Hellloooo!

Hello again, blogging-world. Miss me? I missed you. But I needed to take some time off for self-care. It’s been frustrating, to say the least. I think we can all agree, that when you suffer with more than one chronic illness, things can get a little hairy from time to time. Your body lets you know, in no uncertain terms, that you’re it’s bitch. (I really tried to phrase that more eloquently, but let’s face it, there’s nothing eloquent about this situation.)

If you’ve been keeping up with my blog, you know that I’m quite overwhelmed with several different things going on. If this is your first time here, I battle R.A., fibromyalgia, ankylosing spondylitis, IBS-d (but I think that is shifting to a mixed form), sacroiliac joint dysfunction, seizures, degenerative disc disease, psoriatic arthritis and migraine. Everyday is different. Somedays I actually feel what passes for good, in my world. In a non-chronically-ill-person, that would translate to something less than good. Crappy, in fact. I deal with it all as it comes, trying to make the best of the days I feel good and where I am not suffocating from pain or debilitated by symptoms.

These last two weeks have been an extended affair of miserable, but I am feeling as though I am finally bridging over the worst part and may be coming out the other side. When I am feeling my worst, I practice a lot of self-care, which for me includes: hot baths with Epsom salt, listening to mixes on Spotify, devouring Twitter and Instagram, taking a lot of pictures of my adorable cat and dog and spending a lot of cuddle time with the Mister. Unfortunately, the Mister was gone this weekend for his one-a-month Air Force gig, so I had to cuddle with the cat and dog, but we made up for it when he got home last night and plan to do more today, after his work.

In my blog, I focus a lot on issues I see in this chronically-ill-world. I also write about the discrimination I see in the disability world. I share my experiences in both those areas, as well as mental health. Some of my chronic conditions not listed above, have to do with mental health, as I am bipolar, struggle with OCD and PTSD and severe anxiety. As many people can relate, when my chronic illness is flaring, I tend to feel a spike in my mental health issues. Meaning, my anxiety ramps up, my OCD goes a little bonkers and I may get depressed or even slightly, manic. It’s all very interconnected. Today, my writing is more, catch-up. Less focusing on specific things, but rather this monster of chronic illness as a whole. It really is like a vast eco-system, and when something is off, or when something is out of control and flaring, it bounces off and affects the other things. These last two weeks, I think I might have gotten a glimpse of how our actual eco-system is feeling in the midst of all this climate change. It’s been brutal.

I had started a chat on Twitter (which you can follow me @lovekarmafood) on whether or not to take the chance with another gastroenterologist. Something else I am sure you understand, is when you know something is wrong with your body and you don’t feel the doctor is understanding or listening, but being afraid to find a new doctor and having to start from scratch again with tests and meds because, frankly, it’s exhausting. Not only is it physically exhausting having to go to the appointments, but it’s mentally and emotionally exhausting. I am pretty close to starting that search for a new doctor, especially after this week. It was probably the worst IBS flare of my life, with stomach pain that was worse than labor pain and was reminiscent of Aliens for me. But I didn’t go to the hospital. I’ve been there before for an IBS flare and it was not worth the visit. Once they know you have something chronic, they do their best to make you comfortable, but pretty much tell you to see your doctor. And in this day and age with the opioid hysteria, I’m not sure what “comfortable” would mean. Sometimes I feel that as an advocate for chronic illness/pain, and as a writer, chronicling her journey through this illness and pain, it should be easier for me to vocalize with doctors what I am feeling and what I am going through, but I’ve learned something. Doctors (not all) have a way of making you feel that they know best. Some come off as arrogant, while others come off more like a parent, but either way makes you feel like you don’t even know your own body. It’s terrible. And partly the reason for my reluctance in finding a new doctor. But I would really like to feel better, long term, with this IBS.

So that is a little about what’s been going on in my life. Stay tuned for the next time where I’ll be talking about our non-spoonie friends and their well-meaning, but irritating: “I hope you feel better soon,” followed by, “You’re not really disabled,” for my friends (like me) with disabilities.

Grief of Chronic Illness/Pain

Yesterday, I cried.
It was a hard week for me, on top of which, my partner was gone for his military duty. It’s not anything unusual, I’ve been without him for longer stretches of time. In fact, he’ll be gone for a week soon and then in the summer, three weeks. But, this small stretch of time he was gone, was profoundly difficult for me.

I’m extremely lucky in that my children are, for all intents and purposes, adults. They range in age from 24 to 18 (all girls) and my youngest, will in fact, be graduating this spring. However, we’re still waiting on the younger two, to get their driver’s license. There really hasn’t been an urgent need for them to get their license with two older siblings and with only one of us working, we’ve been trying to delay the spike in our insurance again.

I do have help from my older two daughters. I often need them to run errands or pick up one of their sisters, especially when I am not feeling well. However, with the three older ones working shift-work, there are times when it falls on me to shuttle someone to work or school or bring them home. Luckily, they do not work or go to school far however, on those days when I am feeling especially bad, there is no other choice but to press on. My function as Mom has not ceased because I have chronic illness and pain; my function as Mom doesn’t get easier on days I don’t feel well. Sisters have fights; there’s drama on occasion and I have to be there regardless if I am sick and regardless if my husband is not there. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. Sometimes, I break.

When he came home yesterday, I had a meltdown over something stupid. I realized everyone, including him, was looking at me like I lost my mind. He’d been gone and it hadn’t been a fun time for him either, and instead of expressing happiness that he was home, I got irrationally angry over something stupid. When we retreated into the bedroom to talk the anger dissolved into tears with me nearly sobbing. I was flooded with emotion and frustration over what chronic illness has robbed me of; continues to rob me of. Four years past from when this all began and I still continue to mourn my past self.

