The Big (not so) Beautiful Lie

When you are first diagnosed with chronic illness/pain, you are very quickly acquainted with dread and fear which are inextricably linked, in addition to overwhelming anxiety. Chronic illness and pain are something which are uniquely foreign to that which we are accustom to. These are not the flu or a cold, or a twisted ankle from tripping on a dog toy. This is something long term (hence the chronic), for which there is no easy remedy or medicine to cure it. Once you’ve been able to process the diagnosis and conquer the dread, you become more optimistic, regardless if you are naturally pessimistic. I think there is a natural, human desire to want to look at the most positive outcome when you are sick and especially, if you are in pain.

Research mode, typically follows this period of distress and positivity, and when I say research, I mean research. Whatever the ailment maybe you are delving into books, diving down the rabbit hole of Google and looking for anything you can find that might help you battle whatever it is you are fighting. You search for groups on Face Book where you can meet people who are going through the same thing, in hopes of not only finding some comradery, but maybe some clue in how to battle this thing and win. You become a person, previously with no knowledge on the subject- maybe not even knowing it was a disease at all, to someone who might as well have an honorary PhD. However, after all that fervor for learning, what happens next is very anticlimactic; nothing. You may find some things that alleviate some of the symptoms; you may walk away with a few new friends who become an extension of your support system, but you find little in the way that makes a dent in how you feel from day to day. (This can vary from person-to-person.)

Weeks go by; months go by; and sadly, for many of us, years go by with little change. What began as a moderately optimistic journey toward recovery becomes a portrait of self-criticism. What I mean is, doubt creeps into our psyche. Did I do something to cause this? Should I have changed my diet? Become Vegan? Should I have switched all my commercial cleaning agents to essential oils? Stopped drinking soda? Drank more green tea? The questions posed in this self-interrogation are endless and the questioning can continue quite a while, covering your entire childhood through your adulthood. It is this idea that if you were just able to do something different, either through your diet or what you are exposing yourself to externally, that you could get better, or better yet, cure yourself. This is the big, not so beautiful lie. This is what many of us zone in on, trying to assign blame to something, not being able to accept it might be the luck of the draw and that sometimes we simply don’t have control over what makes us ill.

Part of the fall-out from this is when strangers or even extended family members issue us advice on how to get better. There is an inward clenching and mental eye roll as we try to maintain our manners. It’s not their fault that they don’t understand, right? I wish I could be more forgiving when someone advises me on the fine attributes of turmeric, but the fact is, if I haven’t already tried it, it’s likely I know about it, courtesy of my intense research. This isn’t an effort to bash those that mean well, rather, it’s an effort to help them understand and by changing the way they word something, come across less assuming and more genuinely interested to help. Example: “You should be taking turmeric. It will help you feel a lot better. I read…” Instead, “In case you haven’t heard, I read turmeric is really good for inflammation…” or “Have you heard about turmeric? I learned it might help bring down inflammation…”
Lastly, if you are struggling with chronic illness/pain, remember it’s not your fault. Stop telling yourself these big, not so beautiful, lies and be kinder to yourself. You are already going through a lot, and self-blame will not help you.

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Chronic Suffering

To not have your suffering recognized is an almost unbearable form of violence. – Andrei  Lankov

**Trigger Warning**

 

As a community I feel we try to give the validation and understanding that many within our community aren’t receiving on the outside. I can’t say how many times I have read a post on a chronic illness board, and read how truly excited people are that for the first time they are understood and not alone. But while we may feel less alone when we venture to these community boards or Spoonie chats, eventually, we have to return to our reality, and for many of us that reality is incredibly lonely along with being incredibly painful.

