Invisible Illness Awareness and #MyVoiceMyBody

This week is Invisible Illness Awareness week and although technically this entire blog and everything I share on the Facebook page are related to invisible illness in some way, I wanted to write a specific post to celebrate the week.

There are many issues related to invisible illness that are near to my heart but one point I hope to make by sharing my story is the importance of maintaining authority over our experiences of illness and our own bodies. So many of us suffer through years of being told "it's all in your head" by doctors or told we don't qualify for treatment by insurance companies because we don't fit into a specific label/category or told we aren't "technically disabled" by government assistance programs. I've been told all of this. We see illness and disability misrepresented in media or appropriated for the able-bodied.

It's difficult to quiet the noise sometimes and remember to find our voice again and reclaim the authenticity of what we experience.

For so long I hid my illness and didn't talk about it. I thought if I could just ignore it, I could control it and make it go away. I internalized the voices around me and even punished my body for not adhering to what I was being told: if it truly was all in my head, I thought I could force my body to just comply. It only made me worse.

But going through this made me realize that honesty with myself, with those around me, with the medical community (and refusing to believe I was wrong) was the only way I could achieve acceptance and find a path forward. When I started to be honest, I found that I coud reclaim authority over my body again with my voice. I didn't have to live in terror or punish my body for its refusal to just get back to "normal."

I had to find my own truth again.

Starting this blog and talking about my experience on social media has helped me rediscover that truth and live honestly. It has helped me understand that I cannot control my illnesses but I can control how I respond to them.

I try to represent my experience truthfully, even though it may create cognitive dissonance for some. There is no rhyme or reason with illness. Sometimes you have good days. Sometimes you have bad. And there's a ton of grey in between.

These picutres are an example:

The one on the left was from a few days ago. I've had to spend most of the last two and half months in bed. But every day I wake up, I put some make up on, I get dressed, and I hope today is better than yesterday. I don't feel the part, but I want to look it. I wheeled myself outside and took a selfie. I posted the picture on my blog page and talked about finally getting the Myasthenia diagnosis last month and finally starting treatment. I was feeling ok at that moment and feeling positive about the future. I wanted my smile to represent that. I even put a scarf and earrings on. Bonus points!

Sometimes people will comment about how well I look. I know whatever I look like on the outside belies how I really feel. But I also like puting in the energy to feel good about myself and hoping my body in turn feels a little better. Sometimes it works.

Not long after I took that picture, I had to go lie down with my BiPAP and rest. That is what my day entails now. I have to spend either most of the day or just the afternoon in bed on my breathing machine. I look like a comic book villain when I wear my mask but at least I have some mascara on. You have to own it.

I post pictures of myself when I'm wearing my BiPAP too. I try to make fun of myself sometimes but I also want to represent my experience truthfully. The two pictures are a dichotomy but often that's what illness is.

Whenever I talk honestly about my experience of illness, I have started using the hashtag #MyVoiceMyBody as a reminder that I'm not trying to fit into anyone else's expectations about illness or disability; I'm using my voice to represent my truth. I hope anyone who is reading this will join me in using the hashtag.

Use it to talk about your diagnosis story, use it to spread some humor despite the horrors of illness, use it to raise awareness about your specific condition, use it to make illness (physical and mental) visible, use it to speak your truth and reclaim authority over your own experience.

Over the years, I have found that too often when we speak our truth about our experience of illness, that truth isn't visible for a wider audience. Either we talk in closed groups and message boards online or behind closed doors. Many able-bodied people and many in the medical community have no idea what living with an invisible illness entails. They don't know that so many of us suffer for years without a diagnosis. They don't know that our experiences have been misrepresented. They don't know how good life can be despite illness and all that you can learn from it.

The writer Cherríe Moraga said "silence is like starvation." Speaking your truth is a form of power, a means of survival. When others hear our stories, the stories can raise awareness and inspire change.

All I want is for no one to ever have to hear either "you're wrong" or "I don't believe you" ever again.

So I'm hoping by making illness visible and sharing our truth, someday no one will ever have to hear that and go through the same suffering.

Because this is my voice, this is my body, this is my truth.

