My stomach was healing well last week. I had a few off days, Thursday in particular, but I chocked it up to walking a lot the day before and perhaps pushing myself too far too soon. However, I've grown steadily worse, or worse-ish and nothing seems to be working out for me. It's not pain, per say - just discomfort. Constant discomfort in my lower abdomen. The left side in particular hurts more, a certain area being hard as a rock. I'm unsure what the hell is going on, but I do know one thing: I'll be damned if I am going to miss another function over this bullshit.
It's not so bad that I need to race to the ER again, so I'll tide myself over the weekend and give him a ring on Monday.
The discomfort is hindering my ability to eat properly and get shit accomplished. Everything takes double the amount of time it ought to, and I have a serious work-related deadline. I wanted so very badly to have a guest blog done in time for a friend who went through a major surgery and I haven't even been able to finish that :( It makes me feel like a failure when I can't deliver on something I had ages to get done.
Anyway. I want these stomach issues resolved. Summer is nearly here and I'd like to make some plans - be it traveling or earning some cash to travel. Let's all hope for the best.
Showing posts with label me me wonderful me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me me wonderful me. Show all posts
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Why I Have Been Quiet
Hello.
Yes, atrocious upkeep. My apologies. I always mean to get back to this blog, but something always holds me back. Whether it is forgetfulness (a good 40% of why I do not post), laziness (I'd say another 40%), or fearfulness (the remaining 20%), there really is no good excuse.
The fearfulness may come as a shock to some of you, perhaps. I do hold quite the illusion of being incomparable to the perils of fear and insecurities when it comes to discussing my health. Truthfully, the visit to Philadelphia and my tour of the Children's Hospital of Philly (not coincidentally when this blog fell silent) really shook me up. I have made several attempts to adequately describe what went on, and how I felt, but all of them have fell rather flat. I might make one more attempt. I hope - for the sake of the lovely PR woman who organized that whole thing for me - that I pull through.
The fear that holds me back from updating this blog so often, and being so open, is that I will share too much of myself with the world. Telling you about my health is not always telling you about me. In fact, it most assuredly is not telling you about me much at all. I put on a very good show for everyone, get a few laughs hopefully, and move on. Take a bow. A few air kisses. Applause, applause. The end.
You don't see me. It's all a slight of hand. Or words, rather.
Anyway, I will give you the most recent update:
I am at a junction in life right now and I am trying to decide which path to travel down.
The first is Responsibility: To forgo any travel plans and have my pacemaker surgery, thus giving up the next three months to recovery time.
The second is Travel: I recently found out that I may travel up to 60 days out of the country. Why I was not told this originally, and why I was too lazy/scared to find out this info last year is not something I want to dwell on; what matters is I can go, I want to go and I want to be out of here as often and as long as money will permit. I had planned on going to a couple of countries - through helpx.net - and the one family I was very much hoping to stay with never replied. Sadness. I lost a bit of momentum for my sojourn, but I still would like to go.
So the question is: Do I go and have another adventure, or do I stay and be responsible? Get my pacemaker changed so I do not have to worry about it crapping out on me in another country; or go now while I have a good chunk of time? I am also a Maid of Honor for a wedding next August; I feel if I postpone my trip until next year, I will be putting my friend through some stress she ought not to go through alone as I am one of the key planners.
There are many Pros and Cons for either decision, and with a recent bout in the hospital I am finding especially pressed for an end to this. TEAM RACHAEL! has given me the all-clear to travel, and they are leaving the ultimate choice to me.
On one hand, I feel patience is a virtue and more money and energy will be accumulated for a trip in 2014. On the other hand, I am weary of being home, and I feel I should seize any opportunity that comes my way.
Yes, atrocious upkeep. My apologies. I always mean to get back to this blog, but something always holds me back. Whether it is forgetfulness (a good 40% of why I do not post), laziness (I'd say another 40%), or fearfulness (the remaining 20%), there really is no good excuse.
