I am 24 years old, about to turn 25. My journey with Thoracic Outlet Syndrome started around age 19, with vague symptoms beforehand leading up to it. At that age, you wouldn't see me on the couch or in bed. I was driven, hard-working and motivated with every activity.
Since surgery, I have envisioned the next couple of months. I picture myself healed. I picture myself kayaking for hours, only leaving the water as the sun sets. I picture myself up at 6 a.m. ready for my workout routine, going to work, coming home and doing laundry while making my dinner and even have time to clean the turtle tank. I picture myself active once again.
The reality is that there is no timeline for healing with my body. I'm not sure when that 'feel-good' moment will happen and it's beginning weigh down my happiness. I'm scared that once I start physical therapy, it will take a very long time for me to get back to where I used to be. I was already stir-crazy before my second surgery, and completely fed up after my first surgery in 2014. The searing pain starting in my ear and running down the back of my head and neck finally ending in my shoulder blade is enough to make me want to rip my hair out. My inability to lift over 5 pounds makes me feel weak. Asking my boyfriend to do my dishes is demeaning and having energy to do them one moment and then not the next is confusing.
I've woken up during the night after dreaming of doing yoga. I dream of climbing mountains and swimming vast open waters and taking a midnight jog. My smile is content, hungry, eager for more. I look strong and motivated. I look healthy. I usually wake up in a pool of sweat and pain as I roll over to get comfy. My mind races as I try to venture back into dreamland.
Today, I would like to go back to work. I talked with my mom about it many times. My fear is that I will get there and it will be too much. I'm scared I will over-work myself and cause too much pain or even worse: not work hard enough and look lazy. With chronic pain, it's one end of the spectrum or the other. So I've decided I'm not quite there yet. I want to feel confident going back that no matter what the outcome, it won't affect me mentally.
However, staying home all day with little human contact is strange. I'm so stir crazy that I want to move to the other side of the world thinking that I can run away from TOS and go back to my normal life. I know it's silly; thinking I can run away from my pain and problems. Normal people want to run away from job stress, money problems, relationship struggles. I just want to be pain-free so I can join society once again as an independent, strong working woman. I want to feel confident about the work I put into each and every day. I want to count my blessings as I head to the gym after a 10 hour work day. I want my parents to be proud of the strong young woman I've become. And I'm not at that point as I am nearing 25. I don't like it, and I can't wait to change it. Although my body isn't the strongest, my motivation is. It's the fire that fuels me. It's the fire that makes me get up still every single day, with pain or without, challenging me to become a better person. It's the fire that is going to get me back to good, but even better.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label advice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advice. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Winter Recovery
I've always hated the cold.
I've always despised shivers. Numb feet and hands. Raw nose.
But I've always loved the crunch of fresh-fallen snow under my boots.
The outlines of every branch highlighted by a light dusting in the morning.
Building snowmen.
I try to find the good in everything. The colder Wisconsin months out of the year usually wind up giving me pneumonia or bronchitis. It's not Winter's fault! At least that's what I try to tell myself. It's my suppressed immune system from the depressing thoughts in my mind that translate to a weakened and fragile state. But it's not Winter's fault. It's just a coincidence I get sick every year.
This year I was hoping to not catch the bug. Three weeks post-op and here I sit sniffling, wrapped tight in a fuzzy suede-colored blanket, reaching for a roll of toilet paper on top of the coffee table. I blow my nose hoping to get whatever mucus is left glued tight in my sinus cavity. I angrily throw the crumpled up tissue into the trash bin while trying to decide if it's time for more cough medicine. I can't remember. I can't even remember the dosage my doctor told me while I sat on the exam table trying with all my mite not to sneeze or cough in his face. My eyes were watering; that's all I remember. A respiratory infection. Swollen Lymph Nodes. Whatever. My body can't focus on two things at once, what did I expect? My immune system is trying to figure out why the fuck it's down a rib and then this bug strolls in undercover, looking all cool with dark shades and a trench coat so my mind doesn't think otherwise. I wouldn't have alerted the authorities either with a cool demeanor like that.
