager which was all the rage in the 90’s. I quickly became quite proficient in texting with one hand, usually by my side, unbeknownst to whichever professor was droaning on at the time. This was also around the same time that I got my first computer, and was introduced to the wonders of the internet. I’d used the web before, but having a personal computer opened up the world of chat rooms, Napster, and instant messaging, that I’d never had access to in the past. Instant Messenger, texting’s online bosom buddy, allowed me to be whomever I wanted when talking online. Without having to deal with social inadequacies and shyness, I could have long conversations with friends and strangers, and in many ways, it boosted my confidence for in person conversations as well.

18 years later, and countless cellphones and computers having come and gone, I feel like our lives have been taken over by something that once seemed so helpful. Not having to have a full conversation with someone just to ask a quick question, was made easy by text messaging. You could avoid a phone call with an awkward acquaintance by just  sending an email. But when did our lives get taken over by shortcuts?

A few weeks ago, my cellphone alarm pinged to let me know it was a close friends birthday. And without even thinking, I punched out a quick “Happy Bday” text to the person, followed by a post on their Facebook page. It wasn’t until I had finished that I realised how very impersonal of a gesture that was. This was one of my closest friends, and all I was doing was sending a text? And it’s not like I didn’t have the time to call…. I’m disabled, living and working at home, all I have is time… I started to scroll through my contacts to call her and wish her happy birthday like a decent person should, but then I stopped. I remembered that they had only sent me a Facebook post on my own birthday, a few weeks prior, and hadn’t called either. It’s not this fact that stopped me from making my own call, but a thought occurred to me that maybe it just wasn’t that important to them, that maybe social media was their preferred way of contact. And so I just left it, opting to do nothing more. 

But the memory of the ordeal has lingered with me for weeks now. I am constantly reminded of scenarios that have happened in recent years where texting has not served me well. One of these circumstances was the ending of a relationship a few years ago. A boyfriend of mine and I were not getting along very well, and after a long night of texting back and forth, we ended our relationship. The very next morning I thought how preposterous it was that we would break up over text. There are no nuances in texting. You can’t see the expressions of the person you are talking to, nor hear the tone of their voice. So much can be lost in translation. And yet, we left it as is, and did not ever try to talk about it in person.

Someone once told me that you are at your most honest when you are drunk, because your inhibitions are lowered, and you speak more freely. I believe this is the same with texting and instant messaging. You aren’t looking directly at someone, so you often say a lot more than you would, because you have no audience. You can hide from rejection, or dislike, or answers you don’t want to hear, because you aren’t face to face. You can’t see the other parties expressions, and that gives you a certain amount of freedom to be who you want to be without instant repercussions.

Social media is a lot like this as well. The personal  page phenomenon brought to us by MySpace and Facebook, have allowed us to be whomever we want to be online. Sure, people see you, but it’s the You that you decide on. You control what pictures you post, you control what personal details you share, and you even decide what comments you write. You have the ability to remake yourself in a sense. Of course, those who know you well, know the truth. So you can’t get away with to many “remakes” of the reality, without getting caught out. 

I’ve often been bewildered  looking at people’s pages that post the opposites of what their  lives are really like. People who have complained of being in dead end relationships to their close friends, end up posting pictures of the perfect marriage online. Or people who are struggling with finances post pictures of themselves purchasing vacations or going on shopping sprees. Why do we do that, do you suppose? Why is it so important to us to show everyone a different reality? Why do we portray ourselves differently online or through text messaging?

And when did texting and email and social media become the only way to communicate? Are we afraid to have real conversations with people? What do we fear they will hear in our voices? The truth? Sadness? Loneliness? Our online lies?

Are we supposed to feel loved when receiving a text message asking how we are doing? Are we supposed to feel supported? This person took five seconds from their day to send me an eight word message, I guess they really care? When did we stop making the time to really check in on each other? When did we put texting and social media before our relationships with one another?

And where will we be in another eighteen years? Will conversations be completely redundant by then? I don’t think I want to know.

The Broken Record That Keeps On Giving

As a gal living with Rheumatoid Disease, I face challenges day to day, often those challenges being the correction of what people think I have, as opposed to what I actually have.  I know, I know, I probably  sound like a broken record half of the time, but I wouldn’t have to if people would just LISTEN the first time round. So here I am today, sharing the differences again… Hopefully this time is the charm…

1) “Oh, you have Rheumatoid  Arthritis? Everyone has that. I think I might have it.”

No. Correction: “Everyone” does not have that. And trust me when I say, if you have it, you would know.

* First off, the main difference between Rheumatoid Arthritis and Osteoarthritis, which is a much more common variety of arthritis, is the symptoms. Osteoarthritis is caused by the eventual  breakdown of joints over time, which is why it’s so common in the elderly. Rheumatoid Arthritis  is an autoimmune disease where your  body’s immune system actually attacks its own joints. These are two different types of arthritis, that provide two very different outcomes on the body.