The Week that Was, January 15th

What a week of ups and downs! I wrote last week that I was finally having an ok week after months of hanging on by a thread and struggling to move, eat, and function. This week hasn’t been as good as last week but good enough for sure. 

-I mentioned last week that we were going to drive to Stanford for my brain MRI this week. It didn’t happen. I rescheduled it for a variety of reason, but mainly because I didn’t want to jeopardize finally feeling a little better physically. Our last trip there in November wiped me out for weeks. Then the festivities of December wiped me out so I just could never catch up. I haven't met my exercise goals in months. Yet, I feel like I’m making a bit of a turn around finally and I wanted to capitalize on that and get back to exercising. It was probably the wrong choice to not show up, but I really needed some time. Also, I have a few local appointments next week I must show up to and a trip to Stanford could risk not being able to show up. My husband and I were so relieved not to have to make the trek there this week and stay the night. I was able to get out and walk instead!

- I see my GI doctor next week for the first time in a year and a half. I need to talk to him about the intestinal infection, constant pain and nausea, struggling to eat, and not being able to put weight back on. But really I’m going to tell him, “eating food is important and everything but what do I need to do to be able to eat Girl Scout cookies when they come in a few weeks?” That is priority #1. 

-My next article, "Why the Fight for a Diagnosis Matters," at The Mighty is up and you can read it here. I wrote about the battle of living on the Hamster Wheel of Diagnosis and why the fight to finally get a diagnosis matters despite the exhaustion and invalidation that can come with it. Most people do not know that the typical time to diagnosis can be six or more years. Most people don’t know that being told “it’s all in your head” by countless doctors is an almost universal experience for people with Dysautonomia and other invisible illnesses. That’s what I was trying to give voice to in this article (and on this blog).

-There was a controversy recently over at The Mighty and some disabled writers have decided to no longer write for them, which I think is a great loss. You can read a bit about it here and you can follow the #CrippingTheMighty hashtag on Twitter to read more responses. I think overall the comments were justified, it started good dialogue between the writers and editors, and The Mighty has made some changes in light of what happened. I decided to keep submitting writing to them because I think it is still a good resource for voices who discuss disability and illness. 

- I celebrated not having to drive to Stanford by finally getting my flu shot. Excitement! Husband works at Costco so he worked all morning, came home and picked me up, and then we drove back over there (that dude is amazing). He got to show me what he has been working on recently and I got to sit on the couches they have. I love couch season at Costco. It’s a nice way to remain in my natural habitat outside of home.

-I haven’t discussed this much on the blog, but I’ve been fighting a very exhausting, protracted battle with the insurance company over my disability insurance. As a public educator, we had to pay into a private system. They awarded me a few months of short-term disability at the end of 2014 but denied my long-term disability and the last few months of my short-term disability. I have not received any benefits since January 2015. I’ve sent them over 100 pages of medical documentation, including letters from my doctors, but they determined that I was not “technically disabled” and am able to do all of the “extensive walking and standing” required for teaching. You could almost laugh at these words.

I have appealed multiple times. My long-term disability case was a lost cause. That part is officially over. But I’ve been trying to find a lawyer to help with my last appeal for my short-term because I have no chance of winning without legal help. Finding a lawyer who will take a private disability case is nearly impossible. So few of them will. Many of my conversations with local law offices went like this:

            Me: “Hi. I was wondering if your law office takes private disability cases?

            Them: “No” *click*

            Me: "Well have a good a day anyway!"

A law office in San Francisco considered my case but months later decided not to take it. I then found a law office in Texas that considered taking my case. They were incredibly kind and easy to deal with and contacted me every week to keep me updated. A few days ago they informed me they ultimately were not going to take my case. I was given six months by the insurance company to appeal the decision but being ill, my mother passing away, and the struggle to find a lawyer ate up all of that time.

I submitted a one letter appeal this week one day before the deadline for my very last appeal. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth trying to find another, third lawyer. I’ve been dealing with this since I stopped working in August 2014 and this battle has caused tremendous stress for me. I've wasted so much valuable energy on this. This is the thing with the American for-profit insurance system: the sicker you are, the more benefits you need. It is a constant fight with insurance companies to get benefits and access to care. It is the job of insurance companies to maintain profits and deny benefits to protect profitability. It’s not personal. That is just how the system works.  

