Just a little over a year ago, I broke my right ankle, tibia and fibula. I had to have surgery to set it, wore a cast for almost 3 months, and even today, I am still in a wheelchair. These are some of my thoughts about spending this period of time looking at everybody’s bellybutton.
It’s amazing how different the world looks from down here. When I’m outside, what may seem to you an insignificant crack in the sidewalk looks like the freaking Grand Canyon to me. Those little wheels in the front of the chair – they get stuck very easily. Actually, one of the first things I learned for going over any obstacles: big wheels first. Just like the kids’ toy. I really wish wheelchairs came with rearview mirrors. Sometimes I go backwards more often than I go forwards. Almost worse than the cracks are the slight inclines used for wheelchair ramps. I’m in a manual chair, and those ramps are hard for me to get up.
Still, I do manage to do it, but boy I wish the world were a lot flatter sometimes. I hear Nebraska’s flat – should I try moving there? Another thing I discovered being in a chair – is that people are apt to just grab the chair and push you places. Usually without asking first. Oh how I HATE that! I’m still an autonomous human being; ask my permission before you move the chair. If it helps you, consider me somewhat bionic, as in the chair and I have melded into one being. You don’t go around pushing random ambulatory people around, so don’t do it to me. Mmm’kay?
The term, “Wheelchair Accessible,” ain’t necessarily true. Today’s case in point: my mother is in the ICU at a local hospital (she will recover), so I went to go visit her this morning. To be let into the ICU, you have to take the phone off the hook on the wall and talk to someone at the nurses’ desk to get them to buzz the door open. Despite all the ramps, etc., the phone was too high off the floor for me to reach from the wheelchair. I have to ask people to do that for me. Does this make any sense to you? No it doesn’t to me, either.
For various and sundry reasons, I am looking for another place to live. I’ve been searching on craigslist for an apartment share, and I put in the search bar the phrase “wheelchair.” There was one place that looked really great – it was to share a place with a couple of other women my age, it said it was wheelchair accessible, and it was in my price range. When I contacted them, they told me it was on the second floor. In a two-story house. Huh. How is this wheelchair accessible?
One of the weirdest things is that I’ve completely lost my ability to tell how tall people are. If you’re standing next to me, I no longer know if you are a very tall 6-footer or a shrimpy 5’1″-er like me. Very disconcerting because I used to be a very good judge of height. Hey, I don’t mean to gripe about this too much.
There are actually some perks to being in a wheelchair: you don’t have to wait in line at a restaurant. I tend to get a table right away. I guess it’s bad “optics” to have a wheelchair-bound person sitting outside the restaurant trying to get in. If I drop something, people from all around rush to pick it up for me. Never mind that I have no problem picking things up off the ground – it’s my right leg that isn’t working, not the rest of me. Still, it’s nice, and it’s good to see young people in particular being so thoughtful. Ditto for being at the supermarket. I just have to look up longingly at something on the top shelf, and people clamor to help me get it. It’s kind of nice, actually. I didn’t get this much attention when I was standing on my own two feet, just being short.
I hope one day fairly soon to be out of the wheelchair. Maybe I’ll need a walker, maybe I won’t. Apparently, I have some form of diabetic osteoporosis and keep breaking bones, so being careful will be my motto for the rest of my life. Standing or sitting, i intend to enjoy my life as much as I can. So, if you see me rolling by, give me a wave. And if you block my view to anything, expect to be stuck in the back with a pointy stick. Cheers!
When I was first diagnosed with Hashimoto Tyroiditis disease I was prescribed medication to take everyday. Before that diagnosis, I only pill I took daily was a vitamin D tablet in the winter. Here in New England, almost everyone is diagnosed with low D during the winter months.
Now I look at my vast array of medications and wonder “All these can’t be good for me!” I have since had a diagnosis of two types of arthritis (one can make you blind overnight!) and Type Two Diabetes (medication induced). The amber bottles of pills keep growing.
My medications a combination of drugs to battle the chronic illnesses, and drugs to combat the drugs that combat the chronic illnesses.
Side effects need their own drugs it seems, but these drugs also have side effects.
