Hello Again

Hello out there. Since it’s been so long since I’ve posted, I'm not sure where to start, so I’ll start at “Hello.”

Sorry for the silence here the last two months. My condition took a sharp turn about a month and a half ago and I’ve spent most of my days since just surviving.

I haven’t been doing well the last few months. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in four months. Sometimes I only sleep 2 hours a night. Sleeping and breathing at the same time is not really a thing my body is able to do anymore and that is the main culprit of my insomnia, although it’s not the only reason. But there’s good news on that front (I discuss more below).

Since I haven’t been sleeping well, the weakness in my limbs has turned to paralysis. Not having use of my limbs makes typing really challenging. Thus, I haven’t posted. 

A month and a half ago, I woke up one day and felt the heaviness in my limbs, the signal they send me to say “you have little use of us today and if you over-do it we’ll shut down completely. Good luck!”

I heard what they told me but I loaded the dishwasher anyway. I said “I do what I want! You don’t own me.” I moved too much anyway. I pushed too far. Bam. My muscles completely shut down. Typically, I can rest for a few hours and they’ll come back to life, but it was different this time. 

I haven’t been able to stand or walk since and my wheelchair is my constant companion now.

My BFF always jokes that Myasthenia Gravis sounds like a Harry Potter spell. If it was a Harry Potter spell, it would make your limbs turn into gummy worms.

The first few weeks when this started I needed help with every basic task, including getting to the bathroom. Since then, I’ve gotten some of the independence I had before back, but I still need help showering and making food. I can't help with any cleaning. We have to prepare my food the day before. I still have intermittent use of my arms.

I've lived in fear of this the last year. I have had periods where the paralysis intensifies and I can barely get around my house with my cane, or I'm not able to walk at all. But the longest I've ever been unable to walk is 12 hours. This is a new normal indeed.

My whole body has become so weak and deconditioned without any movement at all. All this time I’ve been trying to imagine how I’m going to rebuild my strength. It’s a daunting task. Imagining just walking from my bed to my bathroom again feels like climbing Everest. There’s no chance to rebuild my strength right now because any time I try to use my muscles the more the paralysis sets in. That’s typical for Myasthenia. Using muscles draws the antibodies from your blood into the muscle, making it weaker and weaker.

So I’m not completely sure how I’m going to climb out of this. I’m honestly just trying to go with it, take it day by day and moment by moment. My body makes the rules so I'm just trying to finally learn how to follow its lead and not fight against it. The harder I fight, the more I sink in the quicksand. It's better just to roll with it, literally. 

So I continue to wait.

When the paralysis was so intense that I needed help with every basic task, husband and I packed a bag and planned to head to the ER. I mentally prepared myself for a long hospital stay. But my neurologist (who has been minimally helpful during this health crisis) told us not to go to the ER unless my breathing completely shut down. My packed hospital bag is still sitting on the floor in our room just in case.

It’s incredibly frustrating. I had been making progress with yoga the last 6 months, I had been able to walk farther than I had been able to almost a year in Febraury, and now it's gone. I keep thinking “what did I do? How did this happen?”

I think I have an idea of what happened. I got over-ambitious. I was in denial about how much I have declined in the last 6 months in general. Ever since that day that I screwed up, took my body for granted, and tried to play with my nephew for a few minutes back in March, I haven’t been the same. That started the insomnia and the constant insomnia turned the usual muscle weakness into paralysis. I started a higher dose of the medication I use to sleep and I think that played a role too. 

I think that’s how I got here.  But it’s often fruitless to backtrack and try to figure out how or why. Illness often has a mind of its own and control is an illusion. Trying to find a narrative that explains the 'how' and 'why' often is a pointless endeavor.

Although this crisis has been challenging for husband and I, we have started adapting to it. I have adjusted to using the wheelchair all of the time pretty well. We’ve come up with solutions to help me maintain some of my independence and preserve the strength and energy I have. Each night, husband prepares my breakfast and lunch for the next day.

It may sound strange, but in some ways this crisis has given me more resilience. I was extremely depressed the few months before this because I was having difficulty exercising, walking, or seeing any of my friends and family. Yet, this has given me a huge appreciation for the independence and mobility I had. It has given me more determination to move again and get my strength back.