The fearfulness may come as a shock to some of you, perhaps. I do hold quite the illusion of being incomparable to the perils of fear and insecurities when it comes to discussing my health. Truthfully, the visit to Philadelphia and my tour of the Children's Hospital of Philly (not coincidentally when this blog fell silent) really shook me up. I have made several attempts to adequately describe what went on, and how I felt, but all of them have fell rather flat. I might make one more attempt. I hope - for the sake of the lovely PR woman who organized that whole thing for me - that I pull through.
The fear that holds me back from updating this blog so often, and being so open, is that I will share too much of myself with the world. Telling you about my health is not always telling you about me. In fact, it most assuredly is not telling you about me much at all. I put on a very good show for everyone, get a few laughs hopefully, and move on. Take a bow. A few air kisses. Applause, applause. The end.
You don't see me. It's all a slight of hand. Or words, rather.
Anyway, I will give you the most recent update:
I am at a junction in life right now and I am trying to decide which path to travel down.
The first is Responsibility: To forgo any travel plans and have my pacemaker surgery, thus giving up the next three months to recovery time.
The second is Travel: I recently found out that I may travel up to 60 days out of the country. Why I was not told this originally, and why I was too lazy/scared to find out this info last year is not something I want to dwell on; what matters is I can go, I want to go and I want to be out of here as often and as long as money will permit. I had planned on going to a couple of countries - through helpx.net - and the one family I was very much hoping to stay with never replied. Sadness. I lost a bit of momentum for my sojourn, but I still would like to go.
So the question is: Do I go and have another adventure, or do I stay and be responsible? Get my pacemaker changed so I do not have to worry about it crapping out on me in another country; or go now while I have a good chunk of time? I am also a Maid of Honor for a wedding next August; I feel if I postpone my trip until next year, I will be putting my friend through some stress she ought not to go through alone as I am one of the key planners.
There are many Pros and Cons for either decision, and with a recent bout in the hospital I am finding especially pressed for an end to this. TEAM RACHAEL! has given me the all-clear to travel, and they are leaving the ultimate choice to me.
On one hand, I feel patience is a virtue and more money and energy will be accumulated for a trip in 2014. On the other hand, I am weary of being home, and I feel I should seize any opportunity that comes my way.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Your antihero is in the UCLA Adult Congenital Heart Disease Center Newsletter
TEAM RACHAEL! has been a thorn in my side for ages, trying to get me to contribute to their precious newsletter. While you are probably fainting from the shock of me not jumping on the opportunity to talk about myself in a printed form, you will permit me to explain why I was reluctant for so long.
You see, I'm supposed to write about my life with a CHD and how it's shaped me as a person, or how I've managed to overcome trials and tribulations to achieve my goals and yadda yadda, cheese, cheese, fluff, fluff, fluff.
On average these newsletters feature patients with families, children of their own, and/or a spouse, and/or a deep enough level of comfort talking about their profound relationship with The Lord that I find unnerving. I have none of these things in my life, and felt uncomfortable being put into such a spotlight where all I could talk about was traveling, a failed career, struggles of a new career, my vile felines, and, like Napoleon on his exiled island, how shamelessly bombastic I am with a piddly little blog. I am not a hero; I don't consider myself to be an inspiration to anyone, nor a wealth of guidance beyond where you might find a good bite to eat in Cork City, Ireland.
However, they kept persisting and I finally caved in. For an embarrassing amount of time I wavered between having no creative flow, to sparks of zealous mania, which I would lose as soon as I emailed TEAM RACHAEL! to tell them I'd found my inspiration, gird their loins and EXPECT BRILLIANCE!
Finally, I found enough momentum to see me through to the deadline and I scraped by. A couple of my friends have told me they dig it, but they're my friends and that's what I pay them to say.
Long story short, I was one of the three women featured in the fall edition of the Ahmanson/UCLA Adults with Congenital Heart Disease Center's newsletter. They sent me a .pdf and said they're working on an online edition, which 'should' be up next week. I don't have that sort of patience, so below is what I wrote for them on my life with congenital heart defect.