Osteoarthritis  is the most common form of arthritis. When most people are referring to arthritis, osteoarthritis is typically the form they are talking about. While Osteoarthritis  is known  to affect the elderly the most, it can happen in younger ages as well. It’s based on the wear and tear of the cartilage of your joints, so weight gain, joint injury, work that engages using your joints often, and genetics, can also play a role in getting this form of Arthritis.

Rheumatoid Arthritis, or Rheumatoid Disease, is more common  in women, even more so after the age of 40. But it’s not only limited  to that age, obviously, and also is seen in younger children, known as Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. Rheumatoid Arthritis is an autoimmune disease that causes pain, stiffness, and swelling in the joints. The most commonly affected joints are the hands, wrists, feet, knees, elbows, ankles, and shoulders. But this disease is a double edged sword, as it not only causes pain through the inflammation of those joints, but also affects your body’s organs and immune system as well.

So unlike Osteoarthritis, which causes pain in the joints, and stiffness in movements, Rheumatoid Disease also attacks the body. So on top of pain, stiffness, swelling, and decreased mobility over time, patients with severe Rheumatoid Arthritis also have to deal with decreased immune systems, that make us vulnerable to life threatening illnesses. Our disease also opens us up to bone thinning, which can in turn lead us to Osteoporosis, another disease that I now have because of RA. I have to administer a daily injection into my belly with a sharp, painful needle, to deliver a medication called Forteo into my blood stream. Every single day. And, yes, it does hurt.

Patients can also get heart disease, stroke, several forms of cancer, lung problems, tuberculosis, anemia, and vasculitis, just to name a few. As well as host a laundry list of other issues including, but not limited to, depression and anxiety disorders.

So, please, before  you open your mouth to state that “everyone ” has my disease, or in fact that you have it too, when you don’t, just think about the truth of your statement. Because blurting out incorrect facts to a person with a legitimate disease is beyond frustrating, and tends to make you look the fool.

2) If you exercised more, you wouldn’t be sick.

You know how people cringe when they hear certain sounds? Like nails on a chalkboard, or a metal chair being scraped back on a hard floor? Sounds like that tend to pull an involuntary response from us, a shudder, or a full body tense-up, that leaves us uncomfortable and stiff. Well, that tends to happen to me anytime I hear the phrases:

“If you exercised more you’d…

“If you were vegan or vegetarian, I bet your disease would go away…

“Healthy people don’t get sick, so you’re just living unhealthy…

Really…? REALLY????

Remember how I just talked about not wanting you to look the fool? Well, you might wanna go back and read through that again. First of all, there are THOUSANDS of people who have thought they were living completely healthy, active lives, who’ve turned around one day, and (BAM) they have cancer! In fact I just caught an Uber ride-share a few weeks ago, and my driver told me his sister had just passed away from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. He was of course devastated, but even more so because his sister had no idea she was sick until the very end! She lived an extremely healthy and active lifestyle, taking part in countless marathons and triathlons, and was funnily enough, vegan.

I understand that it is very trendy right now to be vegan, gluten free, vegetarian/pescetarian, wheat free, raw diet,  green living, wonder hippies. I’ve seen the articles, read the magazines, watched the reality shows. I’ve seen the celebrities with their mats in one hand, being photographed on the way to Bikram yoga, with their kale chia smoothies in the other. Everyone is skinny and toned and tanned. Well, I might be too if I had a hundred thousand dollars a year to spend on a personal trainer, personal chef/nutritionist/dietician, have a sun bed in my home gym, and could afford the new Kate Hudson clothing line. Then again, maybe I couldn’t.

I’ve been sick for almost four years now. But truth be told, in that first year, diet and exercise wasn’t a large concern for me. I was still fairly active, going on walks and hikes, and weekend trips to the beach happened more often than not. But I was still eating fast food, and junk food, and basically whatever I wanted. Prednisone had not yet affected my weight, like I had been warned it would, and I was still fairly slim, and curvy.

It wasn’t until year two, and now three, that my weight drastically changed. I developed Cushingoid, also referred to as Moon Face, which meant my cheeks and chin ballooned out, causing my eyes to look sunken in, and everything else to just look fat. I gained 75lbs over the course of two years, that rested mostly in my belly and breasts. And once the weight gain became noticeable I completely switched my diet. I cut out soda, fatty snacks, trips through the drive-thru, candy, and a lot of carbs. I started drinking more water, eating tons of fruit and vegetables, and only eating healthy proteins, and very little carbs. The thing about Prednisone though… is as long as you’re on it, you’re going to keep gaining weight. My doctors have told me I could be eating the tiniest amount of food possible to get by, and be working out hours upon hours a day, but if I’m still taking steroids, I might as well be eating all that junk I gave up. I’m still going to gain weight. Now, will I actually  keep eating that junk? No, of course not. I like my diet now. I like my fruits and vegetables. I like drinking water and tea instead of coke. And I love cooking for myself, which means I control what I put in my body.