Bella appreciates having another place to sit

I haven’t been able to play my keyboard in two months, the longest I have ever gone. That, more than not being able to walk, has been the most devastating part of this. But I’m determined to be able to have enough use of my arms and enough energy to play again. I want to go back to the assisted care facility where my mom lived to play for them again in the near future.

I’ve been listening to a lot of music, especially playing my vinyl collection, and reading (follow me on Instagram to see pictures of my vinyl collection. I'm @StefanieShea over there). I’ve even been able to wheel myself outside sometimes. Husband and I have been watching a lot of Star Trek. Even though I’m still not well, I still feel satisfied with life in many ways. 

In times like this, I've learned you have to find strategies to not let frustration overwhelm you. It can start a fire that consumes every part of your life. You have to fiercely guard what joy you still have. Ultimately, I've learned gratitude is the antidote to suffering. 

To the good news:

A few weeks ago, I had an appointment with my pulmonologist. I haven’t made it to any appointments with any of my doctors this year and the only test I made it to was my pulmonary function test in April. Everything else I have had to cancel because I wasn’t well enough. I was in terrible shape and not able to travel but I had to make it to this appointment. I had to tell my doctor that breathing and sleeping have become even harder.

It was over 100 degrees that day, making the trek to the next town over to see her even more challenging. But husband created an elaborate game plan to make sure I was comfortable and able to make it.

I started crying as soon as we got in the room. I could barely talk to her nurse. I don’t cry in appointments anymore. It wastes time. I always have my game face on and a detailed list of questions and points to discuss. When my doctor came in, I was still a weepy mess. I could barely use my limbs or sit up and I was exhausted from traveling and suffering. It was too much.

My pulmonologist is incredible. I wish every doctor had her empathy and compassion. She was distraught at my condition and my emotional state. I’m usually all smiles and business when I see her, no matter how terrible I feel. I asked her again if there was any way I could get a breathing machine finally, something we’ve been talking about for a year since the respiratory muscle weakness from MG has been my most difficult symptom to manage the last few years. She said she’d do everything in her power but she thought my insurance would not cover it. I left incredibly disappointed. The inhalers she gave me and the canned oxygen I buy online are not enough to offset my breathing difficulty and it is the major culprit for my insomnia, leading to my declined state. 

I've heard "this treatment will help you but your insurance won't cover it" so many times. That's the reason my neurologist hasn't been able to start the standard MG immunotherapy for me.

A few days later we got a call that I had been approved for a BiPaP machine. Wait. What? How? We couldn’t believe it! I don’t know how my doctor did it but I need to send her some flowers.

Two respiratory nurses brought the machine over last week and showed us how to use it. The first night I tried to sleep with it on and ended up only sleeping a few hours that night, long after I took the mask off. It’s going to take some time to be able to fall asleep with it on. I’m having a lot of trouble sleeping even without an uncomfortable apparatus attached to my face.

But I’ve been using it during the day, before bed, and when I wake up at night not breathing and what a difference it has made. WOW! Who knew breathing was so great? The only problem is my insurance didn’t cover the full cost of the machine. Our monthly co-pay for it is $100, which is steep. We looked at our budget and worked things around to make it feasible.

The day I got my machine, my best friend created a GoFundMe page to help cover the cost. I guess my closest friends had been planning this as soon as they heard I was approved for the machine. I was considering asking them to take it down but my friend explained that people wanted to help and they had been looking for a way to help. Friends, family, and even strangers contributed.

I am astonished at their kindness. It has been an elixir of hope the last week knowing so many people were rooting for me and wanted to help us. We are so grateful for the love and support.

So right now I’m working on getting adjusted to the machine and crossing my fingers and hoping I can start building my strength again. I’m hoping to get back to blogging regularly again. I can’t believe it’s been two months since I’ve posted. For any of you still reading, thanks for hanging on and bearing with me.

There have even been days where I have enough strength to do fun things, like re-plant our Stonehenge garden.

I have also learned that when you live a life of limitation and the most excited thing you have to look forward to is leaving the house for blood work or an appointment, you have to create things to look forward to and focus on them instead. This week is our 10th wedding anniversary and we're going to have a big party with our friends and family. We had always planned to drive to Yellowstone for our 10th, but that's not possible. A party is just as great. We're going to Monterey in a few weeks to stay for about a week with some friends. It will be the first time I've left my town for something other than an appointment in two years! We have friends and family coming to visit from other states in the next few months. Despite the obvious drawbacks, life is pretty good.