I long for this particular battle to finally be over with. I’m going to try to apply for state disability next, but I will likely be ineligible since I never paid into social security as a public educator. That’s the next battle. The prospect may be that not only can I not work but I cannot even get disability payments to help support my medical costs at the very least. This entire process has broken my spirit a bit. It has definitely had a physical cost. And I’m not alone. The struggle to get access to benefits and care is a struggle for many with chronic conditions.

I should've put a handful of glitter in the envelope when I mailed my last appeal. That would've felt like sweet justice.

-Husband and I left the house to go to the thrift store around the corner yesterday. Thrifting has been one of my favorite activities since I was in high school, and it was so great to get out. Oh, the benefits of doing a little better! This particular store is not very accessible and is really difficult to navigate in my wheelchair but I still like to go when I can. We only stay for a few minutes usually before I start to crash but I’ve gotten really good at making a quick of survey of everything to find some treasures before we go.

-My sister-in-law and baby nephew stopped by for a visit a few days ago. Look at all of this handsome.

-My daffodils I bought with my mom a few years ago have already started to sprout. I can't wait to see them bloom. They are my favorite flower. 

-What terrible news this week that we lost two brilliant souls, Alan Rickman and David Bowie. We watched Labyrinth and one of the Harry Potter movies this week. I have the Harry Potter movies memorized because I’m an unabashed Potter obsessive but it’s always great when husband wants to watch one with me. Rickman steals the show in all of the films and played Snape, the most complex character in the series, brilliantly. What a loss of a great talent.

How do you choose a favorite David Bowie song? It’s so difficult. But this one from Labyrinth has been one of my favorites forever and I learned it years ago. Sadly, I never performed it. It's such a gorgeous song. 

I hope you all had an ok week!

A New Year

I don’t really go for sappy sentimentality but I do like the power of reflection, reflecting as an impetus for learning and changing. 2014 was a rough ride to say the least. It was the most difficult year for me health-wise and I felt like I was perpetually trying to claw my way out of quicksand. 2014 was a re-play of the nightmare of 2011: bizarre symptoms that only got worse and worse, trying desperately to hold onto a career and some normalcy, constant tears and heartbreak, low after low. But I don’t want to think in those terms anymore. 2014 also brought gifts that I never expected and wouldn’t trade for anything.

This was the year that I essentially “came out” with my illness and started to be comfortable talking to people about it and even feeling empowered by what I’ve survived. Starting this blog in February was a catalyst for this. As I look back through the posts, the chaos and desperation is palpable in almost all of them but I tried to use writing to regain some power over my life and to understand that chaos. It allowed me to stand in the eye of the storm and sometimes even laugh at the absurdity of it. I had been thinking about starting a blog for awhile but resisted taking the plunge. This has helped me be able to externalize my experience to try to make it useful and educational for others. I’ve also met some great fellow Spoonies along the way.

This is the year I became comfortable with the term “disabled.” I put off getting a cane, then the walker, and then the wheelchair as long as possible. I didn’t want people to see me for what I truly am. Now, I don’t care anymore. I’m more than happy to take my wheelchair or use an electric cart. They mean being able to leave the house safely and comfortably. They also have the added bonus of wearing less sensible shoes and using mobility aids as an accessory, like the glitter cane my husband made me . You also get VIP parking wherever you go when you’re disabled. There has to be a perk somehow.

Glitter cane!

I’ve been reclaiming some things I lost over the last few years. When I was ill, working, and resisting my illness, I was an empty shell of a person. I had no energy for anyone or anything. I was living in a perpetual state of terror, maintaining a calm exterior and an interior in profound disarray. Not living. Only surviving. Living a double life. Now I’ve been reading more, watching endless history documentaries about Neolithic Britain, and trying to write and play more music. It’s nice to have other interests besides working.

2014 was filled with strange enhanced interrogation medical testing, including getting stabbed with needles repeatedly, doing a balance test designed for NASA, and having hot air blown in my ears. Some people can talk about their adventures in travelling over the year, but I wonder how many of them have had a doctor say to them, "Ok. Now it's going to feel like you're peeing." Now, this is how to party.