So, if you are like me you have more than once thought “I wonder if these medications are making me feel ill? Maybe it’s not the disease, maybe it’s the medications!” Less is more is my thought, and my insides make horrible noises most of the day in rebellion against the medical onslaught. This just doesn’t seem right, or even good for me.
I decided that the one doctor I trust the most and I needed to have a little talk. So, I took a list of my medications, and asked her “Why am I taking each of these? Are there any I can cut out, or work toward cutting out?”
It was a very good conversation.
First off, I wasn’t taking many of my medications in the optimal way. My thyroid medication is a bitch, I need to take it on an empty stomach. Problem is the other medications need to be taken with food. My solution was waking at 2am and just taking them. The problem is, they work best if taken on an empty stomach with a glass of water. Not a sip of water in the middle of the night.
We talked and came up with a solution. I now take the pills first thing in the morning with a water bottle I keep by the bed. Then I wait 20 minutes and take my arthritis medications. I’ve noticed a difference in how I feel throughout the day.
My doctor also went over timing for my other medications, what I should drink and eat (I wasn’t nearly drinking enough for many of them). She reminded me, I have a more than one serious illness. Several, as most people with an immune disease, have more than one serious illness.
Some of my medications are common for people my age. The statin is needed as my family has unusually high cholesterol. We just do. Even the vegan weird hippy cousin, she’s delightful, but she’s on a statin.
Also going over my side effects with her was very important. Side effects can be very dangerous, and she suggested a new pill to help with my stomach complaint.
Did I get to drop any of my medications? No. I’m still not happy about the number of medications. But, as she reminds me over and over “You have several very serious illnesses.” People with serious illnesses take a lot of medication. Just because it’s an “invisible illness”, meaning I look fine, doesn’t mean it isn’t truly dangerous.
I have a friend that complains her husband refuses to take his blood pressure medications. She is upset, but not enough to really make sure he takes them. She jokes “If he has a heart attack it will be his fault!”
He’s proud he doesn’t “take pills”, he says he feels great. He’s thin, he rides his bike, and he “eats right”. The blood pressure cuff of course doesn’t know any of that.
It’s hard when you don’t LOOK sick, but I imagine it’s even harder when you don’t FEEL sick, to take your medications.
But, while I am still unhappy about the number of medications I take, and I want to cut down, I’m happy I did speak to my physician about each and every one.
WHY am I taking this
WHAT does it do
WHICH side effects do I have (and how can we treat them?)
WHEN can I stop taking this (maybe never?)
WHATEVER can I do to perhaps get off this medication?
HOW do I take this medication to get the most out of it
Also, if you are having a problem with one medication (and how to figure out which one can be hard), see if there is an alternative you can try. There usually is and often you are much happier with that alternative!
My husband is upset and worried. He knows of course that I have a 2 serious forms of arthritis. He knows I take serious medications to control not only the inflammation but the pain. He knows these medications have serious side effects, the worst being horrible intestinal pain, and that there is an ever present danger of ulcers.
He understands that I often spend part of the day or night hugging a heating pad and crying in pain. There is the acid burning and trying to sleep slightly upright to keep the acid reflux down. There are prescriptions for Prilosec, that don’t work well.
He knows all this, but I’m still here.
Then he read about the death of Glenn Frey, musician and member of the Eagles band.
He understand that these horrible immune diseases are going to kill me sooner or later. Unless I’m hit by a truck or some other disease carries me off, this is going to be on my death certificate.
The problem was his reading the details of Glenn Frey’s death. The long term hospitalization. The induced comas. The side effects killed Frey, and it wasn’t pleasant and it wasn’t quick. The number one death of RA patients is ulcers and side effects from the medication.
Frey worked out, he was a “workout warrior” to keep his RA in check as much as possible. I unfortunately do not have enough control over my disease yet to be a “workout warrior”. Gentle walks are a huge step up for me. New medications are helping a lot, but my case is far more serious than that of Frey. Working out is not an option. That was huge, because my husband believes I am “doing fine”… or as fine as it is possible with this serious illness.
Frey had his disease for 15 years. Mark sees this as perhaps only having me for only 10 year more, and possibly less. That scares him.