When I talk about loneliness I do not necessarily mean the state of “being alone.” Many of us have family, kids, spouses and friends who are supportive and many of us have jobs and other hobbies and interests that keep us busy. The loneliness I am speaking of transcends beyond that which we associate with absence of people in our lives. This loneliness is insidious and pervasive because even in a room full of people we can still feel incredibly isolated and alone.  It’s a loneliness born from the isolation we feel as we endure the constant assault of pain on our bodies. This pain is not limited to the physical either, but the violence that takes shape through the neglect we feel, as our suffering goes unrecognized by so many, including those who love us and a medical community that is supposed to care for us. To a certain extent our effort to try and be normal, to buck up like good little soldiers and press on, to smile when we’d rather be crying and to sugar-coat how we are feeling to others when asked, has not done us any favors. It has left the perception among the “non-chronic,” that we aren’t quite as bad as we seem and worse, that we are lazy drug-seekers, looking to milk the system through disability. The indifference that we feel from those outside our chronic community is lethal.

Just for a moment, I want you to imagine with me this: You go from being a vibrant human being with friends and family, a great job and fulfilling hobbies, until one day you wake up sick. At first no one can tell you what is wrong even after test after test. Then, they tell you it’s all in your head and that you should get outside and exercise and you will feel better. Another doctor tells you to see a psychiatrist because he’s given up on finding anything and later on, pain management treats you with flagrant suspicion and red flags your chart as a drug seeker. In the mean time, your spouse (though they may love you) doesn’t know how to help you because they don’t understand what’s happened. You aren’t running a ridiculous fever and covered in lesions so why do you always hurt and why do you always feel so tired because you really do nothing all day? Your friends drop you like last season’s faux fur and if family wasn’t family you are pretty sure they would too. Working is reduced at first before being cut to part time before you can’t at all and you have to fight for disability. Anything else you once did for pure enjoyment is drastically reduced. You find yourself attached to the computer because it is a lifeline to normalcy, where you can talk to other people who understand this new reality. Then, when you are forced to leave those who have become surrogate family and friends, to be thrust back into an apathetic world you realize just how much you have lost and the knowledge of that can be too much to bear.

A few days ago I lost a friend I’d made on a chronic illness board. We’d been chatting back and forth and learned we were in the same city, planned on meeting after the holidays and then the holidays passed and I didn’t hear from her. But holidays are taxing and we all understand there are good days and bad days so I really didn’t think much when we celebrated New Year’s and I hadn’t heard from her. So when I received the message from her husband that she had reached the end of this battle with her illness and took her own life, I was devastated. The devastation coming from the intimate understanding of why she chose to end her life. This does not mean I am suicidal, or that anyone with chronic pain who has considered at some point, ending their own life is suicidal. I think that when you are living with pain that no one can control and you realize one day that it could be like this for 20-30 years, it can be an extremely daunting and terrifying thought. Also, let me say, that I am not condoning the act of suicide, merely saying that as someone who struggles with chronic pain and loneliness, that I can empathize with her thought process.

Her death is a tragedy. It is both a personal tragedy and human tragedy.  Her family will have to continue without her, enduring all those life moments with her  but it is  still  also reflective of something much larger. Her death sheds light on  the inadequate efforts taken to both understand and effectively treat chronic illness/pain, that may have prevented this entirely. Perhaps each and every suicide that is driven by interminable pain and loneliness, should be a teachable moment for those within the medical community and also, those making opioid laws, that they might endeavor to do better for those patients suffering. Perhaps, a picture of her face, and one for each of those countless others who have believed that their only option was to end their life should be assembled before lawmakers and hospitals and doctor offices, that they can see the true suffering that stole their life away.

*Written for National Pain Report 1.18.18. I chose to share it again because suicide among those with chronic pain is very real. No one should feel suicide is a better alternative to living because of the pain they’re in. No one should be pushed to suicide because they were force tapered from their medicine. We are not addicts.

When Calling the Doctor Feels Like You’re an Inconvenience

Scenario: It’s been roughly three weeks since you’ve seen your doctor. He/She prescribed new meds and you think you aren’t tolerating them well. The scenario could be anything you like, but how you question yourself remains the same just as your reluctance to call the doc up.

