For Everything There is a Season

"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: coping with chronic illness

From Bed to Couch and Back Again

January 14, 2022 / / 6 Comments

This is me today. I have been awake for two hours and out of bed for about an hour. I’m surprised I’m even awake at all since all I want to do lately is sleep. I have successfully brushed my teeth and made my bed. That’s it.

I am now sitting on the chaise portion of our way-too-big-for-the room couch and despite considering putting up a big fight, I’m surrendering to the fact that this is where I am spending the day. And when it gets to be too much, I’ll walk the ten feet back around the corner to my bed. And, try to be OK with that.

I look at this photo and I see a lot. I see someone who desperately wants to wash her hair and doesn’t have the energy, or balance, to do so safely. I see the sweatshirt that I have now been wearing for several days, but changing it would mean doing laundry. I see the tiredness in my eyes from the inconsistent sleep and medical stress that has come my way lately.

Behind my eyes is my brain trying to convince itself that everything is alright…that all the small things I had planned at home for today aren’t going to happen and it’s not the end of the world. The catch up phone calls won’t happen. They are too daunting because I honestly cannot remember something I heard ten minutes ago today, so I can’t focus, and I just don’t have the energy to spare today. And as anyone with chronic illness can tell you, talking on the phone is the equivalent of going for a fast paced walk for many of us.

I try to be patient with myself and my current restrictions, but it is hard. The past ten days have not only flattened me physically, but mentally and emotionally as well…maybe even more so than physically. I got a diagnosis from one of my doctors that is in no way a big deal, but does require monitoring and possibly some treatment decisions down the road. This, I can handle.

I got a second diagnosis that is major in all the ways that these kinds of things can be: you have to first accept it, digest it, think about the short and long-term implications, start a treatment plan, get frustrated with treatment plan right off the bat because damnit, you just want your body to work right for once in its friggin’ life.

You cry.

You yell at God.

You apologize for yelling at Him. Although you’re pretty sure He understands.

You thank God that it’s not worse.

You beg God to just give you enough energy to make your husband supper tonight because gosh, that man deserves one hot meal waiting for him this week.

I am not handling this diagnosis as gracefully.

But let’s get back to the photo. What if I looked at the photo differently? What if instead of choosing to see all the things I can’t do or can’t take care of, I look at my face, one which smiles with memories of joyful times…my eyes, which are bright with hope for the future…my chest, which holds a heart that has been loved several lifetimes over.

My days on the couch, or in the bed, don’t define me and neither do my illnesses. Maybe the couch days are quiet opportunities to spend time with the One who does define me. Maybe they are a chance to try and be friends with my rebellious body. Maybe they are a chance to be still and grateful. Since I had no intention of blogging this week and I rather spontaneously picked up my laptop to write this morning, maybe the couch days are opportunities to use our gifts.

If you are having a couch, or bed, day today, know that you are not alone. There are a lot of us out here with you slogging through our health issues the best we can.

It’s alright to have couch days.

It’s alright to rest.

You’ve got this.

The Jumbled Mess That We Call Life

September 21, 2016 / / 2 Comments

I signed a DNR  (do not resuscitate) order for my dog, Molly, yesterday…

Life has gotten so messy and complicated so quick, it’s a bit staggering. One minute we’re having the time of our lives in Ireland and Northern Ireland and the next, the shit is hitting the fan. It’s almost like the world is playing a cruel joke on us by saying, ‘Here, go have the time of your lives, but be prepared because I am going to chew you up and spit you out when you get home!”

The reality is though, the world (or God) isn’t playing a cruel joke on us, that’s just life: highs, lows, and everything in between, all mixed up into this jumbled mess that one minute has you laughing and the next, has you crying.

As previously mentioned, shortly after we returned home, we got some disturbing news about a member of our family. And then we got hit with some unexpected financial expenses. Can someone please tell me why dental work and car tires cost SO much?? But, my husband and I still had our heads above water.

For me, my head started rapidly dropping below water when I went to my orthopedic appointment yesterday morning and I was told there are no other options to treat a severe problem (an osteochondral defect…if you have experience with this, e-mail me!) with my left ankle, except for surgery…a surgery that has a recovery period of up to six months-three months before I can even work or do anything resembling normal day-to-day physical activity.