What scares me is the sort of drawn out death of months in the hospital. I truly dislike being in the hospital. It’s depressing, it’s boring, it’s often painful and it’s scary.
So tonight when I had a terrible attack of acid reflux and pain, he was upset. Because he sees this as a hint of how our future is going to end.
We then remind each other, that much of the time we are happy and doing well. That there are the gentle walks with our dog we enjoy so much. The movies we watch together and enjoy. The decorating of our new one level home, which we moved to knowing that one floor living was important for my safety and comfort. There are many good times yet to come. Most people don’t have a very pleasant or pain free death.
Those of us with chronic diseases understand much like Frey, our fates were sealed with our diagnosis. It’s how many years, and the quality of those years. I hope that I can keep my focus on the good times, and keep my husband’s focus on those good times also.
I am having a horrific arthritis flare. I awoke at 3am with every joint screaming at me. I reached down to touch the fiery knees and knew, surprise flare attack!
The day before had been especially good, this is the trap. I had overdone it a bit, but also with most chronic illnesses you just never know when it’s going to go from a 3 on the pain scale to an 11. It might have been something you’ve done, or it might just be arthritis reminding you it’s a bitch. Either way, dealing with the pain peaks is impossible.
It’s impossible, but of course we do deal with it.
One trick, is the pillow fort. Most people with joint pain have a pillow fort plan. There is no one mattress that can support all our aching joints, no matter what the TV ad says. Instead we use pillows. This one supports a leg, this one cushions a hip, this one supports your neck, this one is just flat enough for your head. You don’t want your head pillow to be too fluffy or your neck joint will hurt.
I have a specially shaped pillow that can go between my knees for extra support and to keep the joints straight. It’s very helpful most nights.
Still, pillow forts no matter how comfortably built are just built of fluff, and tend to move around as you move around. The protective pillow fortress needs to be rebuilt often during the night.
A flare means, nothing is going to help your pain.
You get kind of desperate.
Some drink a tad.
I don’t, because I have a genetically fragile liver. Thanks relatives that mated and gave me this! My one daughter also has it so I apologize to her.
However, I am not supposed to take Aleve, it’s bad for the liver, but it does help with the joint pain.
When you are awoken by pain and you can’t even imagine how you are going to survive it, and you’ve tried the ice packs and heating pads and pillow forts galore… you do what it takes. For me that means sometimes taking an Aleve and offering an apology to my liver. Fingers crossed, but I’m thinking about living through the next few hours not the next 20 years.
Some use medical marijuana. This is not available where I live (legally) and since I refuse to take it in anything but gummy bear form (it comes that way) I just suffer. But at 5 am after having been awaken at 3am, I would eat some gummy bears. Recent studies show it doesn’t hurt your liver!
Right now I am looking at this being a record flare, possibly lasting 24 hours. I’m going to one of my doctors tomorrow where we will certainly TALK ABOUT THIS!
Meanwhile I’m planning a super deluxe pillow fort and hoping for some sleep tonight. Finger crossed, and Aleve taken, it’s often whatever gets you through the night.
Last night I went to sleep, “baaaa humbug!” I said as I was exhausted from wrapping gifts to be sent off to family. There was a sense of Christmas gloom and guilt, perhaps instead of being rushed to get family gifts in the mail I should be planning instead to visit family in person. Sure with my arthritis and new medications travel is not easy nor advised, but Christmas is about family. Right? I wearily fell asleep mumbling about “Plane tickets, maybe drive, it won’t snow right…zzzzz”
Suddenly there appeared a GHOST, it my old friend Marley that had died of her chronic illness not long ago. She was wrapped in chains, which dragged as she hobbled across the floor. I said, “So, you are still hobbling even after death? That’s a bummer, as I know your MS made you have problems walking when you were alive!”
Marley grumbled and pulled on her chains. “No, I can walk fine, but these chains are the chains of anger and frustration, I must pay for my sins in this world before I can devoid myself of the chains!” I couldn’t imagine what sins Marley was guilty of, she had dealt with her MS with courage, humor and always supported her chronically ill friends with empathy and love. What could possibly have happened?