 

In my scenario I use the word think as a descriptor in how you are tolerating the medicine because in the grand scheme of the rainbow of symptoms, we, as chronic illness patients can sometimes feel, it is not always easy to determine the why of an onset of new symptoms. It is also difficult for me, to decide whether or not to call the doc and share with them the symptom, out of fear that it is all in my head or not really worth the docs time, and that it will go away in a couple of days. If you are like me there is a certain amount of agonizing before calling the doctor. You have a mental checklist that you have to mark off, nearly all the boxes, before it is deemed legitimate enough to call the doctor. Alright, maybe it’s more like guidelines, but ultimately, it’s a way that I feel my concern is serious enough to call the doctor.

But what is serious? What is serious to you and me are probably different, and what is serious to a doctor is definitely different. I’ve also seen enough doctors that I feel I can make the statement that, male and female doctors can see things differently. This isn’t a blanket statement, just an observation from the many doctors I’ve seen for myself and on behalf of my children. This confusion, as a result of differing bodies and differing doctors can make navigating what to do when something new crops up, very difficult. So difficult in fact, that I spend quite a deal of time stewing in my own anxiety, working myself up and probably making it worse. I wish all doctors made it easier for chronic illness and chronic pain patients to come to them when they had concerns. For example, my rheumatologist gave me her email. This is a great source of relief to me because I can bypass the staff and nurses, trying to explain what is going on and just  leave a message for her. Then, she can email me back advising me if I should come in for a visit, or something else I can do to ease the problem. This may not be something every doctor can do for every patient, but there should be some way bridge this difficulty. Life is already so difficult trying to manage chronic illness/pain. The majority of us come with comorbities that include a staggering number of symptoms that aren’t always there but fluctuate. It’s also pretty common to experience new symptoms that weren’t there before. For instance, I have developed an allergy to adhesive. Never had an issue before and I’ve had a lot of experience with them. It’s annoying.

I wish there was a way to improve the doctor/patient relationship so that the patient doesn’t feel like they are bothering the doctor and the doctor doesn’t feel like the patient is calling all the time. I do understand the need for a doctor to have some off time where they aren’t on call every day and every hour. I also think it is important that the patient feels they can come to their doctor with issues and not feel like they are troubling them. I don’t mind waiting until the end of business hours when they are not busy caring for other patients to get a call back. I don’t even mind if they just leave me a message. But I’ve had doctors not return my call for days, after which I had to take myself to the clinic, where I ended up needing additional meds. I’m not saying I know how to fix this issue, but I think it would be great to open up a discourse with the input of patients, to see how it could be fixed.

 

High Functioning and Disabled

What you see

is not how I feel.

A carefully crafted exterior

ghosting past 

friends, family and strangers

with that perfect smile-

doing everything I’m supposed to,

or close to it.

While in private, I collapse.

In private, I cry.

In private, I fall to pieces.

But before you see me again,

the pieces are taped together,

the smile arranged into place,

and the carefully crafted façade

is all you will see.

 

I first realized how dire my personal battle with pain was almost 15 months after I stopped working and I didn’t feel a noticeable difference. There had been some hope I’d been harboring, mostly in secret, that a little rest and relaxation would somehow, miraculously cure me. That truly brought the complex nature of my chronic illness/pain, into sharp focus for me. What was worse, was that now that I was considered a “house-wife” (and while I could write a whole other blog on the misogynistic origins of that term, what I simply mean here, is: not working outside the home) it seemed that I was even more busy than when I was working. There is this pervasive idea, that not being employed outside the home makes your life easier, when in fact, it does not. It does afford me some luxuries that working did not, such as: being able to take a nap when I need it, or the ability to spend a lot of time in the bathroom when I need to, but much of the time I am just as busy, or busier, than when I was going out to my job. Oh! And I do not get paid! However, this ill-descriptor leads both men and women to look at you with a measure of contempt, as though some great weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you should be elated and profoundly grateful for your situation. Oy…