I have made some progress toward a diagnosis. We know I have some kind of neuromuscular autoimmune disease that is likely Myasthenia Gravis but my doctor is hesitant to provide the official diagnosis. I'm trying to get comfortable continuing to live in the grey area. The plot twists of this medical story just keep getting more and more strange. Even without an official diagnosis, they started treating it and I can do more than I could a few months ago, including doing some sort of exercise every day. I hope to keep up the momentum of that success this year.

Since I’m home-bound now most of the time and creating a permanent indentation in my couch, I really savor moments spent with family, friends, my husband. I am more present than I’ve ever been in my life and that has given me real joy. I’ve stopped taking on things I am not physically able to do with the idea that “things will just eventually get better and I’ll be able to do it” and instead started thinking about living a life within my physical limitations. The process of attaining these gifts was brutal but in many ways it was worth it.

The best gift 2014 gave me by far is acceptance. I spent a lot of energy the last few years hiding my illness, feeling shame and guilt, and fighting it. This had a predictable outcome of only making me worse. I am no longer fighting it so hard and resisting every change and every low. I truly learned how to get over it. I no longer feel the need to explain, apologize, or justify, even with my doctors. I no longer have the energy to do this anymore and it is emancipating as hell. I am what I am so take it or leave it. I want to scream from the mountaintop “Screw it! Whatever! I don’t care!” Then sip some tea and go back to lying down.

I don’t have any resolutions, just a few goals. I really hope to reclaim some of my independence that I have lost over the last year (including driving), conjure more creative output (maybe even some recording), and keep working toward acceptance. (And maybe, just maybe make more progress with diagnoses). I hope to get back to being in tune with the world again. 

I hope that you are also able to celebrate everything you have overcome and achieved this year and I wish you all the best in attaining your goals. I wish you good health, lots of rest, tons of chocolate, and genuine joy.

Thanks for being part of this journey :)

This song by one of my favorite artists perfectly sums up my year. Not sure how Tori Amos managed to tell my story way back in 2007.

Why Getting a Diagnosis Matters

I’ve been thinking a lot about why getting a diagnosis matters lately. Because many with Dysautonomia or other rarely diagnosed and invisible illnesses must go through months to years of appointments and testing to get a diagnosis, I have often wondered why we fight for one despite the constant obstacles and hurdles to obtain it. For many illnesses, especially rare and complicated ones, time to diagnosis is typically six years or more.

In 2011, I spent a year going through endless appointments and testing before I finally got diagnosed with POTS. I’ve spent most of the time since then going through endless appointments and testing to figure out what else is going wrong. Comorbities are common for Dysautonomia patients and they can spend years trying to obtain differential diagnoses. Never expect life to be easy, that's for sure!

I’ve mentioned before that about a year and a half ago I suddenly started having difficulty walking. I’ve gone from using a cane, to a walker, to now having to use my wheelchair if I leave house in that short amount of time. I am rarely able to leave the house at this point. Leaving the house is overrated anyway. Except, I miss it.

When I mentioned my walking issue to my doctor’s nurse practitioner when it started she basically told me I was imagining it. Invalidation all over again. So I tried to believe that for many months. But then I couldn’t get around and had to get a cane. I was continuing to lose my mobility rapidly. Hey, every 30 something goes through that difficult period of trying to figure out life while losing their mobility, right? Well, maybe not. I wasn't imagining this.

Having just one random illness no one has heard of is not a thing

I finally saw my neurologist this year. It had been two years between visits (the dude is popular and busy), and I told him what I was experiencing along with other disabling symptoms, he gave me a list of tests I would need to do. My heart sank. He was taking me more seriously but I knew all of those tests and appointments meant there would be no answers for at least another year. That was over seven months ago. I have only gotten progressively worse since then. My couch has a permanent Stefani shaped dent in it. 

While I fought to get the POTS diagnosis, I never dreamed of giving up. I'm in my fourth year of seeking a more complete diagnosis. The drive to give up has been surfacing from my subconscious, but that's not in my nature.