There is a fine art to maneuvering through life with a complex congenital heart defect, and while it’ll be a while yet before anyone starts calling me Rembrandt, I do all right for myself. Born with transposition of the great arteries and ventricular septal defect with a heart that sits center-right stage (we’re kind of a showboat), and has gone through both a Fontan operation and a pacemaker, I am not your typical cardiac patient. I’m slightly bombastic, a bit cheeky and more than a dash vainglorious. Thirty years of being poked, prodded, studied and talked at has left me just a touch defensive and I have worked tirelessly to construct a perfectly hardened exterior.
I struggled greatly to come up with a topic to write about because the possibilities seemed endless, with the only goal being that I didn’t want this to wind up being a piece of fluff, painting an image of myself I do not necessarily resemble all of the time. On one hand, I wanted to be irreverently humorous, something I can excel at given the right mood and circumstance.
Making people laugh has been a not-quite altruistic goal of mine, as I use laughter to deflect the seriousness of my health. Even amidst my first full-blown episode of tachycardia, which occurred during school hours in the first grade, I was cracking jokes as the nurses office became ground zero of frantic phone calls, panicked voices and forced calm for my benefit.
Yet another direction I debated was that of profound earnestness; philosophizing the various coping techniques my peers and I adopted, my own being in the form of a blog. It is easier to mentally digest the chaos my life can be caught up in when I have an outlet to, pardon my crudeness, vomit up my emotions. All of the preposterous, hyperbolic, vindictive and utterly raw thoughts and feelings I possess have a special place of their very own. It may not be agreeable for some, but for me it’s the ultimate catharsis.
Waffling between these options has forced me to accept and now openly admit a hard truth; a truth I realized once I started volunteering with Camp del Corazon and again when I attended the ACHA conference last year. I keep up the hardened exterior to mask my vulnerability.
Not unlike a wounded tiger, I sit alone and surly, watching the rest of the jungle from my dark corner, the façade of pride and judgment. I want to partake, not just the philosophizing joker with a bag of tricks designed to twist your attention from my wounds, but keeping a certain level of detachment has helped me not let my CHD define me as a whole person.
So maybe I’ll spin a grandiose tale about butting heads with a medical official, or repeat something funny that transpired with TEAM RACHAEL! (my medical entourage), but you may not see the true depths of my grievances; the isolation of my childhood, the struggles of a teenager who could not rebel even as her friends did, the young adult who struggled to find her footing in adulthood, and the woman who continues to mourn the loss of her uterus despite not living with regret about making the choice to have it removed in the first place.
No, you won’t see these things because I am too quick with my slight of hand. Did you see what I did there?
You see, I'm supposed to write about my life with a CHD and how it's shaped me as a person, or how I've managed to overcome trials and tribulations to achieve my goals and yadda yadda, cheese, cheese, fluff, fluff, fluff.
On average these newsletters feature patients with families, children of their own, and/or a spouse, and/or a deep enough level of comfort talking about their profound relationship with The Lord that I find unnerving. I have none of these things in my life, and felt uncomfortable being put into such a spotlight where all I could talk about was traveling, a failed career, struggles of a new career, my vile felines, and, like Napoleon on his exiled island, how shamelessly bombastic I am with a piddly little blog. I am not a hero; I don't consider myself to be an inspiration to anyone, nor a wealth of guidance beyond where you might find a good bite to eat in Cork City, Ireland.
However, they kept persisting and I finally caved in. For an embarrassing amount of time I wavered between having no creative flow, to sparks of zealous mania, which I would lose as soon as I emailed TEAM RACHAEL! to tell them I'd found my inspiration, gird their loins and EXPECT BRILLIANCE!
Finally, I found enough momentum to see me through to the deadline and I scraped by. A couple of my friends have told me they dig it, but they're my friends and that's what I pay them to say.