I write about chronic illness. I write about mental health. These are things I am intimately familiar with. I often read about how chronic illness and pain can cause depression and anxiety but in the context of a person who doesn’t already have this. I am bipolar with anxiety and OCD and I can tell you, that my chronic illness and pain have a profound effect on my mental health. The only analogy I can conjure is that of torture. Chronic illness and pain are a continuous assault to the body and mind. There is no respite from it, and if there is that brief space where you can breathe, it is short-lived, as the recurrence of symptoms and pain seizes your body violently and steals your breath. Now, imagine being tortured and having to continue with your day- continue with all the responsibilities entailed in that day- with a smile. Most people can’t understand what that must be like. It was certainly the furthest thing from my mind four years ago. Four years ago, pain, was something that could be fixed.

I try to live the best life I can. Most days I wake up with a sense of purpose and a positive frame of mind. I have to. I have a family who depends on me and while they may not depend on a paycheck, they depend on all sorts of things from me. Most of all, they depend on me being there as best friend/wife, mother, daughter and friend. These are the things I think about when I’m on that downward slide. But there are times when I need to cry and it’s okay. It’s letting a little of that ‘emotional steam’ out of the pot so I don’t explode like I did yesterday. We often hear about being positive and having motivation but this life we’ve been given is not an easy one and we aren’t un-feeling things. We need to cry and flail and get out our frustration or we’ll explode and become very resentful of our situation.

Yesterday, I cried, but today is another day. I respect my tears and treat them as a stepping stone; something that is needed for me to continue to thrive in order to be able to deal with this life I’ve been given. So, let yourself cry.

Please stay tuned for more blogs this month as I devote March to Chronic Illness/Autoimmune Disease Awareness.
Thank you for reading and supporting my blog.

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The Problem With Comorbities

It all began with one chronic illness- or did it?

At times, I wonder how this all began for me. I was never the poster child for health, but neither was I on the sidelines of life as much as I am now. I think if not all of us with multiple chronic conditions, then surely a great many of us, ask themselves the ever-looming question of: ‘How did this all start? What did I do?’ I think about this often and as I have discussed in my post On Becoming Sherlock, it feels like I am always trying to connect the dots; trying to find that Holy Grail of answers to why I am sick.

Recently, I have been more frustrated with my comorbidities than usual. It’s as though I have reached a tipping point and I am not sure when it happened or if it is more related to the symptoms of each chronic issue, rather than the issue itself. In the beginning, it was pretty easy. I grew up with asthma and allergies, which often led to chronic sinus and bronchitis. But I was a kid and I suppose, while it sucked, I assumed I’d grow out of it. Amusingly enough, I grew out of a lot of things like my allergy to chocolate and cats and dogs, but my asthma stayed and when I get sick it nearly always turns into bronchitis. As an adult, I traded more child-hood illnesses for more grown-up ones and I wish I could swap.

At first, it was manageable and there was the illusion that with each surgery, I might be cured. Bulging disc became laminectomy, which later on evolved to spinal fusion. Avascular necrosis in my left hip was treated with core decompression, which eventually turned into total hip replacement. Sacroiliac Joint Fusion became SIJD Fusion. I’ve had surgeries for carpal and cubital tunnel, surgery for tennis elbow and surgery for torn meniscus. Still not feeling well, I fought to find that magic diagnosis, the reason to why I needed so many surgeries before 40. That is when the gates were thrown open and a flood of answers came forth.

Degenerative Disc Disease, Fibromyalgia, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Psoriatic Arthritis, and Chronic Pain from failed surgeries. Let’s not forget that my Asthma did not go away, I also developed Chronic Migraine and in the mental health department I was diagnosed as Bipolar II when I was 22, but I also developed OCD, Anxiety and PTSD (which is more PTS these days as symptoms are generally controlled.) My point to all this, is when I am unfortunate enough to have to go the hospital, or have to venture out to a new doctor and I get that dreaded question of, “Do you have any health issues you take medication for regularly?” I freak out. I freak out because scene one is that I whip out my handy-dandy cheat-sheet, a piece of note-book paper with everything listed and hand it over, where I get the “look” from the nurse. You know that look. Or scene two, try to remember everything off the top of my head, which is probably not the best idea given my Swiss-cheese-of-a-brain, rattle off a handle full of stuff and sounding like I am trying-out for a High School play (a part I am not going to get) and still get the “look.” As though I am making stuff up, because, you know, everyone wants to have a ridiculous number of things wrong with them at a near 45 yrs. old.

However, after this deluge of diagnoses, I am no where near a cure and I feel the weight of these comorbities heavy, on my shoulders. I’m pretty sure you can relate, so I’m sharing with you my:

Top 6 Problems with Comorbities

• The Roulette Wheel: Constantly feeling like my life is the personification of a roulette wheel and every morning I wake up it’s the big spin of the wheel of symptoms to see which ones are going to act up.
• Symptom Management: The act of simply juggling my symptoms and trying to manage my pain is exhausting. I (we) are the center of our own universe and all of us have responsibilities outside our health. That never stops.
• Treatment (natural or medical): Another problem encountered when you treat one disease and it wreaks havoc on the other(s). You feel like you are constantly chasing your tail and feel as though you are destined never going to be able to get ahead of this.
• Ripple Effect: A flare here means a flare there, and there, and there, and there…ugh. It’s like a domino effect of your illnesses that make your head spin.
• New vs Old: Not knowing if a new symptom is just another symptom of an already established issue or if it is something new entirely, AND THEN, which doctor to call.

I hope this made you laugh, and even if it didn’t, I hope you know you are not alone. We’re all in this crazy, chronic life together and whether near or far, we’re connected because of it. As always, thank you for reading.

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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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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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