In one of the blood tests, I tested positive for an antibody for Myasthenia Gravis. Loss of mobility, weakness, difficulty breathing, and fatigue are signs of this autoimmune condition. In two weeks I do another test for MG. Maybe a diagnosis? My doctor had me start a medication last week that is used to treat this illness. But still, no official diagnosis. After all this time, will I finally know? But this led me to question why does a diagnosis matter? I am technically already being treated for this and have been learning how to cope with it, so why does the label matter?

Not many people want to be pigeon-holed and labeled. When you are desperately ill, that label is a like a trophy, engraved with the words "I Was Right!" Some never get a complete diagnosis and must suffer the costs of uncertainty long-term, but many of these patients still search for a label for their suffering. A label of an official diagnosis can matter for many reasons.

   Official Recognition and Documentation

Insurance companies and the medical system seem to operate in a very black and white world although there are some of us who live permanently in the grey area in between. There is nothing cut and dry about rare, complex conditions. Yet, a label and diagnosis fits into that tiny square in many medical forms titled “medical conditions" (good luck fitting more than one condition in that square). Having to list a grab bag of symptoms doesn’t seem to hold much weight in their world. Sometimes a grab bag of symptoms leads doctors or medical professionals to instead give a patient a psychiatric label such as “depressed” or “anxiety.” It’s easier than admitting they don’t know sometimes or investigating further. The irony is that depression and anxiety often are an effect of disabling symptoms met with invalidation, not the cause.

This is unfortunately incredibly common for many Dysautonomia patients. There can be serious ramifications from this invalidation. A lack of diagnosis could lead to patients not getting approved for a needed test or treatment option. It could mean a patient cannot get needed accommodations at work. It could impede accessibility to essential services for the chronically ill and disabled.

For those who are so disabled that they are unable to go to work or attend school, an official diagnosis could be a life line. This could help them qualify for disability or other types of assistance. For many, a diagnosis is essential for these practical concerns.

Often when you are chronically ill, you will encounter many doctors who do not know your medical history, you will have to fill out stacks of paperwork, and you will need to communicate to the medically uninitiated (such as employers, family members, etc) your needs. A diagnosis provides a concise explanation. 

Truth really is stranger than fiction. You can't make this stuff up. There’s nothing quite like having an entire Wikipedia page dedicated to your rare condition that you can direct them to when you have a diagnosis. The label leads to vital information and resources. It provides you with a prognosis and information to understand your body. A grab bag of symptoms rarely does. That leads to fruitless internet searches and typing into Google "am I dying?" The label can matter.

 

     Validation (Hey, I’m not just crazy!)

Finally leaving the inhospitable world of uncertainty behind for the more ordered, life-affirming nirvana of diagnosis gives patients validation, especially if they have been told they are wrong by many doctors. It lets patients at least take a break from the endless hamster wheel of diagnosis. This has practical financial, legal, and bureaucratic concerns as I mentioned above, but it also assuages the psyche of those who are desperately ill but have been denied proper care and treatment under the label of mental illness.

When I was finally diagnosed with POTS, I wanted to sing in the streets. Then I wanted to send the primary doctor I had who told me over and over “you’re just stressed” and ended up making me worse a flaming bag of dog poop. Ok, I won’t do that but I still think about it.

After being told by so many doctors that I was wrong, I was finally right. When you get a diagnosis, it's like reading a prequel to your life. The plot holes, disjointed timelines, and weird flashbacks of your story start to make sense.  I have learned that sometimes you will still encounter invalidation and continue to have to “prove” you are ill, yet you can wield a clinical diagnosis like a weapon against these forces. You aren’t wrong. You have proof. The label can matter. 

     Treatment

Perhaps most importantly, a diagnosis can lead to treatment options where there were none before. As with most rare conditions, no specific drug has been created to treat Dysautonomia and POTS as a whole, but there are drugs that treat symptoms such as Midodrine. Drugs are typically used off-label for Dysautonomia and POTS, such as Florinef (which was created for Addison’s Disease). The FDA did recently approve Droxidopa, an Orthostatic Hypotension drug.