Long story short, I was one of the three women featured in the fall edition of the Ahmanson/UCLA Adults with Congenital Heart Disease Center's newsletter. They sent me a .pdf and said they're working on an online edition, which 'should' be up next week. I don't have that sort of patience, so below is what I wrote for them on my life with congenital heart defect.
There is a fine art to maneuvering through life with a complex congenital heart defect, and while it’ll be a while yet before anyone starts calling me Rembrandt, I do all right for myself. Born with transposition of the great arteries and ventricular septal defect with a heart that sits center-right stage (we’re kind of a showboat), and has gone through both a Fontan operation and a pacemaker, I am not your typical cardiac patient. I’m slightly bombastic, a bit cheeky and more than a dash vainglorious. Thirty years of being poked, prodded, studied and talked at has left me just a touch defensive and I have worked tirelessly to construct a perfectly hardened exterior.
I struggled greatly to come up with a topic to write about because the possibilities seemed endless, with the only goal being that I didn’t want this to wind up being a piece of fluff, painting an image of myself I do not necessarily resemble all of the time. On one hand, I wanted to be irreverently humorous, something I can excel at given the right mood and circumstance.
Making people laugh has been a not-quite altruistic goal of mine, as I use laughter to deflect the seriousness of my health. Even amidst my first full-blown episode of tachycardia, which occurred during school hours in the first grade, I was cracking jokes as the nurses office became ground zero of frantic phone calls, panicked voices and forced calm for my benefit.
Yet another direction I debated was that of profound earnestness; philosophizing the various coping techniques my peers and I adopted, my own being in the form of a blog. It is easier to mentally digest the chaos my life can be caught up in when I have an outlet to, pardon my crudeness, vomit up my emotions. All of the preposterous, hyperbolic, vindictive and utterly raw thoughts and feelings I possess have a special place of their very own. It may not be agreeable for some, but for me it’s the ultimate catharsis.
Waffling between these options has forced me to accept and now openly admit a hard truth; a truth I realized once I started volunteering with Camp del Corazon and again when I attended the ACHA conference last year. I keep up the hardened exterior to mask my vulnerability.
Not unlike a wounded tiger, I sit alone and surly, watching the rest of the jungle from my dark corner, the façade of pride and judgment. I want to partake, not just the philosophizing joker with a bag of tricks designed to twist your attention from my wounds, but keeping a certain level of detachment has helped me not let my CHD define me as a whole person.
So maybe I’ll spin a grandiose tale about butting heads with a medical official, or repeat something funny that transpired with TEAM RACHAEL! (my medical entourage), but you may not see the true depths of my grievances; the isolation of my childhood, the struggles of a teenager who could not rebel even as her friends did, the young adult who struggled to find her footing in adulthood, and the woman who continues to mourn the loss of her uterus despite not living with regret about making the choice to have it removed in the first place.
No, you won’t see these things because I am too quick with my slight of hand. Did you see what I did there?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Dirty Thirty and Why You Need to Shut Up About Getting Old
In less than a week I will be celebrating my 30th birthday. You all have no idea how damn excited I am over this birthday. However, without a doubt - without a doubt - my birthday glee is always stopped stone-cold by one of my top pet-peeves: when people whine to me about how much they hate getting old.
"Oh my god, don't remind me! My birthday is (whenever) and I'm turning (who gives a damn age) and OH MY GOD I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLD! Ugh! I hate getting older!"
Seriously - you hate getting older? So, you hate your birthday? You hate that you managed to make it through another year of your life? Out of all of the possible ways to die, out of the innumerable ways to wind up not alive anymore, you - yes, you! - managed to go around the game board once more and have another turn at it? Well goodness gracious me, I cannot imagine the impossible chore it must be to please you, my little angel cake.
If I had I nickle every time someone said this to me I'd have traveled around the world, bought a slingshot and pelted every single last one of yous with a horse manure cupcake.