I signed a DNR order for my dog, Molly, yesterday…

Surgery is a nightmare for me. I had my gallbladder out last year and I cannot believe I even have to consider the thought of going through that again. To start with, I will have to come off the low-dose naltrexone I take for my Sjögren’s symptoms because it cannot be mixed with narcotics. And we all know I am definitely going to need narcotics, at least short term. Secondly, there is my previous history of blood clots. I am guessing that a pending surgery will require discussion with my hematologist, especially since I will be in a cast post-op and my blood clot risk will be high. And that means blood thinners, frequent blood work, and a lot of worry for me.

So I am doing what every patient who is trying to avoid surgery is doing: postponing scheduling the surgery until I can get a second opinion. Hopefully that will come soon since walking is quite difficult at the moment.

I signed a DNR order for my dog, Molly, yesterday…

This morning’s doctor appointment had me subsequently going to the hospital for multiple x-rays of my back. Right after we arrived in Ireland, I started getting episodes of numbness on one side of my upper back. That was in addition to the pain I’ve been getting in my tailbone and sacrum for months now. Pain that the doctor keeps telling me will eventually go away. We went back and forth about cortisone shots this morning. She wants me to get more shots, this time under fluoroscopy, so we can get deeper into the small areas around my tailbone. I want an MRI to see if we can find out if something scary is going on in there. She says no. But, she does agree to x-ray the part of my back having numbness and sends me off to physical therapy to try and straighten my crooked sacrum out.

I don’t have the energy right now for physical therapy.
But, I’ll go because I think it might help.

So many decisions to make.
So many complicated conversations to have.

Does anybody appreciate how hard it is to stay focused in these long medical conversations when one is feeling overwhelmed? I know some of you certainly can.

But see, I can typically handle all this medical drama. And I can handle it pretty well, with a lot of grace. I am warrioresque like that.

I’m out of grace this week.

Why?

Because I had to sign a DNR order for my dog, Molly, yesterday…

Two nights ago I was sitting on the couch with my husband watching TV. Molly came over, put her head on the couch, and looked at me in a way I haven’t seen before. A look that said, “something is wrong with me.”

She’s fifteen years old. I was told about five years ago that she has a leaky heart valve, tricuspid valve I think it is. My husband and I both knew that she hasn’t been feeling so hot recently. She gets more fatigued on her walks and the heat/humidity we have had lately here in New England has been tough on her. She was panting more than usual. But overall, she looked content and I had made a promise to her, and myself, that I would not go to extraordinary measures to keep her alive at this point.

But what exactly does “extraordinary” even mean??

Yesterday morning I woke up and noticed my husband and Molly weren’t in the bedroom. I got up and my husband, Chuck, came upstairs with Molly. He had taken her down to our spare bedroom during the night to sleep because she was breathing too heavily and he was up most of the night with her. However it was one of those things where it came and went.

Because I had that doctor’s appointment about my ankle I could not miss and he had to go to work, he took her to work with him. She initially looked better, but then every time he took her outside, she would be short of breath and excessively panting again.

I met him at his work after my appointment and called the vet. She was in surgery all day and I was told to bring her in the next morning or if I thought she couldn’t wait, to take her to the E.R.

And that was where I spent the rest of my day.

It was hard, really hard.

They took her right in and checked her out. I got to fill out forms while I waited. I took my forms, sat down, and saw the form where I have to decide if needed, if I wanted her to have CPR. But at least they respectfully put the price of the CPR in parentheses next to the word “resuscitate.” There are different prices depending on how much life support you want them to perform.

You have to be kidding me.

And then the tears came. I knew we were going to face this eventually, but no matter how much I have tried to mentally and emotionally prepare myself, my heart started to slowly shatter into little pieces. A kind looking woman handed me tissues. Her gentle act of kindness was enough to help me pull myself together long enough to check the box for DNR.

Breath, Chris, breathe.

You promised you wouldn’t let her suffer or keep her alive just for your own sake.

