Being 24.

Sometimes I wish I were still completely naive; sometimes I wish I were off adventuring the skyscrapers of Chicago or the mountains and valleys out west or even sitting at a cafe in Germany typing a new travel blog post, book or even a letter to my family.  But I am here in Wisconsin dealing with the fear of leaving this area.  The fear of developing Thoracic Outlet Syndrome on my right side. The fear of running down a country road solo and getting a blood clot with no one around to save me. The fear of running out of money with endless medical bills. The fear of not letting anyone take my heart because they will have to deal with my TOS.  The fear of guilt when I look in the mirror and my reflection is once again a child, lollipop in mouth, covered in dirt.  The fear of my freedom fully taken away. The fear of giving up being me.

The last year has been quite challenging.  I've been tested in several different ways.  I've lost lots of loved ones, and gained a few new ones.  I've felt true defeat, both mentally and physically.  I've felt hatred for my body, but also undying love.  I've built up my patience and positive mentality.  I have been knocked down, only to pick myself back up.  I've felt lost in a sea of fog, unknowing of the next storm and unsure if I will make it to shore in one piece. Will I battle through the waves endlessly on driftwood, unable to grasp the life I once always held onto?  Or will I sail to safety?

I ponder this quite often, all my trials and tribulations.  I often question most experiences.  I wonder if other people my age learn life lessons such as the ones I'm about to share with you or if they learn them years down the road, sometimes too late.  There are days I feel so alone, even knowing damn well that countless people have been burdened with the same condition I have.  I am a part of the groups and I have become friends with some and talk to others when they seek advice.  I look up statistics.  I always try to be positive for other people's benefit.  I write this blog and share it to comfort others with chronic pain.  Sometimes I think it's what I was meant to do during my time on this planet.

I would like to share with you a reflection.  This entails secrets in life that I've learned already at the ripe age of 24.  Secrets we all as human beings should learn through the course of life.  However, I've learned them the incredibly hard way, and all at once.



Find the silver lining.

One of the most important things I've learned in this year is: There's always a silver lining.  I imagined my last year of life.  I remember positive experiences like kisses, nights out with friends, sitting by a toasty bonfire, unwrapping Christmas presents.  They stick out in my mind and make me feel 'warm and fuzzy' inside I guess you could say.  However, I am scarred by the negative experiences.  Days and days and days of pain, fatigue and questioning happiness.  Those days turned into blurs of leaves and dust sweeping away into the wispy wind.  They emptied and faded my skin, my mind, my soul.  Left me deteriorating into little grains of sand floating in the breeze.  Before I started developing symptoms of TOS and being diagnosed, I would be completely distraught if my plans went awry.  I would fake happy and say everything was fine and boil inside, or the pot would boil over onto the floor.  I have learned to flip that upside down.  Having a bad day Kelsey?  Nothing going your way?  Battery dead on your car, pain from your nose to belly button, no food in the fridge for your

stomach that doesn't even want it?  Guess what:  Your cats know you're upset.  They sympathize by laying on your lap, comforting you.  You just created a beautiful piece of art that will shine for the rest of your life, even if you're the only one proud.  You made a lady's day at Walmart by complimenting her lovely locks after seeing her almost cry.  You only have three dishes to wash.  Hell, that's a lot better than a sink full.  Nothing beats a silver lining, whether it be a chocolate, a small accomplishment, a kiss; it's all relevant in maintaining a sane, happy mind.

Empathy.

Not everyone in life is going through a chronic pain condition.  Not everyone in life has to completely plan out a day to make sure there will be enough energy.  Not everyone has to make sacrifices and give up things they love.  But everyone is going through their own battles, whether big or small.  I went to the doctor for a routine medication check up and my nurse wasn't the daisy of all daisies.  In fact, she was incredibly short with me, barely looked me in the eye and kept cutting me off.  Instead of looking at it as complete and utter disrespect, I took it as an initiative to continue being polite.  As I was driving home, I realized that I have no idea what happens before she arrives to work, gets into the examination room and what happens when she goes home from work.  She may have had one of the worst mornings of her life and couldn't separate work life from home life.  As my condition continues and days get what seems more complicated, I find myself understanding a lot more about people's situations and lives.  We all may be battling wars big or small and in separate ways, but it doesn't hurt to send a smile or a 'hello' someone's way.