Marley looked glum and said “I want to save you from the chains I have to wear, by warning you to heed the three visitors you will have tonight! Three ghosts will come to show you what has been, what is, and what might be. Only then can you be saved from my fate!” I assured Marley that she was only the holiday pudding I had eaten (let’s face it, pain killers give you a tummy ache), but even though she was only heartburn I wished her well in the afterlife.
I then fell fast asleep to be awoken then by a jolly roly poly old physician. He was smoking a pipe and said, “I am the doctor of Christmas dinners past!” I gave him a poke in the belly and he said “Yes I am the doctor of times long ago when doctors could be fat and smoke cigarettes, sometimes right in our office!”
He said, “Come with me and I will take you on a trip to Christmas family dinner of the past!” He then took my hand, and I took my cane because even though we were apparently going to fly out my window I knew I’d need it if any walking were involved.
We flew out over the snow topped houses and back into history, where we landed at a holiday dinner of long ago. It was at the Naval Academy where my husband had gone to school. We were in a room full of young men in uniforms.They were happily eating turkey, dressing, green beans and rolls. Next to a very handsome young midshipman was a young woman in a bright blue dress with too much trim. I recognized myself, wearing a Laura Ashley dress. I said “I can’t believe I had that hair, you know Doctor of Christmas past that hair took me 2 hours to curl!”
I then started trying to rearrange my large hair of Christmas past, really it was just too big and all that hair spray showed I had not heard of global warming yet. The Doctor of Christmas past said “Listen, stop and listen!”
The young midshipman turned to the young me and said “I’m so glad you were able to be here for my holiday dinner. I’m not able to go home, as my family has plans. I was going to be all alone this year, except for you. This is the best holiday dinner ever. I’ll never forget this. I love you.” Obviously I had forgotten, but still young me was “That’s alright, it can get really stressful at my parents. They are divorcing and it’s all bickering and everyone telling you how to live your life. This is a lot nicer. We are just enjoying each other’s company! I love you too!”
At this the scene became foggy and I found myself back in my bed. Had it all just been a dream? I thought back to that early first Christmas with my husband to be. We found we had so much in common. Pie, we both loved pie. Stuffing, we liked chunky bits of celery in it. We both liked gravy on our mashed potatoes more than butter alone. We knew what Christmas dinner was really about, food.
Then I fell back asleep only to awaken to a thinner ghost with curly hair. It was my own current doctor, Dr. Metsch! Dr.M was “Hello, I know we met only a week ago for your check up, and say how is that new medication working… no don’t tell me or I’ll have to charge you. This isn’t an office visit, this is off hours volunteer work. I’m here to show you Christmas dinner of the present!” I told Dr.M I was impressed as she was Jewish ,but she pointed out that nowadays even Jews could serve in ghostly holiday dreams.
Next thing I knew were were flying over the mountains and tree tops to my mothers home. Seated at the table were my brothers, my step dad and my uncle and his wife and family. I was also seated there with my husband. There was turkey, stuffing and my step fathers fantastic superb and probably potentially deadly mashed potatoes. He promises to share the secret before the potatoes kill him. Let’s just say I’ve noticed containers of heavy cream and real butter in the fridge before he makes them. My husband was turning to me and talking about the potatoes. I was agreeing with him about how wonderful they were. We were talking about food, as we did long ago at our first dinner.
Then, it began. My mother asked my uncle if he had any luck with losing weight, and how it just took will power. My mother pointed out how she was still as thin as she ever was, and that will power was all it took. Then she turned to me, pointing out that I was the ONLY fat child. I did point out, “You know I have to take steroids for my chronic illness, I do try to be careful about my weight, but…”
My uncle is then warned by another family member about his diabetes. Dream me is about to make a big mistake, and even I can’t stop me. I admit to my family that I am now diabetic because of the medications I take to treat my illnesses. I have to take medication now to deal with this deadly side effect. I say this as I have a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy halfway to my mouth.
Pandemonium ensues. Suggestions are offered about how I should deal with my illnesses. Everything from going vegan (from a sister in law who is and has “never been sick a day since I went vegan”) to a cousin (“It’s all those medications you take, the side effects are more dangerous than your illnesses!”) to my aunt (“no one has ever had diabetes before in our family, well except your uncle!”). At this point I know if I put that spoon of mashed potato in my mouth I will be in even bigger trouble than I am now.