Have I mentioned Molly has been my constant companion for twelve years and one of the two loves of my life?

About an hour later I got an update. The doctor thought her breathing was stable. She didn’t see the breathing distress that my husband and I had witnessed. I told her it comes and goes. She tells me her oxygen levels and vital signs are good. Can she have my permission to start an IV, just in case? I give it to her. She also asks for permission to do a chest x-ray and some blood work. I give her that as well.

How much is too much?

When do we decide enough is enough?

I sit there and decide we need to know what is going on and what we are facing. Maybe this is simply a case of pneumonia that can be adequately treated with antibiotics. Yes, let’s do the chest x-ray and labs…see what happens. Maybe even a cardiologist to further figure out what exactly is wrong so we can make her as comfortable as possible with medications. But it’s OK I tell myself, it won’t come to that. The doctor said her physical exam was unremarkable.

It comes to that.

Three hours later, I am brought back in. I am shown the x-rays. Her heart is enlarged, very enlarged. Possible congestive heart failure is mentioned. There are shady areas on her lungs, not tumors, but possibly pulmonary hypertension. I’m a nurse. I know what terms are bad and which ones still contain a shred of hope. To add insult to injury, the doctor took a quick peek at her heart valves. They don’t look none too good either, but I am told that they only way to know for sure is to see a cardiologist and have an echocardiogram done.

How much is too much?

This doctor is amazing. She explains everything in a way that I think should be a model for every doctor and vet in this country. She is not overwhelmed with my questions. She is patient. And she is kind. She asks me about starting Molly on two different medications for her heart and I agree. That was pretty much the point of me bringing her in, to make her comfortable.

I run through my checklist in my head. I developed this checklist sometime last year when I saw how much Molly was slowing down. It’s a guide of sorts to help me (us) determine when we are at the endpoint…

* Is she in pain or distress? No to the pain and the heart meds should help with the breathing distress.
* Is she eating? Yes, very well.
* Can she walk well? Yes.
* Does she enjoy something in her life that she’s always done? Yes, playing with her babies, going for car rides and to the park, spending time with us, cuddling.
* Can we afford her vet bills? Yes, despite the fact they are a killer and we will have to re-prioritize some things.

So, a plan is developed and we are homeward bound, both of us much more fragile than when we arrived. As I am driving home I think about one of the owners and his dog who were in the waiting room with me. I am pretty good at reading people and the read on this man was that this dog was everything, and everyone, to him. You could see it in the way he handled him. There are infants that I haven’t seen handled so gently and talked to so lovingly. If I couldn’t see and was in another environment, I would have thought it was a baby he was talking to.

I overheard the man talking to another woman. I couldn’t believe the amount of serious diagnoses the poor dog had. He sees NINE different specialists. Then I looked over at the dog and I actually had to watch for his breathing because otherwise you couldn’t tell he was alive. He was so listless and it appeared to me, he was barely existing.

Certainly not my place to judge, but it made me realize that was not the condition I wanted Molly to live in. She sees a cardiologist Friday and I am hoping she does the echocardiogram the same day so we can get a handle on knowing what is going on and so we can have conversation and make some decisions what how far we want to take her and at what point we will say enough is enough.

That is life, one big jumbled mess. You never know what the next day, or even hour, is going to bring you. It may bring you to the most beautiful mountains and valleys of Ireland. It may bring you to the heart wrenching decision of checking off that DNR box. Sometimes, you just have to hang on tight and pray your way through the day. Or, stay present in the moment you are in and remember to do the next right thing.

Life can hit us in a way that requires us to weave through it one important decision at a time….one moment at a time.

As I finish this up, I realize that after  a ten hour day, I am done for today. There is nothing else so urgent that it cannot be looked at tomorrow. So I am doing my next right thing for myself and curling up on the makeshift dog bed in the living room with Molly. And, I am going to hang on tight.

Where Is God In All Of This?

March 31, 2016 / / 3 Comments

It’s the end of March and here in New England, the temperature is supposed to be in the 60’s. The sun is already shining brightly and I can feel the gentle breeze coming through my already opened windows.