Today, I am writing out of sheer anger, bored-ness, and loneliness. There's a void I have that can only be filling with writing. To you. My chronic darlings. Are you out there?
Recovery is such a silly thing. I went into it thinking it was going to be a breeze. I've been sitting on my butt already for the last couple years wishing and waiting. What's a few more weeks? But I was wrong. I should have prepared myself mentally. The pain I can handle. It's the constant sadness that gets to me. Is this what postpartum depression feels like? The event of surgery was so great and big and everything that led up to it was emotional, spiritual, complicated. And then all of the sudden nothing. I knew I wasn't going to be healed instantly; but did my mind fully understand that?
It took having my mother wash my 24-year old self in the bath tub while wearing a swimming suit to hit the rock bottom of emotions. I was sick to my stomach. My pride was hurt. Everything that happened within the last few years from all the doctors, tests and diagnosing to a failed surgery and failed relationships and one failed friendship just instantly came back and slugged me in the stomach. It hurt to breathe knowing what I've all gone through. What I've lost. What I can't get back no matter how fixed I became. While my body is repairing itself and recovering, my mind is still lost at sea.
I hate feeling helpless. I've already hurt myself a dozen times lifting things I shouldn't and this and that. The doctors give you restrictions to abide by, and a list of things to avoid. What they don't tell you is if you're alone all day and most nights like me, you're screwed.
I had to start scheduling my showers when my boyfriend was over so I wouldn't fall, or he could help scrub my hair. I tried not to use a lot of dishes because they would sit for a week until someone would hand-wash them. Whether snowed in or not, the first couple weeks I was trapped, unable to drive myself anywhere or blow off steam. These things were hard to adjust to but alas, I handled it.
The hardest part of my recovery is the hours and hours alone without human contact. I've gotten cards and get-well packages and they made my days a lot easier. But being a social person, nothing is fully grasping my needs. Netflix is boring, books are tasteless. There is an allotted amount of time you should be talking to your animals, and I've exceeded it by plenty.
If I could go back before my surgery to change anything, it would be to devise a plan post-surgery. I know I can fix it still (which I have been) but it's still difficult with a foggy mind and less energy. Here are a few tips to make your post-surgery better:
1. Seek out a 911 buddy.
Not as in 'I need to go to the hospital 911,' but instead the 'I'm feeling the blues and I need to talk.' Even someone to check in on you from time to time. Yes, I have my boyfriend and some closer friends, but I didn't establish that I needed help before my surgery so now it's weird to admit. I'm a stubborn person, so it will take an army for me to admit that I need help.
2. Plan light trips.
Have an idea for that empty space on the wall in your dining room? Look for ideas on Pinterest, grab a friend and go to Hobby Lobby. Although you may not be able to complete it for a few weeks (without the help of your significant other, relative etc.) it's something to get your mind running and looking toward the future positively. Another idea is science museums, art museums, matinee movies; anything that will satisfy your mind.
3. Buy a self-help book.
Whether it's for depression, healing, moving on, or a book about weight-loss, prepare yourself for post-surgery blues. This is one thing that has been helping me tremendously. I focused in on two people that I look up to: Toni Bernhard and Chelsea Handler. Yes, two completely different people, but both on healing-ish paths. Toni Bernhard has two books, "How to be sick" and "How to heal" that gives her own examples on self healing as well as things she has learned from the spiritual Buddhism route. Anything I find helpful to me at the time, I highlight or underline. Chelsea Handler has inspired me because she is just as stubborn as I am. She has a few books documenting her screwed-up childhood and her rise to fame. She also has a netflix series called, "Chelsea Does" that talks about certain subjects that interest her. Her life along with her humor and passions fascinate me and it makes for good down-time if I'm ever feeling depressed.