And you have to hold fast to that.

To better days ahead for all of us…..

Month of Gratitude, Week 3: Little Things

I’ve been trying to come up with a focal point for this week’s post about gratitude, but the only I can really think of is being thankful for being alive and appreciating the little things right now.

My heart is very heavy after the attacks in Paris, my body is exhausted from a string of appointments, and I’m still in throes of grief. One of my best friends just lost her mother this week as well, and I’ve known her family for 20 years. I’m just trying to take a step back and feel some gratitude that despite the physical and emotional wounds we have all acquired, we survived them, and in that survival there is solidarity—a collective spirit that life must press on.

I was so weepy this week that I’ve reached new levels of absurdity. I was watching that video of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing to “Uptown Funk” that’s been circulating everywhere and I started crying a few seconds in. I dare anyone to watch it and find a reason to cry. I at least had a good laugh about the absurdity of it. 

Even though my body wasn’t able to exercise much this week, I still went for my daily walk almost every day. It’s been a bit warm this week but I’m loving the hazy autumn days. I'm always grateful each day when I am able to get outside just for a few minutes. On bedridden days, I dream of taking my short walk.

One of the trees next to my house has gone full autumn

It’s supposed to get colder next week and dip under freezing temperatures. That doesn’t happen much in these parts because we live in varying stages of living at the center of the sun most of the time, so I’m very much looking forward to that cold. I love the cold. I prefer the cold.

Thanksgiving is next week and it’s going to be a really rough one. I’d say Thanksgiving and Halloween are my favorite holidays and my mom and I always watched the Thanksgiving Day Parade and the dog show that follows together. I’m not sure I’ll watch it this year, but if I do the sight of the inflatable Snoopy or Minions floating down the parade route will leave me in tears. I'll be laughing at the same time.

The rest of the year is going to be packed with gatherings, including my husband’s birthday. He is having a birthday party for the first time in years and I’m very much looking forward to it. His birthday is at the beginning of December and when I was teaching or in grad school that was always the busiest time of year for me so his birthday celebrations have been unfortunately minimal in the past. I hope we can make up for it this year. Our four year old nephew’s birthday is the day before my husband’s so I kept telling him he should have a dinosaur –themed co-birthday party. Maybe next year.

Then we’ll have our annual NYE gathering at my parent’s house and since my step-father is moving out of state, this will be the last one there. I’m terribly sad about all of it but I’m trying to remind myself to enjoy these moments since everything has changed and will continue to change.

That’s the strange thing about life. You think that everything will just somehow continue as it has been. That the march of time will somehow leave the details of life, the simple things we take for granted, untouched. But that’s not how it works.

I’ve been re-learning Christmas music to play at the assisted care facility where my mom was, and it’s been probably a decade since I’ve learned more than just a few songs this time of year. It’s given me a reason to practice with purpose and I’ve been playing every day.  I’m very much looking forward to playing music for them and sharing some joy. They are a great audience and deserve some joy.

I even sang an entire verse of a song this week, which is an improvement over what I have been able to do. I hope that’s a sign I can someday make it through an entire song.

This is what I save my spoons for

I hope you also had some little things that made you feel gratitude this week. We could all use some joy in whatever form we can find. 

Month of Gratitude, Week Two: That One Thing

Man this is going to be an emotional post.

Like I mentioned last week, I am writing one post a week this month about gratitude, specifically how illness has taught me to feel more gratitude.

As illness peels away layers of identity and you’re left with just the essential, you are able to see the very center of your happiness and what feeds it. I hope you have one thing, more than anything else in your life, that illness or pain has not taken from you and brings you the most joy in life.

My one thing is music. Aside from rap and modern country, I like most music genres (even those two I listen to occasionally). Jazz is my home but I also love classic rock, world music, alternative, blues. I have probably mentioned before that I’m a musician/songwriter and have been for a good portion of my life. If I could choose just one profession in life, I’d be a performing songwriter. Although I was rarely paid for it, I did get to live that dream. I haven’t talked about music much because it’s one of the most painful aspects of illness for me. I haven’t been able to perform in about a year and a half, and because of my breathing problems, I had to stop singing a year ago. It feels like I have literally lost my voice.

But this wasn’t always the case. 