I woke up sick for my second straight day with a cold; definitely not the worst I have ever had, but the exhaustion is unbelievable. I’m not even sure if the exhaustion is from the cold, the Sjögren’s, or both. I just know that between this cold, an exacerbation in my autoimmune symptoms, and a stomach virus a few weeks ago, I am done.

So done.

I’ve had a lot going on in regards to my health lately, specifically more joint/muscle pain, terrible pain (?nerve related) and itching in my feet and legs at night, dizziness when I stand too long or change positions, nausea, chills, you name it. I could go on and on because honestly, there’s not too much NOT acting up in my body right now, but that gets old after a while.  It feels like my entire body is pissed off and launching its own rebellion.

Partly because of all this, I have been doing a lot of thinking about God lately. And church. And faith. I will be honest, I’m kind of ticked off at God lately. And curious. Curious about the eternal question: why bad things happen to good people. More specifically, why these terrible illnesses happen to the best people.

If I sit back and think of all the people I know with autoimmune illnesses, cancer, and other life altering diseases, I would say that 95% of them are the most kind hearted, giving people you will ever meet in your life. These are the people who do volunteer work and constantly want to give of themselves to others. But here is the problem: these people, including myself, cannot do all the good they want to do in this world because they have had so many of their physical abilities taken away. As of late, my volunteer work has come to a halt and I have had to refuse just as many shifts at work as I’ve accepted; a job which calls me to be of service to others.

So what does God have to do with this?

Well, a lot.

I was told recently, and it certainly wasn’t the first time, that I just need to have more faith. God has a purpose for my pain and suffering. God will heal me. Have more faith. Pray more. Do more for others. God will answer your prayers.

I’m calling bullshit.
At least for today.

I know all the devout Christians in the room are probably freaking out right now reading this. And, I do consider myself a Christian, and a pretty strong one at that. But, I no longer believe that God is making me suffer in order to make me into a better person. I’m not even sure God is really responsible for my pain and suffering. Because surely if he was, he would have brought some healing my way by now, no? The response I have gotten to that statement in the past is that everything is on God’s time, not mine. I get that. I am not in control and honestly, that’s quite a relief. But that doesn’t answer the question of: where is God in all of this?

So then I ask God, when is enough, enough? I spent the first six or seven years of my illness thinking that God was using my illness to help others and to make me a better, stronger person. Have those things happened? Definitely. Would they have happened if I didn’t struggle so much with my health?

Maybe.
Maybe not.

Maybe I just needed to tell myself that in order to keep pressing forward; in order to not just totally give up on this life of mine that for twenty years, has been riddled with so much sickness, pain, and struggle. I have a lot of respect for those Christians who have complete and total blind faith in God and in what his purpose is for each of us. I think I may even envy those people at times. They are able to not question God or his motives. They completely trust in him to take care of them, no matter what. I have had periods of time like that, but more often than not lately, I doubt all of it.

And you know what? I think that is OK. For me, a faith based on doubt, as well as belief, is a faith of my true self. The questions I ask and the doubts that I have are because I seek answers, rather than blindly ascribing to beliefs that others want me to believe. Because at the end of the day, it’s not between me and other people. It’s not between me and my church. It’s between me and God. For me, sometimes it just comes down to the basics…

Do I believe in God? Yes
Do I believe Jesus died for our sins and rose from the dead? Yes
Do I believe in a loving and non-bigoted God? Absolutely

What I also do know is that I have more questions than answers right now and the heaviness of all that this morning was tremendous. And I was upset. So I decided to go beauty hunting, a concept that was introduced to me by Jennifer Pastiloff, an amazing yoga teacher, writer, and human being. To me, beauty hunting is the same as looking for God because in essence, God is the creator of, and is a part of, all that is beautiful in this world.

I thought that beauty hunting would be a challenge since getting out of bed is a challenge in itself this week. But once I opened my mind up to the process, it just sort of happened. I started by going to the fish tank because my husband told me, when he left for work this morning, that our new starfish was making an appearance in the front of the tank. This is a BIG deal because first off, I am obsessed with starfish and secondly, we just got him. He spends a lot of time hiding in the back of the tank or in between all the rocks. But today, he was out and about for me to enjoy.

