I can remember that life before. But I cannot remember how it felt.

Posted this to my migraineur peeps today as this post from 2012 came up in my Facebook feed. This may have been my last 3 day low/no pain run. It was a short run, to be sure. 

In describing life before #ChronicThugLife, Selena (a fellow migraineur) said, “I can remember that life [before CM] but I can’t remember how it felt anymore.”

The words really struck me; they describe my reality and my thoughts perfectly. I remember a time when I fell ill with migraine maybe once a month, maybe once every three months. I think I would be ill a few hours, unlikely the entire day. 

I remember having little children, holding and carrying them around, cleaning like a freak while they would nap or watch a TV show, I remember exercising every morning before the babies would get up. I remember being tired, but it was nothing like this Pathologic Lethargy I now have. I remember being frustrated, happy, tired, hungry, thoughtful, and so busy. I remember I would nap in the afternoon when the kids had nap or quiet time. That was a sacred 2 hours. I remember passing out when they were down for the night at 8. I remember diaper change after diaper change, car seat struggles, tying shoes, dressing fussing children and babies, putting on sunscreen and floaties before pool time, birthday parties, preschool, kinder, preschool, and crafts. I remember my weight fluctuating like between 123 and 170 with pregnancies and weight watchers. I remember breastfeeding a LOT. I remember drinking a glass of wine while cooking in the evening. I remember stroller walks, pushing 1-3 children. I remember teaching my children to ride a bike, climb a tree, swing on a swing, write their name, read, name a shape, make the correct animal sound. I remember singing them song after song… Bah Bah Black Sheep. And when I would stop singing, they would cry. I remember cleaning lots of bodily fluids and caring for many sick kids.
I know it all happened. I see pictures in albums and I believe I can remember their warm little soft bodies next to mine as I fed them, the smell of their little heads of soft hair.

I remember I was me. I looked the same, I laughed the same, I cried the same. I have the same eyes and smile, brush the same teeth every day. I still love shoes, makeup, a sweet pair of earrings or a funky ring, a twisted joke, friendships, children, a glass of wine or 3, and music and movies – I love them! My sweet husband has been at my side the whole time and we’ve watched our children grow from tiny babies to young adults.

I remember living on campus in Allentown, in our apartment in Whitehall, our big beautiful wedding and honeymoon in Maui. I remember our darling cape cod in Worcester and then our townhome in the same town. I remember our remarkable trek across the country in the green Ford explorer. Our first home in Tucson. Our devastating miscarriage. The following 10 years in our Labyrinth Dr home where all our babies were born at the Tucson birth center. And then…finally, I remember accepting I was very ill with depression, then later, very ill with anxiety disorder. I remember our move into our Echo Valley home in 2007. The home I’d dreamed of since my first baby was wee. 

I remember it being a very difficult move, even tho it was only a mile away. We thought we could do it on our own and we had SO much stuff accumulated over a decade and our hands were so full with a 4, 5, 7, and 9 year old. I was working part-time, Marc was working full-time. It was then I noticed my butalbitol prescription (my migraine med since my early 20’s) was no longer lasting 6-12 months. It was only lasting 1-2 months. And I was taking ibuprofen for head pain every day. I was also starting triptans. The new exciting migraine med that I had never needed.
It was a slow realization…certainly not overnight. But the head pain, the migraines, the sciatica flares… suddenly my body was dealing with a barrage of frequent pain. I ignored it at first. Certainly, it was just a fluke. Even though in the back of mind, I knew needing so much ibuprofen – just to make it thru the day – was alarming.

This was my jump to Chronic. I know that now. I didn’t understand it then. I go over and over this time period in my head, wondering what I did wrong, searching for the cause. And I come up short. I remember my doctor having me come in… she’d noticed the change in the prescription. Together, we worked on a solution to right me: different meds, different approach. We did an MRI, consulted a neurologist, tried lots of medications.

But nothing seemed to work. Or, if it did, it didn’t work that long. I kept throwing pills back and smiling. Just get thru it! Suddenly I could no longer exercise every morning – the pain was too frequent and too much. I couldn’t understand what was happening but was pretty sure it was just a phase. I guess. The first neuro said she couldn’t help me anymore. It was just my primary doc and me. And that was ok. Until August 2008, when a six day migraine landed me in the ER. Our friends watched all our kids for the 5-6 hour treatment. I was devastated having to ask so much of anyone. They were our children, our responsibility, and asking someone else to watch them was something Marc and I did exactly never.  The ER doc recommended I find another neurologist.