My whole life I begged my mother to let me take piano lessons. Most kids are forced to take them, but I wanted them desperately. She couldn’t afford to pay for lessons, so my first year in college I made enough at my job to pay for lessons myself. I took lessons for about two years. My piano teacher would often put classical music in front of me but she humored my love of jazz and my need to improvise. Although I didn’t take lessons for long, she taught me how to create arrangements and improvise. She used to tell me, as I was playing something from a piano book or something classical, “you don’t have to swing everything.” The rhythm of my heart is jazz swing. Even now when I find myself trying to swing some music that doesn't need it, I think of her teasing me and I laugh. 

When I was a teenager, my best friend used to live out in the country and I would use the time I spent picking her up to sing in my car. When one of my acquaintances during that first year in college started a band, I went out on a limb and asked if I they needed a vocalist. I had not really ever sang in front of anyone before, but I wanted to be musician, even if I had to pretend. I was in a band for about a year, and it was fun learning how to build a song with a group of people, but my bandmates had no desire to perform. We had different goals. The band disbanded and my friend and I started a duo together. We wrote a bunch of songs and would perform in coffee shops. We’d throw in a few Nirvana and Tori Amos covers since we were children of the 90s. We only performed a few times so I decided to take my nascent piano skills and start performing solo. Those first few shows must have been painful to watch. If I heard a recording of them now I would cringe. But I was determined.

A year or so after I started going solo, another acquaintance organized a show at a local renovated old theater. He made me the headliner. That was the first time I ever played for a live audience. I was only the half the musician then that I am now, but it is still one of my favorite memories. There’s nothing quite like sharing your passion with others and getting an instant response. I got great feedback and I pressed on with my dream.

I played in coffee shops, bars, restaurants, weddings, and even a flower shop that had a piano. I got to play for live audiences again when I did musical interludes for my college’s performance of The Vagina Monologues. One of my best friends is an obscenely talented keyboardist and we decided to join forces a few years ago. We started doing a lot of shows and it became a reason for all of our friends and family to gather. Those are still some of my favorite memories. Our last show was July 2014.

One of my favorite memories is when years ago I contacted one of my favorite artists Janis Ian, the consummate singer-songwriter. We corresponded through email a few times, and I asked her for any pointers she had to share. She told me that in her 60s she felt that she was just finally getting her stride with performing. I was planning on recording one of her songs and had hoped to include it on a cd I wanted to sell so I asked her about royalties. She responded that she didn’t own the song but wished me the best of luck and asked if I’d send it to her. I did record it but never sent it to her. That was almost 10 years ago. I suppose I should send it to her someday. (You can find the song, “The Come On,” on my soundcloud page). I don’t have those emails anymore but I wish I had saved them, if only to convince myself it wasn’t just a dream.

I didn’t play much while I was an academic and when I was teaching. I wish I had set aside more energy for it. I assumed, as so many of us do, that nothing would change. That I would be able to play music in the same way for the rest of my life. I was wrong.

When I got ill in 2011 and had to leave my PhD program, music was my solace. I wrote a few songs during that time that I’ve never performed or recorded, but hopefully will someday. I played a private gig for about 10 of my good friends in the program before I left as a goodbye gift. I had lost about 20 lbs and was very ill, but I powered through for them and I think they appreciated it.

After we moved back, my friend and I did a few shows together, but every single one I had pushed myself too hard to practice and I was in very bad shape on the day we played. That last show we did, I should've spent the day in bed but I'm glad I pushed myself to do it. I left each one feeling tremendously disappointed I couldn’t be the performer I used to be. Yet, I look back now and feel thankful for those shows. My mom was at most of them. Every time we played, I always tried to throw in a song just for her. I played Fleetwood Mac’s “Crystal,” one of her favorite songs she introduced to me, at one of our last shows in 2014. She was not well but I watched her sing along with me as I played it.

Now that so many things have been stripped away from my life, I can see clearly what I valued the most, what is integral to my identity. That is music and performing. I could accept never teaching again or having to use a wheelchair for the rest of my life, but playing music is non-negotiable. That will not be taken from me. That is the one thing that is mine still that gives me the most joy.

I still play my keyboard most days and still try to sing. I can get through about half a song before the respiratory weakness kicks in.  I don’t have the power in my voice I used to have and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. But that’s ok. I live on a quieter frequency now anyway.