Permit me to dissect why this familiar yet nonetheless irritating complaint vexes me so.
One. Ingratitude. To vocalize you do not want to live to be a ripe old age implies you wish to die young. What sort of attitude is that to carry around on your shoulders? You have enough to worry about to freak out over piddly nonsense that (a) you cannot change and (b) happens to everyone. Additionally, the ingratitude is a slap in the face to individuals who never had the privilege to grow old or who struggle tooth and claw to get to each birthday. It's insulting to complain about about your inability to cope with achieving another year simply by existing.
Two. Piggy-backing off that, aging happens to everyone. Unless the Fountain of Youth/vampires or some other mystical immortal being is discovered, everyone on this planet - every living thing from humans to animals to the jar of raspberry preserves that's been sitting at the back of your fridge since last Christmas - is getting older. I hate to break it to you my gentle little snowflake, but you are not special. No one parted the clouds, shined a light onto your precious head and singled you out to be the lone living creature to go through the aging process.
Three. Fear of Death. There is a particular ignorance/lack of honesty when it comes to people who 'hate getting old'. Like, what about getting old is specifically hateful? When you strip away the inanity of the age whining it really does boil down to a basic fear of death. Totally understandable, by the way. You should fear death to a certain level; it's a fairly healthy fear to have in small doses as it keeps you from doing stupid moves like drilling a hole in your head. However, be honest about your fear; get to the bottom of why "getting old" freaks you out enough to burden others and damper their mood. Trust me, I have no so small fear of death, but I'd personally rather have age speeding me to the grave rather than complications of health.
Three.A Vanity. I think it plays a large role as well and perhaps folks just don't want to admit it. People judge others based on the outward shell and -gasp- oh noes you may one day have wrinkles and gray hair, whatever will you do? Lord, people may actually have to get to know you before deciding they like you! I simply do not know how you will go on...Seriously, like the fear of death, if it's just a fear of losing your looks just say it. It's a little silly but I know I would appreciate the honesty.
Four. Regrets. I don't care if you have the words "No Regrets" tattooed on the inside of your eyelids as a reminder of its inspiration to your soul; everyone has a regret or two (or three hundred). When we age it is a not-so-gentle reminder that time is a-tickin' away (see: Death) and that Bucket List ain't getting any shorter. You have places to travel, adventures to be had, goals to achieve, unattainable people to sleep with, THINGS TO DO! and another year that flies by without having ticked off something on that Life's To Do List just irritates the ever-loving crap out of you, doesn't it? Fine. I think it's safe to say the vast majority of us have these moments (Jeebus knows I do), but again, no reason to blanket the frustration of lack of accomplishment by denying yourself (and others) the joy of a birthday.
Five. Surprisingly enough, this kind of careless commentary is more often than not said when I mention my own birthday. My birthday, which has nothing whatsoever to do with any other individual (parents aside), and inevitably some careless human being will turn it around on themselves and bring their little rain cloud of ageism to flood out my birthday jubilation. When it's your birthday, bitch all you want; it won't stop me from thinking your're ungrateful and a bit callous but hey, at least I won't say it to your face. My birthday gift to you.
I don't speak on behalf of everyone with a congenital heart defect/chronic illness but I do know a number of my companions share the same sentiment I do when I say:
Shut the feck up you whiny little eejit and be grateful you have been given another day on this glorious Earth, in this lovely life.
"Oh my god, don't remind me! My birthday is (whenever) and I'm turning (who gives a damn age) and OH MY GOD I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLD! Ugh! I hate getting older!"
Seriously - you hate getting older? So, you hate your birthday? You hate that you managed to make it through another year of your life? Out of all of the possible ways to die, out of the innumerable ways to wind up not alive anymore, you - yes, you! - managed to go around the game board once more and have another turn at it? Well goodness gracious me, I cannot imagine the impossible chore it must be to please you, my little angel cake.
If I had I nickle every time someone said this to me I'd have traveled around the world, bought a slingshot and pelted every single last one of yous with a horse manure cupcake.