It was sheer luck that soon after, I connected with a friend of a friend, Andrea, at the time. She was in constant migraine pain and her husband, a doctor, was getting her all the best treatment – even Mayo Clinic. I called to get in with her neuro (who she left soon after, feeling like her care wasn’t good enough). That was Wendi Kulin MD and my experience with her was different from Andrea’s. Wendi tried a few other meds with me but then got me into the Botox regimen (finally approved in 2010/11). While Dr Kulin was tough to get on the phone, she was a pleasure in person during our monthly or every other monthly visits. There were times when I admitted to her that I was losing hope that these migraines would ever end. And she’d look me in the eyes and say, “Don’t give up hope. We will work together. I’m here for you.” And I’d cry in front of her, moved by her assurance. What I didn’t understand at the time…and wouldn’t until 2013…was that, once getting that diagnosis of Chronic Migraine in 2007, it meant migraines wouldn’t “go away,” the best that would happen was they would be reduced or “managed.”

In 2010/11, I began to suspect that there was some autoimmune thing happening with me. It was like my body was crashing. While my migraineur friend Andrea (the absolutely ONLY other Chronic I knew) would go on to a hysterectomy to control her migraines, claim it “worked” but then later went gluten-free and claimed it “worked,” she still seemed to be struggling. I suspect she is still chronic, only secretly suffering. When I check with her, I get vague answers. “I’ve never felt better than I do now that I’m gluten-free!” does not say she’s no longer suffering from frequent migraines.

I was dealing with exhaustion as I worked part-time, I had a goiter and hypothyroiditis flare in late 2010, I fell ill with a devastating and dramatic case of shingles in 2011, I was becoming hypersensitive with my reactions to stimuli – usually so calm and cool, if someone shouted my name, I now found myself jumping a foot in the air, my sciatica flares continued to grow more frequent and intense. And all the time I was questioning myself on what I’d done to cause this failing health. The depression and anxiety were intense. All in all, I was fucking miserable. I was contemplating suicide all the time becuz I felt my kids and husband would be better without me burdening their lives. In all things, I was failing. I was not good enough; I sucked. 

Dealing with friends and anything outside my home was difficult: I hid my illness. Becuz anytime I opened up and mentioned it, I was met with disbelief, my cries were glossed over, and I was quite sure and convinced I was a complete freak. Better to hide it. Cutting helped. Therapy helped. Discovering, researching and working thru childhood mental trauma helped. Friends…friends didn’t help much. I was completely alone. And I hurt so much.

In 2013, we left Tucson for a job relo in Austin. 

It was a good move. I found a great neuro Sara Westgate and never skipped a beat in my botox regimen. The move was stressful and made my health flare…I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and later Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction. Although my neuro provides excellent preventative chronic migraine care, I’ve had to add a rheumatologist and pain specialist to my care…just to “manage” my chronic pain. I also have added a psychiatrist NP and therapist, pulmonologist and others to the my healthcare team. I thought when we moved in 2013 I would take a year off from nursing to focus on my health. But it became pretty clear that returning to nursing may be a pipe dream as my health deteriorates, instead of improving. 

A game changer happened in the fall of 2014 when a college friend Heather took note of my frequent Facebook migraine posts and proactively added me to a Facebook chronic migraine support group. To my shock, I was suddenly around hundreds of real people who were suffering EXACTLY like me. For weeks and weeks I kept asking aloud, “Where were all you people all this time? You really have head pain everyday too??” Suddenly, I was no longer alone. And if I was a freak, I was among a mess of other freaks – just like me!! This is where I met Selena, among other caring, supportive migraineurs.

So. Here I am. Everyday. And I think back to before 2007. I think back to 1994, 1997, 1998, 1999, Y2K, 9/11, 2001, 2003, 2004, 2005 and 2006… 

I remember that life. But I just for the life of me, cannot remember how it felt anymore. 

I cannot remember what it felt like not to have constant pain, exhaustion, problems concentrating and thinking, constant guilt, depression, anxiety, dizziness, malaise.

Profound.

I’ve changed. I’m still me but I’ve changed.

2006^         

2013^

Rheumy

Marc came to meet my Rheumatologist Tina Bunch today. I’ve been her patient 3 years and he finally got to meet her.

I asked her if I could get better control of my RA; just exactly how much pain and symptoms am I supposed to live with? She said my joints aren’t as bad as someone they’d start on a biologic but she “didn’t live in my body” and trusted my complaints. She recommend starting Humera injections every other week. And of course staying on the Methotrexate. The plan is to try it four months, if it helps me feel better, that’s awesome. If not, I’ll go off it. I had a crap ton of blood drawn including TB work up as a precaution with a biologic.

Marc had questions; it was nice that he came and finally met her. He liked her, just like I do.