4. Start writing.
You don't need to be Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss or even Ghandi to write. And it doesn't have to be a book. Hell, it doesn't even need to be a paragraph. When you're mad, write down that you're mad. Express why you're mad. Express your exact feelings. Then crumple it up and toss it in the trash. When you're happy, write down exactly what is making you feel this incredible mood. No one ever needs to read these, or if you want to share with your loved one, you may. This is more of an emotional release for your mind. Sometimes when I am angry, I can't think straight. I go on bouts of not being able to write because of the anger. It scrambles the words and thoughts in my head and creates a foggy haze over my creativity. Writing down my emotions (like I am today) releases my creativity back into the clouds that eventually drops it into your hands.
5. Tell yourself about gratefulness.
Express every single day why you're grateful to be alive. Express why you're happy to wake up in the morning. Even on the toughest days, try to shed light. I'll give you an example. Today, I woke up extremely sick, more sick than I was when this cold first barged in. I realized I needed to see the doctor which is twenty minutes away. I am still in pain so I avoid driving more than a couple minute trips. My parents or boyfriend couldn't take me so I went alone. Upon leaving the doctor's office with the diagnosis mentioned above, I noticed winter storm "Bucky" had already arrived, complicating my travel a bit. After sliding on the roads, not being able to get my medications from the pharmacy for an hour because my insurance number switched, I pulled into my garage in tears. I was so sick and exhausted from a 4 hour out-of-the-house stint. I got inside and took a deep breath and thought, "I am grateful because I got home safely from the doctor's office, and now I can take my medication to stop coughing, heat up some homemade soup from my dad and relax." Thinking about this as I sat down with my hot soup instantly changed my perception of the day. I shouldn't be cranky that all those unfortunate things happened, I need to be grateful for the medication and that I'm fortunate enough to be able to have medication at all.
Remember, there are plenty of free websites and hotlines for depression. Never be afraid to reach out for help. Here are a few:
http://www.yourlifeyourvoice.org/Pages/ways-to-get-help.aspx
http://samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/
http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=urgent_crisis_hotline
It's not giving in to your dark side, it's letting a little light back in.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
I've always despised shivers. Numb feet and hands. Raw nose.
But I've always loved the crunch of fresh-fallen snow under my boots.
The outlines of every branch highlighted by a light dusting in the morning.
Building snowmen.
I try to find the good in everything. The colder Wisconsin months out of the year usually wind up giving me pneumonia or bronchitis. It's not Winter's fault! At least that's what I try to tell myself. It's my suppressed immune system from the depressing thoughts in my mind that translate to a weakened and fragile state. But it's not Winter's fault. It's just a coincidence I get sick every year.
This year I was hoping to not catch the bug. Three weeks post-op and here I sit sniffling, wrapped tight in a fuzzy suede-colored blanket, reaching for a roll of toilet paper on top of the coffee table. I blow my nose hoping to get whatever mucus is left glued tight in my sinus cavity. I angrily throw the crumpled up tissue into the trash bin while trying to decide if it's time for more cough medicine. I can't remember. I can't even remember the dosage my doctor told me while I sat on the exam table trying with all my mite not to sneeze or cough in his face. My eyes were watering; that's all I remember. A respiratory infection. Swollen Lymph Nodes. Whatever. My body can't focus on two things at once, what did I expect? My immune system is trying to figure out why the fuck it's down a rib and then this bug strolls in undercover, looking all cool with dark shades and a trench coat so my mind doesn't think otherwise. I wouldn't have alerted the authorities either with a cool demeanor like that.
Today, I am writing out of sheer anger, bored-ness, and loneliness. There's a void I have that can only be filling with writing. To you. My chronic darlings. Are you out there?