While I was at the tank, our little clown fish, Nemo, also came to the glass to look at me. The bonus though was that our Watchman Goby fish came out of HIS hiding spot, which is not only a rare occurrence, but it was the longest I’ve seen him out and about since we got him a few weeks ago.

Part of the reason I woke up so annoyed was because it is so beautiful out today and I am stuck at home. So, I took my 14 1/2 year old dog, Molly, out in the backyard so she could get some fresh air. Apparently, I needed the fresh air just as much. We found that my second favorite flower, our daffodils, were fully in bloom and looking beautiful and so I decided to sit on the deck with Molly for a bit.

There is something magical about our back yard. Despite the work it needs and the fact that we have college student renters for neighbors all around us, it is so peaceful. There are birds abound and rustling trees that instantly relax you. We recently had a new deck installed and it is just glorious for sitting outside and appreciating nature.

 After a few minutes, I heard our resident woodpecker go into action on a tree. I think they are the coolest. Next thing I know, I decided to lie down on the new deck, in my pajamas, with Molly sitting beside me. We were looking at the perfectly blue sky and all of a sudden it hit me: God was there. All of those things I noticed beauty in this morning? That was him, his creations.

It was almost as if he was telling me “”I’m here. Don’t give up. Here is the beauty in this day for you.”

And just for today, that was enough.

The Road To Acceptance

February 16, 2016 / / 0 Comments
For those of you who follow my blog fairly regularly, you may remember a post I wrote about two weeks ago called Accepting Chronic Illness. It was a very personal and honest take on my current inability to fully accept having Sjögren’s syndrome and the limitations that come with such a diagnosis. If you are interested, you can read the essay by clicking HERE.

A while back, I also started following a website called The Mighty. It is a website dedicated to real life stories of people living with disabilities, disease, and mental illness. The most recent article that was published caught my attention and even more specifically, a particular quote:

“Accepting the fact that I will never get better is what has allowed me to live my life and continue to work towards my goals without waiting to ‘get better.'” – Joan Elizabeth.

Light bulb moment.
This is what I have been doing…

Waiting to get better.
And working to BE better, no matter what the obstacles are.

It’s no wonder I have fallen into such a dark hole these days. Since my symptoms first started wreaking havoc on my body in 2008, I have been in a constant battle to get better and overcome all the obstacles and challenges that get thrown at me healthwise.

I always thought this was all good stuff. Stay strong. Beat the odds. YOU CAN CONQUER ANYTHING! Sweet baby Jesus, I’m annoying myself even rereading what I just wrote here.

Don’t get me wrong; I am very well aware that there is no cure for Sjögren’s syndrome. Will there be in my lifetime? I highly doubt it. Or maybe I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high about whether there will be a cure or not. However I really did believe that if I found the right doctors, followed the right eating plan, got enough rest, and just TRIED HARD ENOUGH, that I could beat this thing into submission.

If I just prayed enough or had enough faith, maybe it would all go away.
If I didn’t let myself focus so much on my symptoms, they would go away.

I do think that a positive attitude can go a long way. I also think that the medical community is very much lacking in its treatment of autoimmune illnesses, so we do have to be our own advocates. But, just because I have done everything in my power to get better, doesn’t mean I WILL get better or even STAY better.

So the questions that then come up in my mind are: why do I think I am not good enough in my present state? Why do I think that I have to go to work every week in order to prove my worthiness as a human being? Why does the likelihood of being on disability the rest of my life make me feel like I am lesser in some way? Because if any one of you said that to me about yourselves, I would be all over you. I would tell you the truth: that no matter what your present circumstances are and no matter where you are in your medical/health journey, you are so worthy. I would tell you that your existence on this earth is not defined by a paycheck. Or by how well you can keep your house clean. Or by your inability to stay out of bed all day.

Although lately I do feel like this, I am not talking about completely giving up and resigning myself to a life in bed. But what if, I mean seriously, what if, I accepted the fact that I am not going to get completely better? What if I just accepted that there are going to be things in this life that I cannot do, such as working a part or full-time job? Or staying up past 6pm at night on a regular basis?