It is difficult to treat a patient without a specific diagnosis, so finally getting that label gives a patient some options as opposed to few or none. Even with a probable diagnosis, you can have treatment options. For example, since my doctor suspects Myasthenia Gravis, I have started taking Mestonin and started physical therapy. Proper treatment can provide hope and can lead to a better quality of life. The label can matter.

 

 ***

HuffingtonPost posted an article listing other, innovative avenues for patients with complex conditions to pursue when you are trapped on the hamster wheel of diagnosis. POTS is even mentioned in the article, how about that! Depending on what happens over the next few months, I may pursue #3. 

I have been telling myself over the past year that perhaps a diagnosis doesn’t matter, but that’s the drive to give up talking. It does matter. The process to get there is painstaking to say the least but I have written before that there are ways to navigate it, which is here. 

Even if I also become one of those who must suffer a label-less existence, I know I'm not wrong, and that's what matters the most.

My last trip to Stanford Hospital. Keeping up the good fight

Why does getting a diagnosis matter or not matter to you?

How to Help A Friend or Loved One with Dysautonomia (Or Any Chronic Illness)

One of my goals while being on leave was to post more regularly but I hit a really bad patch the last few weeks and didn’t get this post up sooner. But I’m working on getting back to the upswing and writing, walking a bit, and singing to my cats regularly again. My BFF Carrie Anne recommended this topic to me, and I thank her for it. This post is in honor and in celebration of Dysautonomia Awareness Month. 

Although Dysautonomia is an invisible illness, living with the condition has very real ramifications in the lives of patients and their friends and loved ones. The illness can be so devastating that some are unable to do normal activities and have to rely on a caregiver. Everyone needs support in their lives, but for those who are disabled and/or chronically ill, that support becomes vital. 

For many people, it is difficult to ask for help. In American culture, we are taught to value independence and self-reliance. I have found that many who cope with chronic illness once had lives filled with ambition, over-achievement, and self-determination, myself included. When suddenly you are confronted with a life of dependence and survival, there is grief and frustration, which can be difficult to communicate to others. Yet, having a support network that you can trust and rely on can make all the difference for Dysautonomia patients.

Many may think that helping a friend with chronic illness or disability means helping them perform tasks. What your friend or loved one really needs is often intangible. I decided to ask some of the online Dysautonomia/POTS groups I am on about this topic to get their feedback and almost everyone responded with the intangible forms of support. Whether you are a caregiver, a loved one, or a friend of someone with Dysautonomia, I hope you find this useful:

Understanding

Almost every person who responded to my question included this word. Understanding takes many forms, and I believe for many of those who responded it meant trust—trust that even though the illness is invisible, the disabling symptoms are very real. Your friend/loved one is likely dealing with constant dizziness, fatigue, brain fog, nausea, difficulty standing, difficulty breathing, GI symptoms, fainting, weakness, and obstacles performing simple tasks like cooking, driving, showering, or bending over. Their system is on a constant roller coaster ride of fluctuating blood pressure and heart rate because their body is no longer able to self-regulate automatic functions. Even if you cannot visibly see these symptoms, trust that they are experiencing them. They are dealing with constant frustration because of these symptoms and just want someone to understand how challenging life has become.

Many patients deal with constant invalidation, particularly from the medical community. Almost every Dysautonomia patient has at some point heard “it’s all in your head” or “it’s stress.” If a loved one or friend says these words, that invalidation becomes more devastating and emotionally damaging. Imagine dealing with life-altering or even life-threatening symptoms but constantly being dismissed as just “crazy” or “attention-seeking.” The emotional cost of this is unimaginable and it adds to the magnitude of stress illness already causes.

This condition is complicated and rarely diagnosed, so many Dysautonomia patients have to fight hard to “prove” their illness constantly. It can take many years before a patient receives a complete diagnosis. When a loved one or friend just says the words “I believe you,” all of that stress and invalidation washes away. He or she can now be completely honest and authentic with you. It is a true gift. You can even research Dysautonomia, their subset of Dysautonomia, and even their other conditions to gain a better understanding of the symptoms, prognosis, and treatment.