Recovery is such a silly thing. I went into it thinking it was going to be a breeze. I've been sitting on my butt already for the last couple years wishing and waiting. What's a few more weeks? But I was wrong. I should have prepared myself mentally. The pain I can handle. It's the constant sadness that gets to me. Is this what postpartum depression feels like? The event of surgery was so great and big and everything that led up to it was emotional, spiritual, complicated. And then all of the sudden nothing. I knew I wasn't going to be healed instantly; but did my mind fully understand that?
It took having my mother wash my 24-year old self in the bath tub while wearing a swimming suit to hit the rock bottom of emotions. I was sick to my stomach. My pride was hurt. Everything that happened within the last few years from all the doctors, tests and diagnosing to a failed surgery and failed relationships and one failed friendship just instantly came back and slugged me in the stomach. It hurt to breathe knowing what I've all gone through. What I've lost. What I can't get back no matter how fixed I became. While my body is repairing itself and recovering, my mind is still lost at sea.
I hate feeling helpless. I've already hurt myself a dozen times lifting things I shouldn't and this and that. The doctors give you restrictions to abide by, and a list of things to avoid. What they don't tell you is if you're alone all day and most nights like me, you're screwed.
I had to start scheduling my showers when my boyfriend was over so I wouldn't fall, or he could help scrub my hair. I tried not to use a lot of dishes because they would sit for a week until someone would hand-wash them. Whether snowed in or not, the first couple weeks I was trapped, unable to drive myself anywhere or blow off steam. These things were hard to adjust to but alas, I handled it.
The hardest part of my recovery is the hours and hours alone without human contact. I've gotten cards and get-well packages and they made my days a lot easier. But being a social person, nothing is fully grasping my needs. Netflix is boring, books are tasteless. There is an allotted amount of time you should be talking to your animals, and I've exceeded it by plenty.
If I could go back before my surgery to change anything, it would be to devise a plan post-surgery. I know I can fix it still (which I have been) but it's still difficult with a foggy mind and less energy. Here are a few tips to make your post-surgery better:
1. Seek out a 911 buddy.
Not as in 'I need to go to the hospital 911,' but instead the 'I'm feeling the blues and I need to talk.' Even someone to check in on you from time to time. Yes, I have my boyfriend and some closer friends, but I didn't establish that I needed help before my surgery so now it's weird to admit. I'm a stubborn person, so it will take an army for me to admit that I need help.
2. Plan light trips.
Have an idea for that empty space on the wall in your dining room? Look for ideas on Pinterest, grab a friend and go to Hobby Lobby. Although you may not be able to complete it for a few weeks (without the help of your significant other, relative etc.) it's something to get your mind running and looking toward the future positively. Another idea is science museums, art museums, matinee movies; anything that will satisfy your mind.
3. Buy a self-help book.
Whether it's for depression, healing, moving on, or a book about weight-loss, prepare yourself for post-surgery blues. This is one thing that has been helping me tremendously. I focused in on two people that I look up to: Toni Bernhard and Chelsea Handler. Yes, two completely different people, but both on healing-ish paths. Toni Bernhard has two books, "How to be sick" and "How to heal" that gives her own examples on self healing as well as things she has learned from the spiritual Buddhism route. Anything I find helpful to me at the time, I highlight or underline. Chelsea Handler has inspired me because she is just as stubborn as I am. She has a few books documenting her screwed-up childhood and her rise to fame. She also has a netflix series called, "Chelsea Does" that talks about certain subjects that interest her. Her life along with her humor and passions fascinate me and it makes for good down-time if I'm ever feeling depressed.
4. Start writing.
You don't need to be Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss or even Ghandi to write. And it doesn't have to be a book. Hell, it doesn't even need to be a paragraph. When you're mad, write down that you're mad. Express why you're mad. Express your exact feelings. Then crumple it up and toss it in the trash. When you're happy, write down exactly what is making you feel this incredible mood. No one ever needs to read these, or if you want to share with your loved one, you may. This is more of an emotional release for your mind. Sometimes when I am angry, I can't think straight. I go on bouts of not being able to write because of the anger. It scrambles the words and thoughts in my head and creates a foggy haze over my creativity. Writing down my emotions (like I am today) releases my creativity back into the clouds that eventually drops it into your hands.