 

Let me start by saying that I do not feel any resentment toward my “outside-working-counterparts.” I can’t fault them for their perceptions, however skewed it might be, partly because of how all facets of the media portrays those of us who stay home. I’ve mentioned before that lovely, turn of phrase, “staying at home and eating bon-bons.” Makes me grate my teeth till my jaw hurts, but I get it. At the same time, it’s those ill-conceived notions that make life so much harder for us who are struggling with chronic illness of chronic pain and spend the majority of our time at home. To bring this all together (finally) is that people, including friends and family and a good number of strangers, see me and many of us in the chronic world, as “high functioning.” Let me add here two things. The first, is that those who actually go out to work have an even harder time than I do. Their peers only see an individual who functions at work like a healthy person. The second, is that I added my situation within this definition of high-functioning because I consider my blog and my free-lance writing, my work and I also manage my house and everything that goes with that, from grocery shopping to cleaning and I also have all four of my children still living at home, in various stages of adult-ing. We are all seen as “high-functioning” though I would use “surviving” in its’ place. Many of my fellow warriors have no choice but to work. I have the luxury of being able to stay home, though “luxury” is not the word I’d use because we struggle a lot. I have a good partner, an empathetic partner, who knows that working outside the home was not only physically difficult, but mentally draining. I don’t want to be the kind of employee who misses work all the time or can’t keep up with my share of the work. It kills my self-esteem.

 

My biggest problem with “high-functioning” is that it fails to acknowledge my daily struggle. It fails to acknowledge the vast number of us that are defined this way solely because we’ve mastered the art of blending in. We’ve become as adept as a chameleon in masking how we feel because life does not simply come to a halt because we are having a bad pain or flaring. There is also a fear, for some, that if they are open with their situation that they might not have a job in the future or, that their employer may begin to scrutinize their work, looking for an excuse to let them go out of fear their job performance will eventually suffer. Slyly hiding within all this is the blind-eye we also feel from family members and friends and even strangers, with regards to our pain/illness. It never fails to surprise me how even those closest to me, evade the obvious.  It’s as though if they ignore it, it’s not there. There is also the continued attempt at comparing how I feel to how they feel after they’ve had a bad day. It puts me in quite a pickle because on one hand I am mentally screaming at how obtuse they are while on the other hand, I don’t want there to be this conversation about how I feel so much worse and ticking over the infinite number of symptoms and reasons why it’s not the same thing. Finally, there’s the pity that seems to be the go-to when they don’t know what else to say. I don’t want your pity, I don’t want to hear some cookie-cutter sympathy. I want you to stop for a minute and try to have some empathy. I want you to try to understand that while I might look “fine,” I’m far from fine and you don’t have to be psychic. What I have will never go away. You sprain your ankle or twist picking up a box, you might hurt for one or two weeks. I won’t ever wake up and feel better. You ache and feel miserable from the flu. A week later you’re up and around feeling better. I flare and feel like a train hit me sometimes and that won’t go away. It might for a few weeks, but it will happen again and again, no matter how hard I try. But I’m “high-functioning.”

 

It seems ridiculous to label someone “high-functioning” when all we are doing is living. Is there another option? Maybe I am being too sensitive about a label that implies I am doing pretty well for what is going on with me, but when that definition misleads people and gives them the wrong impression? Yeah, I take issue with it. I might look like I have it together, but I’m still disabled, I still struggle and the pain is very real.

Mistakes Made When Traveling

With Chronic Pain/Illness

 

We have friends who have a ranch about 5 hours from here, give or take with traffic. The drive, from my point of view, isn’t too bad on a mild pain day and we typically stop mid-way for snacks and just to get out for 2o minutes. The problem, however, is that even someone who writes about chronic pain/illness all the time is bound to make a mistake when traveling. Here are a few of mine from this past trip (I’m sure there are more).