When my mother was in the hospital and then hospice last month, I lost music briefly. Playing music and listening to any of my favorite artists/bands brought me no joy. But in the last few weeks, I’ve been listening to the playlist I made for her and playing my keyboard again and it is once again a source of solace. I played the piano at the assisted care facility where my mother was while she was in hospice. On that last day when we were all there to say goodbye, I played for about a half an hour and many of the residents gathered around the piano. One man who was in a wheelchair would clap along to every song. Although he was hunched over and had difficulty talking, he had an impeccable sense of time. I adjusted the time signature for each song to match his clapping. Right now, I'm trying to re-learn some Christmas music to play for them next month. I’m hoping to go back there soon.

I am going to get back to singing and I am going to perform again. Whatever that looks like, it will happen. I have a collection of songs that I’m ready to record and turn into an album, and that will happen. Illness has been a gift in that it has shown me that music was ultimately my greatest passion in life and it’s also inspired many songs I've written. I was able to record one last year, “Upright,” which you can also find on my soundcloud page and on the bottom of this post. Illness has given me a new sense of purpose and drive to play music as often as possible.

I didn’t mean to divulge so much and miss the point here. I guess I needed to look back and celebrate these memories I still have. The point is I hope that you also have one passion or joy that brings you the most pleasure and no matter what setbacks you’ve experienced that you are able to return to it again and again. That it is never taken from you. That it is your greatest solace.

I would’ve continued to take this passion for granted if illness hadn’t let me see it for what it was. 

No matter what, I still have all of those memories. As I talked in my last post about learning how to feel satisfied, I feel satisfied that I can still play, even if it’s not the way I ultimately want to. I still have it. It’s still there for me, and nothing can wash away what music has given me.

My wish for you is that whatever your greatest passion is, whatever that one thing is, that you can hold fast to it and enjoy it for as long as you can. Never surrender it. Make time for it. Celebrate its role in your life and your identity.

And then, more than anything, share that one thing with others. 

*Special thanks to Carrie Anne for all the great pictures over the years

Month of Gratitude, Week One: Satisfaction

As it is the month for gratitude, I am going to write at least one post a week this month discussing illness and gratitude. Although illness has taken many important things from me, there are many gifts it has given in return. One of the most important lessons illness has given me is to learn how to be satisfied and gracious in that satisfaction.

Dissatisfaction is a state of being for many of us, and it can be a valuable tool to help us achieve goals. I lived most of my life always thinking, literally, “what’s next?” I wouldn’t have been able to go to grad school twice, achieve my goal of getting a tenure-track professor position, climb mountains, or power through illness like a warrior the last few years if I didn’t know how to channel “what’s next?” into achieving goals.

Yet, this “what’s next?” also pushed me to make choices that weren’t good for my health and, more importantly, it blinded me to the immeasurable gifts I already had in my life. If I have one regret since getting ill it is that I took too much for granted and didn’t appreciate what I once had that is now gone. “What’s next” was a distraction from being mindfully present and allowing myself to surrender to satisfaction, to look around me and feel grateful for my life.

We are trained from a very young age to never be satisfied. We are conditioned to become consumers from the moment we are born and to look for “bigger and better.” Satisfaction, in American culture especially, is a truly radical idea. Everywhere we turn, we are constantly persuaded to want more and to be more. “Bigger and better” and “what’s next” are illusions; they create desires that can never be quenched.

Yet, as the speed in which my world spins has slackened, as the alacrity of my own body has dampened and my legs—once athletic and invincible—stumble along at a glacial pace now, I am now still much of the time. It has helped my mind be still as well. In moments that are thick with suffering when I’m lying in bed and surviving moment to moment, I am forced to live in the present. The pace of my world has significantly decelerated, but the images of life are no longer blurred in speed. They have color, texture, definition.

It seems ironic that illness would give me this lesson. If we are often told “your health is the most important aspect of life,” then you would think living with a life-limiting illness would be the most unsatisfactory state of being. Yet, “your health is the most important thing” is a platitude; it assumes that those of us who live with chronic illness have nothing because we don’t have “our health.” This is fundamentally false. The loss of my health and my independence has taught me to value what I still have and despite being ill I can still enjoy what I still have.