On my way home, I could feel a migraine brewing. Ugh, and I want to stay away from triptan for a couple days; I’ve had to take so many.

Home. Check on the kids. Going to nap with ice on front and back of my head (ONB injection sites are sore from Serapin yesterday). Took Frova and indomethacin and will nap a couple hours. This week has been so busy. And I’m in rough shape. I need rest today. But I hope I can still get some things done. Laundry? Phone calls? Erika’s Caring Bridge? Some biz?

💜

Serapin Day

But who really gives a shit? Same old, same old. I’m just a little Rockstar in my own little rock star universe. When I post these updates on Facebook, no one really knows what to say anymore. I should just stop posting so much about The Chronic stuff. It’s awkward. So very awkward. 

That which does not kill me only makes me weirder and harder to relate to.

Just shutting up would make everyone more comfortable. I know there are a ton of Pain Warriors out there who simply shut up; they don’t talk about it. Donna has always been Niagra-fucking-mouth, tho.

Therapy today with Lisa. I realized what’s really been upsetting me with the kids. I feel ignored. Ignored X 5. It’s probably my own fault and I’m just being hypersensitive. I do not know what to do. I would love 5 days off for good behavior, either to go to a Sanitarium or the Cayman Islands. Being ignored, feeling like a burden, pathological lethargy, varying pain and oppressive summer heat… it’s all so totally exhausting. My soul feels like a thin wet rag. Although my body shape borders on obese. And I am overwhelmed with feelings of uselessness. Such a waste of space. Not really successful at anything accept feeling useless and guilty. My biz is a joke and so am I.

And my allergy asthma cough is back really bad. Productive, hacking, disgusting cough. Sometimes it leaves me in fits, gaping. I could collect a jar of sputum. Fucking gross.

Date night with Marc tonight. I’m so tired and I need to make a dinner for the kids. Joy.

No longer apologizing…

​This is an excellent article. And reminds me that I am so so so NOT there. My Guilt Feast…hour after hour, day after day. It wouldn’t be so powerful except for the reason that everything is my fault and I’ve somehow caused this illness. Do people with cancer believe that too?

I’ve Decided I’m No Longer Apologizing for What I Can’t Do Because of My Illnesses

By Amber Hosea

I am disabled. It wasn’t until this year that I started to accept that, and realize that my illness (or rather illnesses) is here to stay. This year I was diagnosed with a systemic autoimmune disease known asSjogren’s syndrome

I won’t lie, this illness is a cruel one. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to feel from one day to the next. I had a hunch a few years ago that I probably had an autoimmune disease since my entire body seemed to be under attack. I’ve been diagnosed with illnesses like interstitial cystitis andfibromyalgia, but I didn’t want to believe that I couldn’t cure them. I tried every remedy I could, but over time my health was only getting worse. I was angry that no matter how much willpower I had or how much money I spent, I couldn’t get well. I was angry at other people for being able to take their health for granted. Most of all, I was angry at myself for the guilt I felt and the need to apologize over and over again for being sick.

I recently decided that I will no longer be apologizing for not being able to do what I was once able to. Saying the words “I’m sorry” implies that I have control over my debilitating symptoms. I think we carry this guilt with chronic illness because we feel we’ve somehow brought it on ourselves. I can no longer apologize or feel guilty for not being able to make plans, or for being unable to work, or even brush my hair sometimes. It’s not my fault. I spent so much time trying to convey what it’s like to be ill to others, and I avoided the fact that I wasn’t willing to accept my limitations. I refused to believe it wasn’t going to get better.    

Now, for my sanity, I have to mourn my former life and simply let it go. I’m releasing that energy into the universe so it no longer weighs me down. I know firsthand that chronic illness can break your heart over and over again, and there’ll be days when you feel as though the loneliness will shatter you into a million pieces, but I would like to remind you that it’s not your fault. I know that you’re simply doing the best you can.

I didn’t want to accept how sick I was because it felt like giving up, when in reality learning to accept my limitations and let go of the guilt has been the best thing for me. It’s allowing me to start over. 

I’d like to believe that I’ve been given this illness for a reason. Whether it’s to educate people about this disease, or to learn a lesson about myself, or hell maybe it’s just that I’m tough enough to take the beating. Whatever the reason, I’m learning to embrace it. Who knows, maybe I’m turning into a superhero. I mean, my body does do things that a “normal” body doesn’t. 

Yeah, that’s probably it. I’m a superhero.

I have a life.

Today Facebook reminded me of memories from last year:

Friends are precious❤❤❤

And this was today… Christy arranged we all go to see the movie Bad Moms together…

See? I have some life…not a total recluse. Pretty good at making the effort. My friends are wonderful…a life line for me.