Permit me to dissect why this familiar yet nonetheless irritating complaint vexes me so.
One. Ingratitude. To vocalize you do not want to live to be a ripe old age implies you wish to die young. What sort of attitude is that to carry around on your shoulders? You have enough to worry about to freak out over piddly nonsense that (a) you cannot change and (b) happens to everyone. Additionally, the ingratitude is a slap in the face to individuals who never had the privilege to grow old or who struggle tooth and claw to get to each birthday. It's insulting to complain about about your inability to cope with achieving another year simply by existing.
Two. Piggy-backing off that, aging happens to everyone. Unless the Fountain of Youth/vampires or some other mystical immortal being is discovered, everyone on this planet - every living thing from humans to animals to the jar of raspberry preserves that's been sitting at the back of your fridge since last Christmas - is getting older. I hate to break it to you my gentle little snowflake, but you are not special. No one parted the clouds, shined a light onto your precious head and singled you out to be the lone living creature to go through the aging process.
Three. Fear of Death. There is a particular ignorance/lack of honesty when it comes to people who 'hate getting old'. Like, what about getting old is specifically hateful? When you strip away the inanity of the age whining it really does boil down to a basic fear of death. Totally understandable, by the way. You should fear death to a certain level; it's a fairly healthy fear to have in small doses as it keeps you from doing stupid moves like drilling a hole in your head. However, be honest about your fear; get to the bottom of why "getting old" freaks you out enough to burden others and damper their mood. Trust me, I have no so small fear of death, but I'd personally rather have age speeding me to the grave rather than complications of health.
Three.A Vanity. I think it plays a large role as well and perhaps folks just don't want to admit it. People judge others based on the outward shell and -gasp- oh noes you may one day have wrinkles and gray hair, whatever will you do? Lord, people may actually have to get to know you before deciding they like you! I simply do not know how you will go on...Seriously, like the fear of death, if it's just a fear of losing your looks just say it. It's a little silly but I know I would appreciate the honesty.
Four. Regrets. I don't care if you have the words "No Regrets" tattooed on the inside of your eyelids as a reminder of its inspiration to your soul; everyone has a regret or two (or three hundred). When we age it is a not-so-gentle reminder that time is a-tickin' away (see: Death) and that Bucket List ain't getting any shorter. You have places to travel, adventures to be had, goals to achieve, unattainable people to sleep with, THINGS TO DO! and another year that flies by without having ticked off something on that Life's To Do List just irritates the ever-loving crap out of you, doesn't it? Fine. I think it's safe to say the vast majority of us have these moments (Jeebus knows I do), but again, no reason to blanket the frustration of lack of accomplishment by denying yourself (and others) the joy of a birthday.
Five. Surprisingly enough, this kind of careless commentary is more often than not said when I mention my own birthday. My birthday, which has nothing whatsoever to do with any other individual (parents aside), and inevitably some careless human being will turn it around on themselves and bring their little rain cloud of ageism to flood out my birthday jubilation. When it's your birthday, bitch all you want; it won't stop me from thinking your're ungrateful and a bit callous but hey, at least I won't say it to your face. My birthday gift to you.
I don't speak on behalf of everyone with a congenital heart defect/chronic illness but I do know a number of my companions share the same sentiment I do when I say:
Shut the feck up you whiny little eejit and be grateful you have been given another day on this glorious Earth, in this lovely life.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Traveling, Bucket Lists and You
Bucket Lists came up in a recent topic on my CHD support group and many of the members listed travel being the top desire. Then another topic was created, asking about traveling and the original poster asked us where we'd all been. Despite seeing "travel" as a bucket list item so many members replied with many, MANY places they had traveled to - shaming my own travels in variety.