I live a pretty healthy lifestyle right now. The other night at my family’s home, I ate a giant serving of Kale salad to start, followed by 2 oz of roast chicken, half a roasted red potato, and 6 spears of asparagus. I was full. And I refused dessert later on as well. Not because I’m dieting, but because I truly did not want it. I was still full from dinner, and didn’t need sweets to end my evening. I’ve learned that I do better “grazing”, eating small healthy meals throughout the day, instead of 3 large ones. And as I said before, I snack mostly on fruits, vegetables, and healthy proteins now. I truly cannot remember the last time I went to McDonalds, or ate a bag of chips.

So to recap… I eat a healthy, well rounded diet, that leans more towards Vegetatian than Omnivore. I get regular exercise when my body allows it, usually 3-4 times a week if I’m feeling good, and 1-2 when I’m struggling with pain. I drink well over 8 glasses of water a day, as well as juice and tea. While I love dessert, I never overindulge, usually only eating something of the sweeter variety 2-3 times a week, and only in moderation. And I take care of my body, meaning I use a fantastic skincare regimen by R+F on my face, I moisturize my limbs daily, and exfoliate dead skin as needed. For a “sick” person, I do more than the average patient in attempts to stay as healthy as possible and not add to the stress my body is already under. So PLEASE think before you speak when you tell me I would be cured if only I lived a healthier life. Because I’m betting if you really knew me, you’d be surprised to learn how very healthy I am, despite my incurable disease. Hell, I might even be healthier than you!

3) You should just go off your meds. I bet you would feel better if you stopped taking so many drugs.

When people tell me this, I have a really hard time with the struggle to not hit them in the face. The rage that consumes me runs deep, that’s how very serious I take this comment.

Going off of pain medication isn’t like the decision to stop taking Advil for your work-related headaches. It’s not like switching to a different multivitamin. And it’s certainly not a decision that can be made on the fly because you’re not a fan of Big Pharma. To be clear, I am not a fan either. But for now, Big Pharma is responsible for keeping me ALIVE.

I have gone off my meds on purpose, twice, in the last three and a half years. And to be clear, I didn’t even stop them cold turkey. I tapered down slowly, per recommended guidelines given by my doctors. However, that didn’t matter. My body freaked out from the withdrawal of much needed medicines. Medicines, that sole purpose is to keep me mobile, that help me walk and live an active life. I stopped talking them, or rather aggressively cut the dose down because I was tired of the side effects. Prednisone, for example, has caused 75lbs of weight gain, and while I remain on it, I continue to gain weight.

I had an appointment with a Neutologist last month, whom told me that as long as I’m on prednisone, I could be the healthiest woman alive, and it would mean nothing. I could starve myself, eat less than 500 calories a day, exercise until I bleed, and if I’m still taking he steroid, I will still gain weight. That kind of fact is hard for me sometimes. I hate looking at this body that I don’t feel is mine. And when I get really down about it, sometimes I think ‘why not just go off my meds?’

But every time I do, I end up in the hospital, with either catastrophic withdrawal symptoms, or worse… to be clear, none of us want to be in the hospital. It’s not like a vacation from reality, or a chance to ‘take naps all day’ like one idiot suggested. Being in the hospital sucks. 

It’s all also extremely expensive. So before you think about commenting on how my life would be better if I went cold turkey on all my meds… I want you to stop and really think about what you’re telling me to do. You are asking me to not only put my life in danger, but also possibly die. And for all of you out there who don’t have chronic illnesses or diseases, none of us “sick people” have a death wish. We actually want to get better.
So yeah, maybe I am a broken record. Maybe I have told you and others many times what is and isn’t okay to say to someone like me. I’m just hoping one of these days it’s going to stick. That one day, hopefully not too far in the distant future, I can have a conversation with someone that doesn’t involve their “great advice”. Because at the end of the day, unless you have the letters MD attached to the end of your name, your “advice” is more harmful than you know. Stick with what you do know. Be a friend. Be helpful. Listen. Read medical journals if you truly want to know about my disease. Read facts that don’t come from Yoga magazine or from your fave celebrities’ hairdressers best friends nutritionist who knows a guy that had a girl who has what I have. Stop talking about what you don’t know, and concentrate on what you do.’you have a friend who is ill, and she just needs you to listen, be kind, be thoughtful, and just be there.