life, writing

Resting is not selfish

I apologize to my followers for the glitch last night in sending out a blog post prematurely. Oops.

Anyway, my cup is feeling a bit empty and stained these days so I’m taking time to do things, and not do anything, in order to build up a few spoons and not end up in a relapse.

Below are some current pictures of our garden. When we bought our house nine years ago, the backyard was all sloped lawn. All the rocks, dirt, and driftwood you see were hauled in singlehandedly by my husband. Whether I sit in silent contemplation or take on some simple weeding, the garden is my sanctuary.

I’m off to my other piece of paradise, Willows Beach, also known as my office. It’s my favourite place to write, and my fiction has been stagnating at the bottom of my empty cup for the last few days so I’m hoping the words will flow today as I look out at Oak Bay Harbour and Marina.

Take time to do the things that recharge your spirit, and don’t allow those niggling feelings of guilt any space at all. She says to herself, over and over and over…

Have a wonderful week!

❤️ Amanda

Health

The journey to diagnosis: Why so long?

I want to talk about the journey to ms diagnosis. For some, the trip is brutally short. Bam! They wake up and their whole left side is paralyzed, or they’re blind in one eye. Terrifying. No question that any person would head to the hospital, or at least the doctor and they would be taken seriously.

Usually, a trip to the ER would mean an MRI, possible lumbar puncture (sooo glad I avoided that!) and subsequent diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. Some get picky and call it CIS (clinically isolated syndrome) until the monster rears its ugly head again, hence the multiple in multiple sclerosis.

I suspect many people in this position start connecting the dots of other strange symptoms they’ve had for years, once the inciting incident of the diagnosis journey appears, with the exception of those diagnosed very young, of course. I can’t really speak to that though, because that was not my journey.

What about those who present with weird virus-y symptoms?

The first episode of fatigue, brain fog and vertigo when I was 22, had me sleeping in the back of my orange Westfalia on the streets of Puebla, Mexico, alone, peeing in the sink for three days. I figured it was a strange Mexican virus – thankfully not from Montezuma!

The second incident two years later, in Lagos, Portugal, I was stuck in a tent in a cinderblock wall campground, with stereos blaring on every side, peeing (sometimes unsuccessfully) in bottles, in front of my boyfriend. I knew then he was a keeper! 😊💕 Okay, bladder issues are certainly an ms symptom but enough about urine!

A couple of months before my first relapse. I sold the van to my brother. He never knew this story. Sorry dude! 😬

I had one more relapse the following year, during my final teaching practicum. The monster’s timing is exquisite. The doctors that I saw during these times, in the early 1990s, checked for parasites and infections because of the travelling link but when they found nothing, they shrugged and pushed me out the door.

Then, the monster slept. With the exception of some ear-splitting tinnitus when we lived in New Zealand which was ascribed to stress (believable as we were living on a student’s income halfway around the world with a newborn), I had no relapses for about 13 years.

After the birth of our third child and subsequently returning to work part-time, I started having these weird ‘blips’, that I again thought was a virus. Pretty soon, I realized it was hitting me every six months or so, knocking me out for longer each time.

There was no paralysis. No blindness. No alarming symptoms that justified an emergency room visit. Just an exhaustion that felt like the power of gravity had increased ten thousandfold, a weird bubbly feeling in my head and an all over body ache that made me feel like I’d been poisoned.

I saw so many doctors during this time, and every single one of them listened to my symptoms, frowned, shrugged and told me to stop working so hard. Or maybe I was depressed. Or it was just a virus. Or it was idiopathic. That last word, meaning ‘they just can’t figure it the hell out’ was said by a very tall, male doctor looming over me in his office, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. The subtext of his message was ‘get over it, lady’.

Two problems

I have two problems with this. First, the number one symptom of ms is fatigue, which was my number one symptom. Also, I live in Canada which has one of the highest rates of ms in the world (MS Society of Canada estimates 1 in 340 people), yet NOT ONE of the 15-20 doctors I saw ever mentioned it.

I don’t think this is solely an issue related to the difficulty of diagnosing multiple sclerosis because it is such a misunderstood, unpredictable, individual disease. It’s a women’s health issue generally. I have heard so many stories about women’s health concerns being dismissed or downplayed or worse, drugged by overworked, distracted doctors.

Why is this? Do doctors really think women have nothing better to do than come to their office to ‘whine’ about something that’s ‘all in their head’? I’ve gotten equally dismissive treatment from both men and women doctors, so it’s not a patriarchal problem. It’s as though those that enter the hallowed halls of physician-dom are doomed to condescend to women, believing they’re choosing to spend their lives pretending to feel like shit, just to get attention.