I've written a pretty damn good post about travelling already but just recently I got it into my head to really pull out the stops for my upcoming 30th birthday and throw together a getaway vacation. I made a new friend online who invited me to her home outside of Cork City Ireland (aka my favorite place in the world) and another couple of friends in the city center, bought on a plane ticket on Monday, got my pacemaker taken care of on Tuesday and am now just tying up loose ends so I have no impending deadlines to worry about during my travels.
I'm going to add on to my list from my old post another lesson I've learned since 2010:
PACEMAKER - This time I was smart and got my sleep mode taken off of my pacemaker because I experienced some difficulties getting my energy stability up when I was in Ireland, a country that is 8 hours ahead of me. TEAM RACHAEL! was not thrilled with my last-minute whirlwind of planning, but they made due because I am a rockstar with VIP status.
Money is not something I freely talk about, but I would like to encourage those of you who have either yet to venture away from home or those of you looking to add more stamps to your passport to consider the following resources for budget traveling:
http://www.helpx.net - This is the website that started this getaway venture of mine. A fellow blogger, Corinne of Frock and Roll, mentioned helpx.net on her blog and set my plans in motion. It is a wonderful resource for people looking to really immerse themselves with the locals. It works as such: someone needs help with something, you provide such help, they give you room/board. Help can be anything from chores around the house, specific projects like painting/roofing/mechanics/gardening, pitching in with children and/or animals, language exchange or what have you. People rarely ask for more than 4 hours of the day, leaving you plenty of time to soak in the scenery and take day trips. Lots of people are flexible too so if you want to take off for a few days in exchange for a couple of traditional 8 hour days you could probably negotiate. Everything is possible.
http://www.couchsurfing.org - Meet locals while you crash on their couch (or spare room or whatever they have to offer) This is usually for short-term stays, although if you and your host really hit it off who knows. Very good to use to make friends as you make your way through a country or an entire continent. Just be sure to read everyone's profile to make sure you'd make a great match!
Many people living with a chronic illness might be frightened to travel - be it fear induced by a parent, medical professional or their own volition - and don't get me wrong, having an healthy dose of caution is just fine - but you cannot let fear cripple you and keep you from traveling.
As many of you know, I was godawful fucking ill not 3 months ago. I could not even conceive of getting on a plane to go 5,000 miles away from my bed - especially alone! 3 or 4 weeks ago my friend Corrine posted about helpx and now here I am - packing my bags getting ready for another adventure in Ireland, which I visited in 2010. Now, would I have gone to a county I'd never been to previously for my first helpx/couchsurfing experience so quickly after being ill? Maybe, but not likely unless I had a travel buddy or friends at the destination.
The fact is I wanted to do something for me - not just for my 30th birthday but to rejoice in another victory against poor health. It tried to get me but I kicked its ass once again. Time for a fucking pint.
As soon as you find yourself with time on your hands to seize the day, SEIZE IT. Even if, no - especially if you get caught in a whirlwind of "other things" you need to force yourself to make time to travel. If it is that important to you, you will put in the effort. I'll tell you one thing being disabled as afforded me: time. Precious time that not many other people possess because they're working full-time or dealing with family. I've not yet a family of my own to be responsible for - so the perfect time for me to runaway and have adventures is now. Now is my time.
It's no use looking over my shoulder and living with the regret that I did not travel more in my youth - I made a choice to try my best to carve out a career for myself and hey, I learned some things along the way. Time to look forward, pack my bags and take a giant step toward adventure.
I've written a pretty damn good post about travelling already but just recently I got it into my head to really pull out the stops for my upcoming 30th birthday and throw together a getaway vacation. I made a new friend online who invited me to her home outside of Cork City Ireland (aka my favorite place in the world) and another couple of friends in the city center, bought on a plane ticket on Monday, got my pacemaker taken care of on Tuesday and am now just tying up loose ends so I have no impending deadlines to worry about during my travels.
I'm going to add on to my list from my old post another lesson I've learned since 2010:
PACEMAKER - This time I was smart and got my sleep mode taken off of my pacemaker because I experienced some difficulties getting my energy stability up when I was in Ireland, a country that is 8 hours ahead of me. TEAM RACHAEL! was not thrilled with my last-minute whirlwind of planning, but they made due because I am a rockstar with VIP status.