 

  • Cover your bases: In effort to travel light I didn’t pack a sweater or jacket. Though I do better when the temperature starts dropping, I also seem to feel temperature changes more acutely, so when it drops below 70֯, I typically need a sweater. We left home at 90֯ and then arrived at the ranch bringing the rain with us and a drop-in temperature to about 60֯. I was freezing my butt off and miserable so that I couldn’t enjoy myself outside as much as I wanted to without shivering.
  • Don’t be a slave to fashion: I’ve been lamenting my jogger and legging wardrobe and wanting to wear my jeans again. I’ve never been stylish, but constantly in leggings and joggers has begun to wear me down a little and I do love jeans. I found two pairs in my closet that seemed to fit comfortably, but I only wore them for about 30 seconds. That didn’t stop me from bringing a pair along and instantly regretting it after the first 30 minutes. I was so very uncomfortable that I wanted to cry and realized how stupid I’d been to give into a sense of fashion when pain is involved. I have to take care of me and part of that is dressing in clothes that don’t make me want to cry.
  • IBS Doesn’t Go On Vacation Even When You Do: I had a good week in the IBS department so I was pretty optimistic for this little weekend excursion. But IBS doesn’t take a holiday and that second day, right after lunch, all hell broke loose. There is nothing more embarrassing than having a diarrhea flare up in someone else’s house. I did have medicine, which helped, but those damn jeans- ugh, I was so uncomfortable!
  • The Perils Of Eating On The Road: I’ve talked about before how stressful eating is when you are dealing with something chronic like IBS. My situation is like many others where it’s basically Russian roulette. I toggle between trying to be careful of every bite and not giving a damn because it doesn’t seem like there is any rhyme or reason to it. When you are traveling and maybe needing to eat on the road or perhaps like me, at a friend’s home whose cooking you are unfamiliar with, it can lead to issues. This experience has caused me to consider perhaps bringing some things in a cooler that I know don’t bother me so that I up the odds in my favor and maybe don’t have a flare.
  • Feeling High-Maintenance: I said no to bringing my heated blanket or an extra pillow or two. Seriously, WTF was I thinking? I’ll tell you what I was thinking: I’m so complicated. I’m so high-maintenance. I can’t just travel a weekend without bringing half my house. Slap-self-silly. I know it’s only a weekend, but it’s not something I can go without. I know I’ll hear that horrible term, high-maintenance, in my head, but if I’m going to travel I need to practice what I preach, right? I need to bring those self-care items with me or be left unnecessarily miserable the entire time.

 

I think the biggest issue is not wanting to inconvenience everyone. When I look at myself and these chronic issues I deal with life has very much become about things I can do to make my existence more comfortable. However, when I step outside that little box and I look at all the things I do from perhaps the perspective of someone who has no idea I deal with chronic issues, it appears that I am a spoiled brat, or high maintenance. Almost worse than that is the perception that I’m so sickly that I need all these things which can lead to being excluded from activities, or not thought about being included because surely, someone who needs all these extra things to be comfortable couldn’t do that. My husband is very active and has friends who are very active and I hate being seen as his wife whom he needs to take care of. There are a lot of things I can still do, I just have to think about how to do them. And sure, there are things I can’t do, but I want to make the decision myself. Thinking about how you might be inconveniencing other people diminishes your importance and also your enjoyment of the trip. The whole purpose of getting away, for a short period of time or long one, is being able to enjoy it. So bring the extra sweaters, bring the heated blanket, bring the cooler of snacks and drinks so that you can enjoy the time away.