Assurances that I have done well on my new medication and that I have the ability to check my blood glucose level is not heard. Who need google to look things up when you have my family? It’s all done “out of love”, but I wonder, “do they not think I have very expensive well trained doctors that can advise me?” To my horror, dream me has spoken these words out loud. It becomes a battle.
Memories of all the times I have been “careless”, and even the reminder once again, “No one ever had arthritis that I know of, except grandmother and her sister and those two cousins… so obviously it’s something she’s DONE.” My blessedly healthy and strong family is in full force attack, telling me how to cure everything wrong with me (except my Uncle, who is longingly looking at the mashed potatoes also, and we were honestly only going to have a small portion in keeping with the recommendation of our physicians).
I feel ugly, fat and guilty. Maybe it is something I have done. Everyone else is so healthy, I understand from my physicians and google that the immune response diseases I have are genetic in origin. I see my cousin getting ready to suggest again maybe the wrong baby was brought home from the hospital.
I awake shaking. I’m now terrified of what the Christmas ghost of future dinners has for me. However when the ghost appears it is only my dear friend Marly, only this time she has no chains fettering her.
She holds out her hands and smiles. “The chains were the guilt and misery my family inflicted on me every holiday. Instead of enjoying each others company, they would take it as a time to complain and try to fix my problems. They also picked on my sister who still lives with MS. Instead of a dinner with love and respect, it became something that left me weak and broken. Our families love us, they are concerned for us, but sadly instead of realizing that life is short for all of us, they try to fix us. They don’t try to understand what we are going through, the very effort to sit at a table can cause pain. Travel also take much planning and is scary. Instead of appreciating our sacrifice to be with them, they tell us the latest medical cure from Dr.OZ. Instead of praising us for what we do accomplish, like getting out of bed and facing another day with pain and complications, they don’t understand why we don’t do MORE. We are unable to enjoy ourselves, because they are unable to accept us as we are. Sometimes love means just being together and enjoying the mashed potatoes, in moderation of course.”
I saw then my husband, eating Christmas dinner alone. He was in our small house, that he had gone to such trouble to save up for so I could live on one floor. I remember him painting the rooms, working overtime for the renovations, and pushing me around in my wheelchair. He was eating turkey and mashed potatoes. There was a smile on his face, as if he were remembering that first Christmas dinner we had together. He had never lost his happy memories of that time, when it was just the two of us.
I then awoke.
I put aside plans to drive hours upon hours through possible snow storms to be with family. I put aside thoughts of spending money on plane tickets and maneuvering my wheel chair through airports. I gave up trying to plan an extra steroid shot so I could stand sitting upright for hours in travel without extreme pain.
I leaned over to kiss my husband where he was sleeping by my side. He awoke and I said “How about we just have Christmas here, just the two of us. Let’s make some happy memories!” His face lit up with a huge smile. I hugged him and said “Maybe my step dad will give us his famous mashed potato recipe? We’ll only make a little bit!”
Because Christmas dinner is about being together and enjoying food. It’s about creating happy memories for when you aren’t there anymore.
**** Please note, the above is a work of FICTION. I do love my family, and enjoy spending time with them. Especially my wonderful brothers and incredible children! BUT.. all of them at once, and with the fixer upers on full alert, it can be too much for when you are battling a chronic illness. Sometimes, we just decide to “stay home”, and eat the mashed potatoes. Which are NOT a work of fiction and do indeed exist though they are a closely guarded secret.
The other day I awoke, took my first set of morning pills that have to be taken on an empty stomach (and then no food or drink for 30 minute after), and then did something very stupid.
I forgot to take my other medications, the ones that require food.
My dog decided to go ballistic over a new puppy next door, and I was busy dealing with his barking. I then just went on with my day.
WHAT A DAY IT WAS!
I began to feel very weak and unwell. This was not only physical, but also mental. Now, those of us with a chronic illness deal with a lot of depression. Pain demands a great deal of energy, both mental and physical. I am aware that one of the medications I take does not “build up” in the body and missing even one dose is dangerous. I was about to find out how dangerous.