This was last night for my biz:

My friend. My soul sister. Christy.

To the Person Who Thinks Chronic Pain ‘Can’t Be That Bad’

I have a friend. A poisonous friend.

When she is angry, she makes my days hell and my nights sleepless. She attacks me when I least expect it, especially if I’m lulled into a sense of security. She follows me everywhere, every day to the point where I truly cannot remember a time that I lived totally out of her clutches.

She is cruel. She cares little for family occasions, first dates, social events and the like. She perhaps forces me to stay home, or she makes sure she is right there with me, ensuring I don’t forget her presence for a moment.

She’s been a silent witness to some of the most remarkable and agonizing moments of my life.

She’s always here.

Her name is Pain.

There are many who live with her, just like me. We do our best to keep on living despite her glowering presence. It doesn’t matter how long you live with her, you never become immune to her.

Yes, we learn to continue our lives, even the mundane daily stuff that keeps it “normal.” Yes, we smile, laugh and make jokes. We make love, shop and eat, despite the anger it causes her to display, and we relish and appreciate anew the simple joys that take much to remove or lessen. Cuddling my grandbaby. Looking into her eyes. Laughing with my children and hearing them say, “I love you Mama.” They all make life with her worth living.

But let me tell you a secret. It hurts! It never stops. You wake, it hurts. You rest, it hurts. You do some basic physical activity, it hurts. You eat, it hurts.

See, constant and chronic pain isn’t something you magically get “immune” to. If I kicked you in the shins wearing my boots every 10 minutes, you would not be desensitized after the hundredth kick, would you?

You don’t get magically used to pain.

Let me tell you another secret.

I don’t have a “low pain threshold,” and neither do the huge majority of my pain family — those others I know and love who suffer daily alongside us all.  On the contrary, whenever it’s possible to physically do so, we do things like go to markets, gatherings, the park and shopping with our babies. Yes, like “normal” people! But you see, we often do it in such pain that if anyone else experienced it, they would demand pain relief at the closest emergency room.

Normally, pain is your body’s sharp and intense warning that something is amiss. You are meant to feel it, and the amount of pain allows you to determine how serious the injury may be. With chronic pain, the pain is no different. It screams at you to notice it. It rends your heart and mind with its incessant demands to be noticed and treated. However, no matter what the pain relief is, unless there is an urgent or acute injury or illness on top of that pain, then the aim of the medical profession is to relieve it to a degree. The aim is not to take away pain. It is not necessarily realistic to do so long-term unless we are palliative. So that’s the next secret I have for you. Despite often hefty pain-relieving medications, pain is diminished to the point that we can push through it and attempt normal function, but she is still right there

Please, the next time you think to yourself about someone with chronic pain, that it can’t be “that bad,” that we are being hypochondriacs or that we are just being a baby or just trying to get out of some activity, give yourself a forehead slap!

Here’s another secret.

It’s rare for someone who lives with pain to actually tell you that she hurts so badly she fights the urge to bash her head against a wall, or scream, or just cry about the unbearable unfairness of it all. While you look on, we  protect you from our pain. “Nah , it’s fine, just a twinge.” “It’s OK, I’m just a bit sore.” Or the automatic response, “Fine thanks, how are you?”

We learn fast. To tell you of pain, and the misery she brings, often eventually creates anger, resentment, ill-treatment, impatience, and out and out rudeness. At first it’s all sympathy. But I don’t want that! Empathy! That’s what I need. Not the (not-very-discreetly) rolled eyes and mutterings.

This is why I protect you. Because to one who hasn’t experienced chronic, disabling pain, to show that I hurt appears to diminish me, to be a weakness, a failing. It’s humiliating to justify my pain, so I seldom choose to do so.

The best thing that you can do for a friend or loved one who also lives with pain is to realize that pain hurts! If we are exhausted, sore or unwilling to do some activity, it’s because we hurt, badly. Even at the moment that you helpfully attempt to change the subject, that hurts, too. When you chatter brightly about your toe or that sore back you had once, you diminish our reality and you diminish your capacity to hold anything nearing empathy for us. Instead, ask what tangible thing you can do to help. Or say truthfully, “I don’t know how that must feel, but I’m here if you need me. I believe you. I love you.”

Remember that I invariably almost over-respect any pain that you have. I will often fuss relentlessly if you are even mildly sick or hurt, because your pain is one that I feel I can help, unlike mine.

Most important, here is the final secret I will share with you.

Pain moved in uninvited. We didn’t ask for her or welcome her. She is something inflicted on us entirely against our wishes. So please don’t punish us for something we have zero control over. And learn to listen to us, and hear what may be underneath our “just a bit sore” and “It’s OK.” That means more than anything.