 

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Chronically Seeking

I began the day writing about one thing and after a doctor appointment, decided to take a different route and write about something else. Something that I think many of my Spoonie friends out there understand. I am sitting here feeling frustrated and angry and like I am not being taken seriously. I feel like I have little in the way of choices and I wonder how many of you feel the same way I do. I am talking about our doctors.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not on a doctor witch hunt. I have and have had, excellent doctors. In fact, if it wasn’t for a few doctors I have had, I might not be here writing about this. So this is not a hate filled rant against doctors; this is, instead, something inspired by frustration and feeling very much like I am caught between a rock and a hard place.

This doctor that I speak of has not been terrible, either. In fact, for the most part, has been very good and very helpful. However, I feel that we haven’t been on the same page for a long time and in recent months, I’ve felt our paths diverging even more and also feeling as though they, too, are feeling the frustration of a patient with no clear “fix.” There is also a sense that they are focusing on me in parts and not as a whole and the problem with this view, in my opinion, is that these parts cannot be fixed because they are part and parcel to a much broader issue- Chronic illness, which, the majority of doctors do not know enough about. Instead, they look at parts. I can’t tell you how many surgeries I have had that were needless, because no one was seeing the broader issue. While I do have a doctor treating me for the broader issue, I still have other doctors who are integral to my treatment who don’t always have the same opinion.

This is my question and why I am writing this: if you don’t agree, how do you go about getting a second opinion, or looking for another doctor completely? For me, the first place I look is always my insurance. Are they on my insurance? Then, I typically look at where the doctor is located, because I am relying (most days) on my two eldest to drive me. It can be complicated with kids who are working and going to school to find an appointment, but I manage. The next thing I will look at is if there is any kind of feedback on Yelp or other doctor rating sites, because they help in deciding whether or not this might be the right doc for me. I understand that not all the reviews are honest or fair, but I try to come to my own conclusion. After considering all these things, I am not left with many choices. Using this as an example, only three. Two of which I have already seen and have proven to be as horrible as their reviews, and then my doctor. So, what is a patient left to do? Grin and bear it? That seems to be the motto among chronic patients everywhere because I think besides being limited in who we can see, there is also an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion because we have had to see so many doctors. We’ve had to weed out the good from the bad, sometimes after extensive testing, only to have to start from the beginning again. It’s tiring and emotionally exhausting.

What to do about it? I was sitting here brainstorming what I could do and then something funny struck me. Want ads. They should have want-ads or maybe a website catering to the chronically ill who are seeking physicians. I can write a great one. It would go something like this:

I am a 44-year-old, chronic pain and chronic illness patient. I am looking for a kind, empathetic physician who understands my plight and who can think outside the box. Moreover, I am looking for someone who isn’t afraid that I know more about my illnesses than they do, who will integrate a holistic approach, meaning looking at me as a whole person and not just parts that might be damaged. An added bonus would be someone who isn’t offended that I want to be a part of my care and not just simply follow directions based on their advice because I understand my body and how I am feeling better than anyone.

I think that is a brilliant ad, if I do say so myself, but I am not sure there would be any takers. Still, if anyone is considering an app that pairs up doctors to their patients and vice-versa, I’m all in. Until then, I remain, chronically seeking.

 

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The Trouble with Spoonies and Fun