5. Tell yourself about gratefulness.
Express every single day why you're grateful to be alive. Express why you're happy to wake up in the morning. Even on the toughest days, try to shed light. I'll give you an example. Today, I woke up extremely sick, more sick than I was when this cold first barged in. I realized I needed to see the doctor which is twenty minutes away. I am still in pain so I avoid driving more than a couple minute trips. My parents or boyfriend couldn't take me so I went alone. Upon leaving the doctor's office with the diagnosis mentioned above, I noticed winter storm "Bucky" had already arrived, complicating my travel a bit. After sliding on the roads, not being able to get my medications from the pharmacy for an hour because my insurance number switched, I pulled into my garage in tears. I was so sick and exhausted from a 4 hour out-of-the-house stint. I got inside and took a deep breath and thought, "I am grateful because I got home safely from the doctor's office, and now I can take my medication to stop coughing, heat up some homemade soup from my dad and relax." Thinking about this as I sat down with my hot soup instantly changed my perception of the day. I shouldn't be cranky that all those unfortunate things happened, I need to be grateful for the medication and that I'm fortunate enough to be able to have medication at all.
Remember, there are plenty of free websites and hotlines for depression. Never be afraid to reach out for help. Here are a few:
http://www.yourlifeyourvoice.org/Pages/ways-to-get-help.aspx
http://samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/
http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=urgent_crisis_hotline
It's not giving in to your dark side, it's letting a little light back in.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Day & Night
Day
Drifting through a luscious night of sleep, I hear the ting ting ting of my alarm in the distance. Opening my eyes, I reach for the alarm clock, throw a sweatshirt on and start making my coffee. Dimitri and Ellington beg for food as I connect Pandora Radio Station to my sound bar. The heavenly aroma of Italian Roast swirls into my nostrils. My apartment is clean, but I must make it better. After I eat my bowl of cereal, I work on my dishes, sweep the kitchen floor, organize laundry and dust. A light breeze dances through my apartment as I finish my chores and get ready for work. I make a mental note to scrub the bathroom sink and vacuum when I return. After giving the cats a big hug and kiss, I turn my key to my door and I'm off to enter the world. Organized. Energized. Efficient. Optimistic. Happy.
Night
I've slammed my alarm 3 times, still not able to fully open my eyes. A heavy fog has sunk into my brain as I yawn my way to the kitchen, tripping over two extremely hungry cats. Angry, I prolong feeding them out of annoyance. I attempt to start my dishes but the throbbing pain in my collarbone stops me in my tracks. I consider pain killers, aleve, ibuproferen, heat or ice, bio-freeze or essential oils. Something to suck out the hell that has sanctioned itself within the depths of my brachial plexus. I decide on an ice pack and my deep relief oil. Staring at the TV and sipping my coffee, I think of my to-do list for the day. I look around my apartment; cat hair on the coffee table, mounds of unsorted clothes in my bedroom, dishes piled up. It's not so bad, I guess. Could be worse. Nearing the bottom of my coffee, I have a choice. I look to the right into my kitchen, picturing myself putting shoes on and heading to work knowing very well it will bring non-empathetic stares and annoyed feelings of laziness. I look straight ahead to my bedroom where comfort, depression, guilt and irritation awaits. Neither are good choices. Neither will make me happy. Can I face it? Can I face the world today? Can I overcome the stares and judgement and brain fog and pain? Slipping under the sheets, I can't help but feel overwhelmed. Pain. Anger. Frustration. Guilt. Fog.