It has taught me that there are moments to savor in life. There are moments when all of the ingredients of life—the people in our lives, the words we say to each other, our perceptions of the world, our self-image—meld into something truly delectable. These are the moments when we can feel truly alive, feel the electricity of being human. These moments were not on my radar before illness—before I was forced to be still and live in the present. When you live under the spell of “what’s next,” it’s easy for these moments to pass by.

I try to find moments throughout the day to just breathe in satisfaction and feel it completely. 

Feel...

Satisfied with the limitations I have now and what I can still do

Satisfied with my appearance

Satisfied with spending most of my time at home

Satisfied with each moment I get to be outside and be part of the world

Satisfied with my relationships

Satisfied with my material possessions

Satisfied with how I physically feel in this moment right now

Satisfied with my talents and abilities

Satisfied that the present is here but the future is a mirage

Satisfied with the treatment I have right now

Satisfied with the time I had with my mother

Satisfied with the change I am able to enact in the world

Satisfied with the energy I can give to others

Satisfied that my condition may get worse or get better

Satisfied that I may work again or I may not

Satisfied that my place in the world is just as it should be right now

Feeling satisfied at times doesn't have to stop us from setting goals and seeking improvement in our lives and in the world around us, but it's ok every once in awhile to appreciate and value that what we have is enough. Satisfaction also doesn’t have to be a constant current and it is by no means a constant sensation for me, but illness has forced me to look around at the world and appreciate the gift of life. It is an integral part of living with acceptance. In those delectable moments I can say thank you for the giftedness of life, even if it’s just for a breath—but I’ll make it a long breath and try to feel an entire lifetime of satisfaction in that moment.

I hope that you also have moments of pure satisfaction, moments where you can just stop and say "thank you."

How has illness or any other setback in life helped you feel gratitude? 



Here's a great TED Talk about gratitude: "It is not happiness that makes us grateful. It's gratefulness that makes us happy"

The Next Round

It’s been a relatively quiet April on the health front, which I am so grateful for. I still had appointments almost every week but they were not necessarily related to diagnosis and treatment. I needed that break, and the universe gave me a win. I’m still filled with frustration about test results, the struggle to get a diagnosis, and the daily battle of managing a nebulous condition, but I’ve been able try to get to a better place this month, reorienting myself into a life that isn’t completely defined by being ill. Listening to the suffering and experience of others, trying to understand the historical civil unrest in my country, helping my family when I can, reading about prehistory, analyzing every detail of the results of the ancestry tests my husband and I did.  

But it's time to re-focus. I start the next round of appointments next week. I see my new local neurologist in two weeks, and I have an appointment Stanford on Tuesday and will finally see my neurologist there.

I’ve had that appointment for almost a year. I saw him last May, which feels like a lifetime ago. I had just finished my first year as a full time professor and it was the most brutal semester I’ve ever been through. I had to go on leave twice during the semester and my symptoms were worsening every day. I wasn’t using a wheelchair yet, but I needed to. I was struggling to drive and my independence was starting to slip away. 

I’m trying not to let the ghosts of that last appointment haunt this one. I left feeling like it was a great appointment but when I read his notes he mentioned that he discerned no walking difficulty and that I needed a “more positive outlook.”

I cried a little during that appointment. Life was pretty bleak at that moment. I didn’t get to say goodbye to some of my classes (again) because I was on leave, in my heart I knew that I was going to have to either radically change how I did my job or it was over, and the mysterious symptoms were only getting worse. Of course I was upset. I try to smile and keep a calm demeanor in appointments, otherwise you end up with notes about mental health and stress if your file, further invalidation. But I’m honestly getting to the point that I don’t care what they say. 

I spent a lot of years trying to justify and explain in appointments to get them to hear me. At this point, I don’t have the energy for that. Now I just try to present my symptoms and experiences and communicate effectively. These are my symptoms. Take it or leave it.

At that appointment a year ago, he explained that my mystery symptoms of weakness, difficulty walking, difficulty breathing, etc were not related to POTS. I had those symptoms for over a year at that point but I was still hoping they were related to POTS so I didn't have to get back on the hamster wheel of diagnosis. He gave me a list of tests he wanted me to do, and as I listened I knew those tests would take a very long time and that a diagnosis was at least a year off. At least. 

I started suddenly having mobility problems about two years ago and I told my primary doctor about it first. He took me seriously and said it was likely something else presenting itself. I refused to believe that at the time but I have told him since then that he was totally right. He figured that out before any other specialist. I really need to send him a fruit basket someday.