I never watched the Golden Girls, but this clip explains it brilliantly.

You go, Bea! I would like to go back and have it out with some of the doctors who made me feel ashamed and ridiculous for pursuing answers when I knew something was wrong.

Conclusion

I am sharing my personal diagnosis story today because awareness is still so lacking about this ugly disease, despite how common it is. When I was undiagnosed, I searched all over the internet for people sharing stories like mine and found very, very few. Also, I think women need to support each other in managing their health, and that starts with conversation.

If you or anyone you know is experiencing strange symptoms, don’t ignore them. Advocate for yourself, you know your body better than anyone else can. Don’t let doctors blow you off and don’t stop searching until you get the answers you need.

Doctors hate it when you use ‘Dr. Google’, and you do have to be really, really careful. But until we sort out a healthcare system where doctors aren’t working on an assembly line, it seems to be the most knowledgeable, and least condescending doctor around. No offence to any of the doctors out there with integrity, I just haven’t met any of you.

Do you have a crazy diagnosis story? Please share, I’d love to hear from you.

❤️ Amanda

By the way, it was a naturopath that finally listened to my story and first mentioned the words multiple sclerosis. I was finally diagnosed 23 years after my first relapse.

Poetry

FEAR

First of all, I have to acknowledge the overwhelming positive support I got for my last post from my various ms ‘families’. For an introvert that overanalyses every social interaction (yeah, I think they call that social anxiety 🤔 ), it took me a long time to put myself out in cyber world and open myself to potential criticism. Not that I expect rave reviews, constructive feedback is always welcome. But we all know that feeling of ‘what if everybody hates it?’ Right? Everybody feels that, right? 😉

Anyway, thank you to everybody who clicked and read and commented! I am astounded at the support and encouragement, and so grateful to be a member of such amazing, caring groups.

This is a poem I wrote when I was amping myself up to share my writing. Fear is another of those emotions, like guilt, that many of us try to ignore or fight against. There is a tendency to distract ourselves from the ‘negative’ emotions in life but when we face them head on they provide the counterbalance to the positive emotions we all strive for. You can’t have one without the other.

While fear is a universal emotion, it develops a particularly strong flavour when one receives a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. Being told you have an incurable neurodegenerative disease, that nobody knows what causes it and there is no way to predict what damage will be inflicted on your body, introduces a whole new level of trepidation. Add to that the daily adventure of never knowing what symptoms might crop up to stop you or slow you down, and the accumulation of disabilities that strip away the identity you have built up over years or decades, and the fear can be paralysing.

I’m coming up on the third anniversary (that so does not seem the right word) of my diagnosis. Three years since I left the classroom. Three years coming to terms with my new normal, trying to heal and to carve a new identity for myself. I realize now that fear was the main thing holding me back from moving on to a new chapter. It’s still there, making my palms sweat as I type this, imagining putting out another piece of myself. But I will face the fear, because if there is one thing I have learned over the past three years, stagnating is not an option and pushing through the fear is the only way to get to the light.

❤️

FEAR

Creeping

Lurking

Hiding behind the mask

The mask of fine

It paralyses without acknowledgement

So ingrained we don’t even realize

The control it has

How powerless we are

Unless we face it

Under the bed

In the closet

The dark

Untried adventures

Nebulous

Heart racing

Skin crawling

Sweat dripping

Light on

Distract

All is fine

Everything is fine

Fine but stagnant

If you let it overpower

Stuck in your small world

Beating against the bars

The bars you hold onto

Justifying

Numbing

Distracting

Wilting

Fight for the light

The dark will always be there

Give it a nod

Let yourself feel it

Then

Move on past

Move into the light

So much brighter

Reflecting the dark

Dark loses power in the light

The light is stronger for the dark

ALC – 17/05/18

Poetry

Guilt

I don’t consider myself a poet but some things, emotions particularly, seem more accessible when I let the words flow freely and simply. I wrote this poem about guilt last year. Guilt is an emotion I strenuously fought against but I encountered it full-force when I stopped working. Happily, a year later I’m more at peace with where my life is so the ugly parasite guilt doesn’t get me down as often anymore.

Guilt.

Useless and yet

So pervasive

Sitting waiting hoping

Wanting to move

To do

To work

Rational mind knows

It is what it is

You are where you are

Acceptance

Honour.

Sitting waiting hoping

Wanting to dance

To create

To educate

Body resists

Concrete in my bones

Static in my brain

Days doled out in

Cups of tea

Sitting waiting hoping

Wanting to accept

To be

To honour

And yet

Guilt.