This process is what I like to call Day & Night. I'm sure I'm not alone when I say I have it often and if I don't, I think about it. It's the thought process between a good day (Day) and a bad day (Night). I noticed the difference after I received botox injections. I was in pain, exhausted and my apartment was a mess. But no matter how messy it got, I've always accepted it as It's not that bad. After dealing with chronic pain, I had to realize the fact that I will never be able to fully accomplish all my tasks in a single day. Once the botox started kicking in and a few good days frequented, I went nuts if my sink was full, if my coffee table was dusty or if my pets weren't fed. I became a control freak once again. Everything needed to be tediously placed and put away. I'd ween off my pain medications and start to feel good again; but there's never an ending to chronic pain.
The botox would wear off and I would be left with exhaustion from pain, stress and work. The chores would to pile up as did the mail on my dining room table. Checklists had to be made to keep my mind in check for the tasks at hand. My mind was foggy and simple things started to slip through the cracks. I would start to feel belittled and useless. Days and days of laying in bed fighting fatigue and sadness and anxiety would add up even more pressure. The constant nagging thought of what my family thinks of me hangs low over my head. The cycle would never end.
On top of everything else in my life, why do I have to go through this too? Why do I have to have chronic pain, and be tickled with the thought of amazing days when I have the most horrendous days along with them? I sat in bed this morning, with Dimitri and Ellington at my sides, but I couldn't lay still. I kept kicking my legs and clenching my fists. My mind wouldn't stop teasing my anxiety. I felt so fatigued and drained and depressed that I didn't want to go to work. I couldn't decide what to clean in my more-than-cluttered apartment. I turned the TV on and couldn't even decide what to watch. Then I repeatedly became angry with myself for my choices of the day. If I would have went to work like I did yesterday, I would have snapped or felt more pain and then I would be two days down on energy. On the other hand, the good days I feel way too good and wear myself out from doing too much. Then I think I'm crazy for thinking I have bad days at all. What gives?
The reason why I decided to finally share this is to ask for help. Not just for me, but others feeling this way too. How do you get out of it? How do you overcome the sickening feeling of not wanting to be in that exact moment but unable to unfreeze yourself? How are you able to be content and coast through every day, whether good or bad? Please comment and share some advice on this subject. And know, that you are never alone.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
The botox would wear off and I would be left with exhaustion from pain, stress and work. The chores would to pile up as did the mail on my dining room table. Checklists had to be made to keep my mind in check for the tasks at hand. My mind was foggy and simple things started to slip through the cracks. I would start to feel belittled and useless. Days and days of laying in bed fighting fatigue and sadness and anxiety would add up even more pressure. The constant nagging thought of what my family thinks of me hangs low over my head. The cycle would never end.
On top of everything else in my life, why do I have to go through this too? Why do I have to have chronic pain, and be tickled with the thought of amazing days when I have the most horrendous days along with them? I sat in bed this morning, with Dimitri and Ellington at my sides, but I couldn't lay still. I kept kicking my legs and clenching my fists. My mind wouldn't stop teasing my anxiety. I felt so fatigued and drained and depressed that I didn't want to go to work. I couldn't decide what to clean in my more-than-cluttered apartment. I turned the TV on and couldn't even decide what to watch. Then I repeatedly became angry with myself for my choices of the day. If I would have went to work like I did yesterday, I would have snapped or felt more pain and then I would be two days down on energy. On the other hand, the good days I feel way too good and wear myself out from doing too much. Then I think I'm crazy for thinking I have bad days at all. What gives?
The reason why I decided to finally share this is to ask for help. Not just for me, but others feeling this way too. How do you get out of it? How do you overcome the sickening feeling of not wanting to be in that exact moment but unable to unfreeze yourself? How are you able to be content and coast through every day, whether good or bad? Please comment and share some advice on this subject. And know, that you are never alone.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
Thursday, June 25, 2015
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.
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
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
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.
Dance.
Enjoy and respect the body.
And finally, equanimity
If you notice on my posts, I usually sign off with "Equanimity." The definition is:
1.
mental or emotional stability or composure, especially under tension or strain;
calmness; equilibrium.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
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