I saw him yesterday so that he could fill out my long term disability paperwork, and every time he sees me he asks, “did you finally get a diagnosis?” Nope. Together, we have been fine tuning innovative ways over the last few months to explain and label my symptoms for these forms without using a label that is unofficial, to the point that it becomes a humorous art. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes.

I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment, but I am hoping to finally get that label in these next appointments. Not just for the peace of mind but mainly because of the material benefits it offers: I could finally put it on my official paperwork, I can wave it in front of insurance companies who want to refuse treatment or deny benefits, and I can have access to other treatments options. If it is Myasthenia Gravis, I'll have a condition that sounds like a Harry Potter spell, so I'll feel pretty special.

I try to remember that a diagnosis is not the end game, a better quality of life is. But I can’t help wanting the diagnosis. It’s been the carrot I hold in front of myself as I’ve gone through all the torture testing for years. Yet, even with a diagnosis I know that my life wouldn’t change dramatically, but damn it would help. 

I’m doing my usual routine of carefully writing out symptoms, notes, and questions, and gathering test results to bring. Most of this has become second nature for me and my husband so it makes it easier to keep going, even when both of us are completely worn down by this process. We are staying in our favorite hotel again next week before my appointment. It’s pricey but I’m very much looking forward to that part. Sometimes it takes little things like this to make it easier, little rewards and treats along the way to make it a little more fun and enjoyable.

So this is what it looks like when you want to give up on this process but you continue to press on, trying to keep a “positive outlook,” keep digging deep for whatever pieces of hope you can find, and remember that you’ve come this far so you can keep beating on. It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible. That’s important to remember.

Whatever the results of the next appointments are, I’ll come home to my life with my cats, my husband, my music, my books, and it will be all good. I'm trying to remember that life will go on no matter what. I’ll keep working toward my goals, trying to create some art and music, write some words that have meaning, exercise as often as possible, and continue to feel grateful for this life and how lucky I really am. 

Getting Around the Hard Things

Stephen Hawking is one of my heroes and I'm trying to live by these words. Last week was rough. All the hard things coalesced into a perfect storm, but I’m navigating it. Things seem to change with my mother’s health every day. I’m working on my disability appeal because my claim was denied (they determined I’m not technically “disabled”). I had to resign from my dream job. 

When I was diagnosed with Dysautonomia in 2012 and I started to look out into the ether to see how others coped and lived with it, I came across a lot of stories of people who had to leave their jobs and careers. I’m a workaholic through and through. I thought “no way. That won’t happen to me. There’s no way.” When I left the PhD program in 2011, I didn’t work for a year, but eventually when I finally got a diagnosis and treatment, I was able to go back to teaching. It was challenging to say the least, and I had to adapt everything I knew to make it work. I had varying levels of success. I’d have to go on medical leave usually every other semester because I had pushed myself too far, but I still anticipated having a long career. I knew things would keep improving, or I was at least convincing myself of that.

When a full time, tenure-track position appeared at the college where I was teaching, my husband and I debated whether the timing was right to apply. Getting a tenure-track position is a bit like winning the lottery in academia, especially if you transition from teaching part time. Only a tiny percentage of people finally make the transition, usually after working part time for many many years. My dream for the last 10 years was to teach full time at a community college. It’s the reason I made the crazy decision to get a PhD. I handed in my carefully prepared application and the next day had to go on medical leave for two weeks in spring 2013. This is when I started having trouble walking and breathing—issues I thought were related to pushing myself too hard and would resolve quickly.

Right before they announced interviews, my husband and I decided I would rescind my application. Then, I found out I got an interview; I could not bring myself to do it. I could not walk away from this chance to achieve one of my goals. I went through the process and somehow, some way, somewhere, actually got the position. I had totally just achieved one of my biggest dreams. No big deal. One of my friends who I went to grad school and worked as an adjunct with for years told me "you made it! you're the first one out of all of us to make it."