What if “beating my illness” is less about not having physical symptoms and more about learning to live with those symptoms more gracefully?

I’ve been waiting to get better for eight years now. My life has not stopped during that time, but everything I have accomplished, such as publishing my first book, has felt like temporary successes. You know, the goals that I work on while trying to get permanently better. And for those of you who know me well, you know that in a lot of ways, I AM better. I spend much less time in the hospital than I used to in those early years. And I guess that gave me false hope; that eventually I could make myself all better if I kept pressing on.

As the author of the quote wrote, I do have goals. For example, I have a lifetime goal of going to Ireland; something that has been on my bucket list as long as I’ve known that Ireland has existed. It’s a goal that my husband has encouraged me to pursue and would like to pursue it with me. For years, I have been postponing going, despite the fact that we already had the money set aside. I kept waiting to feel better and feel confident that I will be well when we travel.

Recently the reality hit me that if I keep waiting, I am never going to Ireland. So instead of waiting, we met with a travel agent yesterday and we are planning the trip for in six months, with trip insurance coverage of course. Instead of waiting to be well enough to go, I am trying to come to terms with the fact that despite all the precautions I can put in place for this trip, there will be times during the vacation, maybe even for the whole duration of the vacation, that I am not going to be better. It may make things a little scary for me, but I will be in Ireland, even if some of the days are in bed.

To me, acceptance is different than giving up. Giving up implies that I do not want to try anymore. It means becoming a victim of my circumstances. But acceptance? That’s about being at peace with where you are; even in the midst of the pain, the fatigue, and the uncertain future that so many of us face.

So for today, accepting my illness means that I am spending the day at home, mostly on the couch. It means sitting in a warm and cozy house, with my adorable pooch, and throwing my words out into the world, in the hopes that they will be of use to someone, somewhere. Today, acceptance means embracing what the larger dose of prednisone is doing to my body, both good and bad. It means that there is housework that won’t get done and errands that I will have to try again for tomorrow. It means being content with where I am at, in this day.

That where I am at in THIS day is more than enough.

Making Life Work

August 11, 2015 / / 6 Comments

So it’s about 4pm on a weeknight and I just finished cooking part of tonight’s dinner. And, that’s late for me. I’m usually done earlier than 4pm, depending on how much I am cooking.

I know, it’s weird.
And I am finally OK with that.

We don’t eat supper that early. Usually we eat anytime between 5-6:30pm. For me, the earlier the better, but my husband does have a regular full-time job and well, he works until 5pm, at least. So it is pretty common for me to pre-cook dinner and then just nuke it when we are ready to sit down and eat. Because the reality is, if it doesn’t get cooked early, there may be no supper. Except maybe cereal. Or take-out. And well, a healthy eating plan doesn’t involve much of either of those. I don’t know what people with chronic illnesses did before the invention of the microwave!

This is just one of the many accommodations I have had to figure out and accept since I realized that my energy levels are going to be unpredictable…like, for the rest of my life. Pre-Sjögren’s, I would have the typical mid-afternoon energy slump like everyone else, and then would bounce right back. But autoimmune disease redefines the meaning of the word fatigue. We are talking mind-numbing, body stopping, I can’t take another step or blink my eye kind of exhaustion. There is oftentimes no warning and when it hits, look out. For some of us, it’s a constant, pervasive kind of tiredness.

In the past, I would ignore the warning signals my body was attempting to give me. I was too busy trying to function as a person without an illness, in a busy world where chronic illness is usually not accepted or understood. In a world where the motto is “go, go, go”, no matter what the price to our bodies may be. Just keep caffeinating. Just keep doing. And then I would get frustrated that my body couldn’t keep up.

As the years go by, the fatigue issues has become more of an issue for me during the day. I started to notice that in the mornings, when many people with autoimmune illness are at their worst, I would be at my best. Maybe not always pain-wise, but definitely energy wise. I noticed a trend when I started working that there is a very specific time in the afternoon when I start to go downhill. When I sub (as a school nurse) at the high school, I have the most energy. Those hours are from 7:25am to 2pm. The elementary school is the most difficult for me and those hours are 8:30am to 3:15pm. I notice that I can predict a significant increase in my fatigue beginning around 2pm.