Prepping for a Concert and the Flare to follow

Every Spoonie out there understands the consequences of doing too much. I think most of us try to balance work and home and any fun we do so it won’t stress out our body and we won’t have a flare. But sometimes flares are unavoidable. There are things in life we have to do, even fun things that we want to do and we weigh the options and go for it despite the likelihood of a flare. For instance, a recent early Anniversary gift from my hubby that I have known about for months: Evanescence and Lindsey Stirling tickets. The concert was this past Saturday and I’m still recovering. It was well worth it the seats were amazing and I enjoyed every minute of it, but the venue was difficult for me though it is a beautiful place. It is outdoors, the grounds are sprawling and unfortunately, I found their accessibility lacking. Handicap parking was first-come-first-serve and even our very early arrival, several hours before the first set, we still found nothing. The venue is out-doors and from the drop-off point to the actual pavilion where the concert takes place was quite a walk for me with my cane. It is also August, in Texas, which means it feels like you are just a few inches from the surface of the sun and I fall into a category of people whose body is not agreeable to the warm temperatures. I am not sure if I am in the minority, especially when you are talking about the heat here in Texas, which I think could offend even the most tropical of people but, I seem to fare better in cooler weather. I think I must have sweat about a gallon, no joke, even after 8pm when it was dark, it was still around 85 ̊. Even after living here almost 23 years, the heat just takes your breath away. You don’t get used to it, you just tolerate it and are grateful that most of the time you are in a/c. After the concert there was some difficulty in picking me up because I had wandered too far in migrating with the throngs of people leaving and I ended up having to walk around quite a bit in meeting up with the hubby, who ended up having to park in BFE. This post is a combination of two things that occurred to me afterwards: Things you can do to ease a flare the day after and, how you can prepare for an event (like a concert) better than I did.  I don’t go out much, in truth, so I suppose that is why I’m pretty shoddy at preparing. But where I fail, you, my friend will reap the benefit of hindsight!

5 Ways to Prep Before a Concert

1.)   The Venue: Do your homework! You can’t determine where a concert will be held but you can recon the venue so when you show up it’s not all a big -inconvenient- surprise.

2.)   Parking: Make sure you know where the disability parking is if you are able to use it. If you don’t have a placard or plates, try to find the most convenient place to park that day.

3.)   Call the venue: This one is the most challenging for me. I don’t like feeling like some prima-donna who needs special treatment. Don’t be like me. I mean it. I may have suffered quite needlessly all because of my own stubbornness something that may have had a solution had I called. Having a disability and needing special accommodations doesn’t make you spoiled. You are just wanting the same, reasonable access as everyone else. So, call the venue and see if they offer any services that can assist you in getting around better.

4.)   Clothing: Make sure you are comfortable for the event and season of the event, if it is outdoors. I must have changed four times before I settled on something that I felt would keep me the coolest and I am grateful I did. The black leggings that was my first choice, while comfy, would have been the death of me in the heat department. You want to enjoy yourself so don’t sacrifice comfort for style.

5.)   Ear Protection: This is huge. Typically, we always bring ear protection with us but this time we forgot and by the end of it I was not alone in my ear pain. Not to mention it triggering a migraine that luckily, I had brought meds for just in case. We use the squishy ones for the shooting range and they do not impair your hearing of the concert, just your ears. Even two days later, I am still experiencing ear pain.

I’m sure there are more ways to prep before a concert that I haven’t addressed. Please, feel free to share them with me.

5 Ways to Self-Care the Day After

1.)   Rest: This is the biggest and most important thing you can do for yourself. There is absolutely no shame in it and your body will recover faster if you take the time out for it instead of just trying to jump back into life.

2.)   Crock-Pot-Rescue: When you plan your meals for that week of, make sure to include a crock-pot dinner, or something equally easy, for the day after the concert. This is part of self-care and resting.

3.)   Netflix and Cuddle: Or Hulu, or Amazon or Crunchy Roll! It doesn’t matter, just grab your favorite cuddle bug, sprawl out and indulge in your favorite movie snack and relax. It’s amazing what cuddling can do in combination with relaxation.

4.)   Bath or shower: Grab your favorite essential oil or bubble bath and sink in. If sinking in is not an option you can still drop some essential oils into the shower and just luxuriate in the hot water and soothe muscles and psyche while inhaling the fragrant scent.

5.)   Pamper yourself: Pick that one favorite thing you never indulge in and do it. It doesn’t mean you have to go out anywhere either. Love getting your nails done? Grab your favorite color and set up a comfy spot and paint your nails. Never have time to read? Here’s your chance! Make a nest on your bed and curl up with that book you’ve been meaning to get to. Sky is the limit and remember, you don’t need to wait for a flare to do these things either. Self-care can be any day of the week.

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