We were financially stable for the first time, and we started making plans for the future. But it wasn’t meant to be. My struggle to be able to teach full time is documented in detail on this blog so I won’t go into it. Yet, I have absolutely no regrets. I loved the time I had. It was my dream job, I was fulfilled, and I saw myself there until I reached retirement age. I loved the people and students I worked with, and I felt like I was making an imprint on the college, despite my health struggles every day. There’s something deeply satisfying about going from being an adjunct and using your car as your office to getting an entire office to yourself. I decorated it with Harry Potter nerdom and pictures of Yosemite. Only in academia can you really let your freak flag fly and legitimize your eccentricities by turning them into “research.”

I don’t know what’s next. I would love to be able to teach in some capacity again in the future but I really don’t know what will be possible. I can't even wrap my brain around working because I'm focused on being able to breathe, drive again, use my wheelchair less often, reclaim some of my independence, and leave the house successfully and regularly again. These are my goals right now.

My job title right now is “couch barnacle.” I’m a recovering workaholic who spends most of her days sitting. Our culture grooms us to equate success with money, and our identities become so entangled in our careers. It can be so difficult to disentangle your self-worth from these trappings of “success.” When that is ripped from you, it is challenging to not feel an overwhelming sense of failure. It takes some serious mental effort to work through that conditioning. Thank god I have a great therapist I’ve been working with for years now to help with that.

This story is not uncommon. I still read so many stories of people who lose their careers, have to leave college, or lose relationships because of illness. I’ve met people who have lost absolutely everything, but life goes on. Life presses on somehow despite how irrevocably everything can change in an instant. I’ve talked to many people who rebuilt their lives from the ashes and found happiness. They are truly inspiring. You can’t reclaim the old life. You have to make something new.

It’s difficult to avoid letting your worldview be dipped in a pervasive coating of bitterness when you lose so much to illness. It’s a constant struggle to avoid this and look at everyone around me who can work, drive, travel, do whatever they want without bitterness and envy. It can take root in your soul and it could take years to weed it out. I’m a die-hard pessimist but I have really learned how to value what I do have and redefine success on my own terms. These days, if I can vacuum our house or exercise for a few minutes I feel like I’ve earned 10 gold stars and handfuls of chocolate. That’s success for me right now.

My dream now is to live a life where I don’t constantly set myself up for failure and I live within my physical limitations and feel satisfied. That’s really all I want from life.

These are very hard things, but I honestly would not trade the wisdom I have attained over the last few years. I feel like a better person than I was a few years ago. My spirit feels stronger now than it has in years. 

Most of the time, I look at my life and I feel blessed and lucky. I have an amazing husband who is my best friend, my caregiver, and the love of my life. I still get to see friends and family sometimes. I have people I can rely on. I get to sit out in our yard with my cats and drink tea and read most days. Who could want more than that? I still have my passions that I have neglected for too long: music, painting, reading, writing. Terrifically blessed. It will take some time to really process and recover from this but time is something I have.

Despite having to resign from my job, the week had some bright spots. I had an appointment at Stanford with my neurologist’s Nurse Practitioner. I discussed how terrible my last visit at Stanford was and that I do not always feel like I have their support. Going there is often a crapshoot it seems. But this appointment was great. She took my symptoms seriously, and before we left she told me “I’m pulling for you.” I left there feeling like I had support and some hope. The medication I started a few months ago, Mestinon, is really helping my breathing and fatigue issues and they want me to start taking more. She gave me some recent research about POTS and exercise which I will share on this blog once I get through it.

Got my #hospitalglam on while I was at Stanford. Blue compression stockings. Purple cane. Jaunty butterfly scarf

I also saw a Pulmonologist last week. She was kind and thorough and she believes my breathing problems may be related to muscle weakness, a common symptom of Myasthenia. I have another lung function test next week that will give more information. While I was there, she had me try a brief test to see if I had asthma. I had to breathe into a machine that looked like an old Gameboy with a picture of a cloud on it. My husband does a hilarious impersonation of the sounds the cloud made. I wish I had that machine to bring out at parties. No asthma but she explained I will probably get a machine to help me breathe at night but hopefully I won't have to use it during the day too. I don't want to be part robot during the day time as well.

I’m thankful these appointments were uplifting. I needed a win.

Now I go back to my normal life of being a couch barnacle, watching videos of live concerts and documentaries about prehistory on YouTube, being aggravated by American politics, and worried about the state of the world. I want to start thinking seriously about writing my book, finishing recording my album, and getting back to participating in the world again. 

With a hope that keeps burning on an altar of faith and perseverance, unrelenting and determined to burn even brighter some day