I had cramping, a blazing headache and started shaking. What I was truly most frightened about was the depression and anxiety that set in quickly. Each hour brought more pain and more anxiety. I felt I simply could not live with so much pain and depression. While not suicidal, I was using all the tools and tricks I knew to keep myself somewhat calm.
I began monitoring my physical symptoms, making sure that they did not escalate to where I would need to go to the hospital. I was ready to go in if needed, and knew it would be important not to drive myself. I had the number of the local taxi service out, and also had texted my husband at work. Thankfully, before I got to that point, I figured out the problem.
Do you have a tool box full of tricks and treatments? The time to “wing it” is not when you are in the middle of a crisis.
So what were the tools I use? What’s helped me in the past deal with a sudden onslaught of pain and depression? Here is the short and the long version! WHAT TOOLS DO YOU USE? PLEASE SHARE! Because you can never have too many tools when dealing with chronic illness!
Cliff Notes Version
1.Depression lies (thanks Bloggess)
2.Laugher is the best medicine
3.Distraction is important. (thanks youtube)
4.Have friends on stand by at all times.
5.Nature is good
7.Stop trying to do stuff, especially stuff you don’t want to do.
8.You have an illness, of course at times you will feel unwell!
9.Share you are having a rough time of it. (this includes sharing with your physician or go to the ER if things really escalate)
10.Don’t forget to take your medications correctly! They can only work well if you follow directions on when and how to take them!
My Tool Box
1.Remember the Bloggess. Jenny Lawson (aka the Bloggess) has blog posts that are helpful in two ways. The first way is she writes about the important fact that DEPRESSION LIES. My depression was lying to me saying “This pain is so horrible, I can’t live with this. Obviously the medication is not working. You’ll never be able to do anything other than suffer….” I just kept remembering it was lying to me and just a few days ago I felt great, and I would feel good again soon.
2.Remember the Bloggess. Again. Because it’s important to DISTRACT YOURSELF. That means avoiding anything depressing, like self help books about depression. Or sad movies. Or the news. You have to laugh, and some of her blogs will make you laugh. Think giant metal chicken, and you will survive. I also recommend the youtube bloggers Simon and Martina at Eatyourkimchi. Martina suffers from a chronic illness. She gets your pain, but she also shares the comedy aspects of life in South Korea. You will laugh.
3.Think “Kitten Videos”. My daughter called me from half a world away, where she lives, and told me “Watch kitten videos”. Anything that makes you go “Awww” works well. Also cats will make you laugh. Avoid anything with Sarah McLaughlin, we want happy videos about animals. This cat site has calming videos of Persians. The most famous is India the kitten. Also call your own pets over, nothing is more calming that our pets!
4.Remember your friends. I’ve recently moved to a new neighborhood, and I really don’t know anyone well enough yet to knock on their door and say “Can I just sit here for a bit, I’m scared.” Instead I have a mental list of everyone I could text and call that would drop everything to be there for me. Just to listen. The list was topped by two great girlfriends, and they also have my husband’s phone number. The point wasn’t that I talked to anyone, the point was I knew I could talk to someone if I needed them.
I would also like to especially thank my friends, who while I did not call them, are always there for me. When you give someone with a chronic illness permission to call, you are doing a good deed. Just the KNOWLEDGE that I could call my friends made me feel less anxiety and safe. Want to be a hero? Just give a friend permission to “call if needed” with no judgement- just support. Even if they never call you, that knowledge “I can call” is a wonderful gift that will help your friend through tough times.
5.Go outside. If this was a real depression, not a lack of drug reaction, this would have worked pretty well. It was a beautiful day and the combination of sunshine and walking the dog would have lifted my spirits. I felt anxiety so I took the dog for a walk in the wooded area behind my house, and nine of out ten times, this makes me feel better and that at the very least I made the dog happy!