  

 Patience

Many who responded also mentioned this word. I would list this as my number one desired form of support. Your friend/loved one’s life has been completely altered by this condition. They are often grieving their former life and trying to figure out how to continue to live a full or half-full life while ill and disabled. This means they are unable to do what they once could. This could be true in terms of work, social life, hobbies, family obligations, household chores, etc. This illness can alter every aspect of a person’s life. They need your patience because their capacity to do these things has diminished. They may miss family functions or have to get accommodations at work, and they need your patience and understanding that they would rather be fully present in all aspects of life. They are courageously living life and putting on a brave face.

For me, once I became ill I realized how much I had taken for granted in life in terms of what I was able to do. Going to the store wasn’t a massive undertaking. Trying to clean my house didn’t take all day because of constantly having to rest. I didn’t live most of my life on the couch or in bed. Whatever the severity of the illness your friend or loved experiences, they can no longer take participation in life for granted and they need your patience as they try to still participate despite the physical obstacles. Your friend or loved one can be relatively symptom free for an hour or a day and then suddenly bed-ridden. There is often no rhyme or reason, so they need your patience as they navigate the ups and downs of the illness.

Communication

Communication is essential in any relationship, but it takes on new meaning when your friend or loved one is ill. Last week was one of the worst weeks I’ve ever had and by Friday I needed to go the hospital because I was having difficulty breathing and was unable to walk just a few feet. My husband and I discussed whether it was really worth it to go to the ER or not. We weighed the options together and ultimately decided it was not. These types of communications are typical for caregivers and Dysautonomia patients. Sometimes you are faced with very difficult choices because the cost of this illness is paid out financially, emotionally, and physically. Being able to communicate with each other about these choices and the daily struggles of life can make them more manageable because you can tackle them as a team.

National Public Radio recently did a study on stress and the sources of stress, and they found that the highest forms of stress are related to health. What this data doesn’t state is that chronic illness and poor health can be stressful for all parties involved, not just the patient. Caregivers in particular deal with a lot of pressure and stress. I am no professional, but it may be self-evident that communicating with each other about the challenges of dealing with illness could help alleviate this stress.

There’s an undercurrent of guilt when illness takes over your life because how much it can affect others. I often feel the need to apologize to everyone all of the time. If patients and their loved ones can communicate about their challenges, perhaps the emotional and mental strain of illness can be assuaged for all parties. Dysautonomia patients can communicate their limitations and capabilities in terms of housework or what they will need at a social function so that others can help them. Suffering in silence is not a solution. Listen to your loved one to understand what their needs are and this could limit the frustration that often comes with an invisible illness.

 

      Support

Support comes in many forms, and your friend or loved one needs your support. Because some patients are home-bound or are very limited in their activities, they may not get to see friends or family very often anymore. Stopping by their house or calling, emailing, texting to just ask “how are you doing?” or say something funny can really brighten their day.

This illness can be isolating. Many patients never meet anyone else in person who has the same condition and leaving the house is challenging and exhausting. Feeling alone and misunderstood is common. You can check in once in awhile with your loved one or friend to see how they are doing to show them that you support them and think of them. Everyone needs to know they have a cadre of people cheering in their corner, and this is especially true for those with chronic illness.

 

      Saying the right thing

I think many people are worried about saying the right thing to someone with a devastating illness, but I don’t think “the right thing” exists. I think there’s only honesty. Tell your friend or loved one that you miss them, you think of them, you hope their treatment is going well. That you wish them an endless supply of chocolate and puppy kisses. Tell them you don’t understand their condition or why it has altered their life. I only know the wrong thing to say is “I don’t believe you,” but beyond that just be honest, ask questions, and listen. Your friend or loved one probably doesn’t want more from you than that.

Caregiving and support is a two-way street. For Dysautonomia patients, I think we could read these suggestions as “how to help friends or family understand our challenges” as well. We also need to understand, be patient, communicate, be supportive, and forget about saying the right thing. If medical professionals are struggling to crack this strange condition, we can’t expect family, friends, or strangers to fully grasp it either. We’ll get through this together.

I hope I covered most of how to help your friend or loved one with Dysautonomia but feel free to suggest more

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