Patience.
The waiting game, as I like to call it, is the time frame between doctor appointments.  I make a doctor appointment, wait for insurance to accept while getting updates back and forth from them to the doctor office.  I meet with the doctor and he or she tells me there is only so much one doctor can do before handing me off to another without fully knowing what my body is up to.  I say, thank you for your help, I appreciate the referral to the next doctor, and leave completely distraught.  Then I make a phone call to my primary doctor to put in the referral for the next doctor.  Time ticks away, sometimes weeks, as my insurance company reviews the next doctor.  They finally accept and upon calling the new doctor's office, I find out the next doctor appointment is weeks or months out.  Upon that appointment, I get a new medication or new injection and wait to see if it works while waiting out the side effects before seeing another doctor.  This is a meticulously exhausting routine.  You'd think I would give up hope and melt to a puddle on the exam floor, but I always remind myself that my newly found patience will carry me through.  I remind myself that the world doesn't revolve around me and sometimes life isn't going to go my way.  Patience will carry through and whatever happens, happens.

Let yourself feel.

One of the biggest hardships I have is bottling my emotions.  Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed trying to figure everything out that I don't take time to feel the raw emotions running through my body.  If I find a beautiful scene outside while walking, I take time to completely appreciate and feel bliss before moving on.  If I need to cry because I feel sorry for my body, I let the tears run.  If I'm angry with someone for interrupting me, I speak my mind.  It's time to cut the crap; I'm 24 and I'm never going to get any younger.  Why go through life walking on egg shells around your own mind?  Let yourself feel, and your body will thank you.

Dance.

Sometimes, life never seems to be going in the right direction.  Sometimes, everything seems to be causing pain, negativity, stress and hardship.  And sometimes, you need to dance.  I've found myself scanning the Pandora on my iPod, unaware of how I became utterly miserable.  I shake my head as if I'm ridding the thought and turn on an upbeat station.  I grab Ellington in my arms and start the cha cha with his furry little paws.  For a few minutes, all my worries flow into the melody that is dancing around my small Wisconsin apartment.  I slide my feet on the linoleum floor as all the stress escapes from my waving limbs.  For a few minutes, my mind is at ease and I escape the pain.  Once the music stops, and I am again faced with the reality of my body pain.  But I am overwhelmingly happier.  Music has always been an outlet for my emotions, and I am never going to take it for granted.  Every person going through something difficult should try to find their 'cha-cha.' I promise you:  In the end, it helps.

Enjoy and respect the body.

I remind myself every day to listen to my body.  If I'm tired, I need to rest.  If my collarbone hurts, I need to ice it.  If I'm stressed, I need to take a deep breath and do something that makes me happy.  Of all the things I'm going through, stress is the last thing I want to affect my body and mind.  I love my body, even if it's a little broken.   Here's what happened when I developed Thoracic Outlet Syndrome:  I was trapped with myself every day, pain free or not.  My mind wanted to be a free spirit but my body was plastered onto my bed, aching for pain meds and relief.  I'm anxious because I can't escape my own skin.  But then I looked at the big picture and started accepting my body for what it is:  Beautiful.  Why lay in pain hating the body, when it's only trying to support me and heal as fast as it can?  When my mind wonders from optimism, I ground myself by reciting what I love most about myself:  My soft skin mixed from both of my parent's beautiful genes, my ability to tickle my own feet, my curly unruly hair, my ears and especially my heart.  In my mind, one truly cannot be happy until one loves every ounce, vessel, pore and fingernail on the body.  I respect my body, even the mangled first rib that was causing the perfect storm to rip through my entire being.

And finally, equanimity
If you notice on my posts, I usually sign off with "Equanimity."  The definition is:

noun

1.

mental or emotional stability or composure, especially under tension or strain; 

calmness; equilibrium.

I practice equanimity every day.  It's my 'bliss' word to calm me down in difficult situations.  Saying it out loud or writing it in cursive instantly relaxes me and reminds me that life is unpredictable and I need to let fate take the wheel.  I cannot simply control all aspects of my life; I cannot control my pain, fatigue, and dizziness just like I cannot control which way the wind blows.  But I can control how I battle each and every gust.  And I handle that with equanimity.




Equanimity,

Kelsey