6.Break the rules. Dieting? Eat something you like, and forget the calories. Find a great book on Amazon, who cares about the budget! Order that $15 book and munch away on buttered popcorn. Indulge. You are interested in getting through the NOW, and you do whatever it takes. Probably a glass of chardonnay, or a bottle of chardonnay, or heck a barrel of chardonnay, is not a good choice. But for me, food and a book works very well. Also know your body. A glass of wine is very helpful for many friends with chronic illness. If it works, and you feel comfortable with it, do what works.
7.Don’t try too hard. This is the most difficult for me. I hate that when I am depressed or in pain I have a “Wasted day”. NOTHING is going to get done. I’m just going to deal with the illnesses all day! So I keep trying. I cleaned the litter box, and I was “There I did something!” But I was exhausted and felt guilty as that was all I had done. I had to then assure myself “You have a serious illness, and taking care of yourself and dealing with this illness IS YOUR JOB.” I assured myself I would feel better, and it was time to stop faking being well.
8. Give yourself permission to feel unwell. This ties into number 7, if they day is a write off it’s fine. It’s not a write off if you are battling to keep sane and deal with waves of pain. That’s job enough, don’t try to throw making a huge dinner or cleaning all the bathrooms on top of it. If you are not a positive Pollyanna type, accept it. My neighbor with RA is very upbeat. She is “In the past we’d be in wheelchairs!” (I have also hints she is on some wonderful meds I avoid!) I’m not going to be upbeat all the time, and that’s fine. We should not let others tell us how to deal with our personal chronic illnesses. Grumpy cat types unite!
9. Make sure people know you are feeling unwell. Ask them to check in with you. I sent my husband a text, telling him how things were. He called right after he got out of a meeting. If you know someone is going to check on you, especially if you are alone, you’ll feel safer. I even reached out to people in Facebook, just in a PM, “I’m feeling bad, I’m having a bad day.” They checked back throughout the day.
10. CHECK TO MAKE SURE YOU DID NOT MESS UP YOUR MEDICATION! When I felt myself getting worse, I thought, “I’m going to take my next dose of medication early, I can’t wait another 2 hours.” As soon as I saw that pill container with the arthritis drug I felt instant relief. I still felt like crap but I KNEW WHY. Medicine timing is very important. Read the instructions, and be clear with your doctors about WHEN is the best time for taking a medication. My thyroid medication took almost 6 months to figure out. When I took it at night on an empty stomach, I suffered from insomnia! The middle of the night, I awoke about half an hour later with insomnia. First thing in the morning works best. However, not if I forget half an hour later to take the other 3 medications I rely on. Medication juggling is very difficult. We have to be vigilant.
Medication mix ups can also be very dangerous. I was getting ready to call my physician right before I discovered what had happened. I knew that I was getting worse instead of better, and that my “tools” that usually work well were failing me.
…..also you don’t have to have a chronic illness (or two of three) to share your TOOLS that get you through the tough times. I would love to hear more ways people have of making it through the tough times.
One of the constants of having a chronic illness is that we all take pills. Usually a lot of pills. But what happens to those empty pill bottles when we’re done with them? Until recently the recycle bin has been my disposal unit of choice. After all, the landfills have enough problems without adding so much plastic to them.
But what if there was another option? What if we could make a difference in the lives of people in an entire country? What if we could keep children safer? What if we could virtually guarantee that someone in a third world country would be sure of making it home with essential medications?
Enter, The Malawi Project. According to their website: “While first world nations throw away perfectly good medicine bottles, medical pharmacies and hospital facilities in Malawi often find themselves with nothing except torn pieces of paper in which to wrap medicine for their patients. This is often seen in rural hospitals and villages where the poorest of the nation try to live and survive.”
The people in these outlying villages walk for miles to get essential medications for themselves and their families only to risk losing that medication on the long trip back home. Even if the meds reach home, then their small children are at risk of finding these drugs because there is no secure way to store them.
We can turn our illness into a benefit for others by donating our old pill bottles and guaranteeing that, not only will the medication reach someone in desperate need, but that their children will be safer.
What I have done is I chose a small cardboard box and I have been saving my old pill bottles in that. When it is full, I will do as instructed on the Malawi Project website and remove the labels by soaking the bottles in hot water. This way the rural doctors don’t have to spend their time peeling labels when they could be treating patients.