That is the first shift in energy levels. The second starts sometime after 5pm. It’s all downhill from there and by 6pm, I render myself pretty useless. I am typically in my pajamas by suppertime. Nighttime activities have become harder and harder. I recently dropped out of a twelve week choir class because the 7-9pm weekly class was killing me. Evening church activities, conference calls, and meetings, for various things, have become something that I have had to rethink in terms of priorities. Up until very recently, I continued to do these things, despite the obvious detriment to my overall health.

There are some occasions where I can push past the fatigue to get myself to an evening event and even enjoy myself. I have come to realize that this is usually during an event I am really excited about such as a friend’s party, concert I’ve really wanting to see, etc. After a little research on that, I found out that the chemical hormones that are released when someone is excited about doing something actually have a positive influence on a person’s physical well being. Honestly, I think that is the only reason I can get myself to an 8pm concert! However the ramifications of those evening events are high, sometimes too high.

I have recently decided that for now, I am going to start scheduling my appointments, friend dates, etc.around what my body is telling me, as often as possible Nowadays, I wake up and am ready to roll between 6:30-7am and by 2-3pm, I’m done. Instead of pushing past those limits every single day, I’ve started to respect them. The problem is, the rest of the world doesn’t always respect them or understand. Let’s face it, in this country anyways, most social functions take place after 5pm and on weekends.

My husband and I go to a lot of concerts together and honestly, sometimes it is incredibly difficult. It will say that the concert start time is 7 or 8pm when in reality, the main act doesn’t get rolling until 9pm. We recently went to an afternoon concert that started at 2pm and it was truly one of the best times I have had with him and some other friends of ours. I was alert and able to concentrate. I wasn’t so focused on how exhausted I was and my pain levels was manageable. I had a lot of fun. Same thing for a recent afternoon Red Sox game, which started in the afternoon instead of the evening. A few hours difference can make or break a day for me and just as importantly, make or break the rest of the week.The running joke between my husband and I is that whenever there is an evening social event, no matter what time it starts, we have to be out of the house by 4pm so I can keep some momentum going!

Another example is from this morning. I had a close friend over for a visit. She’s an early riser as well and we were eating breakfast together and chatting at my house at 9am. I can actually remember everything she said to me because that mind numbing fatigue hadn’t set in yet.

I know there are going to be exceptions and I will occasionally have to make concessions. And,I don’t expect the world to completely function according to my illness needs. But that being said, I have recently realized that I also have the choice to say no. Last week, I think I used the word “no” more often than in the previous six months combined. But, that’s a topic for another post! The point is, I get to choose what is best for me. If it sometimes, or often, means missing out on things I would normally want to attend, then so be it. The right people will understand.

I recently said something to my husband about this. It was a Saturday night and we were home together watching TV. It was about 7pm and I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. So I asked him if he would go to bed early with me. I’m not usually sleeping at 7pm, but I am resting in bed. I felt bad because it was a Saturday night and that had been happening a lot lately. And I told him that…that I felt bad he doesn’t stay up late like he used to before we started dating, because he wants to spend time with me. His response was profound and basically he said that altering his lifestyle/routine to accommodate me was better than not being with me. Again, the right people will understand.

Since I’ve started listening to my body more and making adjustments, I have noticed that I am much more productive during that 6:30am-2pm time frame. Because I am rested. It’s not a lot of time to work with and once school starts in September, it will be even much less so. But, the house has been cleaner, I’m getting more errands done, and I am spending more time at the gym. I am more tuned in to people and I am remembering more of my conversations with other people.

Is this the way I would have chosen to live my life? No. I’d rather not have Sjögren’s at all. I’d rather live a life like I used to: sleeping eight hours a day and then being able to function throughout the remaining sixteen hours, without exception. But rather than being a victim, I’m working on figuring out what DOES work for me. You can do a lot of living in just seven hours a day. And honestly, many days, it’s even less than that. My days may not have a lot of quantity, but they most certainly have a lot of quality.

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