Money is not something I freely talk about, but I would like to encourage those of you who have either yet to venture away from home or those of you looking to add more stamps to your passport to consider the following resources for budget traveling:
http://www.helpx.net - This is the website that started this getaway venture of mine. A fellow blogger, Corinne of Frock and Roll, mentioned helpx.net on her blog and set my plans in motion. It is a wonderful resource for people looking to really immerse themselves with the locals. It works as such: someone needs help with something, you provide such help, they give you room/board. Help can be anything from chores around the house, specific projects like painting/roofing/mechanics/gardening, pitching in with children and/or animals, language exchange or what have you. People rarely ask for more than 4 hours of the day, leaving you plenty of time to soak in the scenery and take day trips. Lots of people are flexible too so if you want to take off for a few days in exchange for a couple of traditional 8 hour days you could probably negotiate. Everything is possible.
http://www.couchsurfing.org - Meet locals while you crash on their couch (or spare room or whatever they have to offer) This is usually for short-term stays, although if you and your host really hit it off who knows. Very good to use to make friends as you make your way through a country or an entire continent. Just be sure to read everyone's profile to make sure you'd make a great match!
Many people living with a chronic illness might be frightened to travel - be it fear induced by a parent, medical professional or their own volition - and don't get me wrong, having an healthy dose of caution is just fine - but you cannot let fear cripple you and keep you from traveling.
As many of you know, I was godawful fucking ill not 3 months ago. I could not even conceive of getting on a plane to go 5,000 miles away from my bed - especially alone! 3 or 4 weeks ago my friend Corrine posted about helpx and now here I am - packing my bags getting ready for another adventure in Ireland, which I visited in 2010. Now, would I have gone to a county I'd never been to previously for my first helpx/couchsurfing experience so quickly after being ill? Maybe, but not likely unless I had a travel buddy or friends at the destination.
The fact is I wanted to do something for me - not just for my 30th birthday but to rejoice in another victory against poor health. It tried to get me but I kicked its ass once again. Time for a fucking pint.
As soon as you find yourself with time on your hands to seize the day, SEIZE IT. Even if, no - especially if you get caught in a whirlwind of "other things" you need to force yourself to make time to travel. If it is that important to you, you will put in the effort. I'll tell you one thing being disabled as afforded me: time. Precious time that not many other people possess because they're working full-time or dealing with family. I've not yet a family of my own to be responsible for - so the perfect time for me to runaway and have adventures is now. Now is my time.
It's no use looking over my shoulder and living with the regret that I did not travel more in my youth - I made a choice to try my best to carve out a career for myself and hey, I learned some things along the way. Time to look forward, pack my bags and take a giant step toward adventure.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Today is my fucking birthday. I rule.
Today I am 29 years old and it is the one day the judge has permitted me to indulge in my raging narcissism.
Ever since I was a teenager and I started to hear young, lively people reduce to two year old tantrums every time their birthday rolled around I decided to never get bitchy and whiny about my birthday. Growing Old means I'M STILL HERE TO GROW OLD. That outweighs any gray hair I find, any aches I feel, any "ma'am's" I hear. Bitches, I am still alive and that is fucking beautiful thing.
HOWEVER, for whatever stupid ass reason, I felt a weird, melancholy feeling as 29 slowly crept closer. I tried to shrug it off and then, as it persisted, I tried to beat it down with a stick. Short of killing it with fire, I'm just going to have to accept a slight melancholy feeling of just "This is not where I wanted to be in life at this age" BUT THIS DOES NOT TRANSLATE TO "Oh shit, I am so fucking old, I'm going to fill out my AARP membership card and go treat myself the Senior Grand Slam at Denny's before I snuggle down at 7:00pm and fall asleep to reruns of Matlock."
Part of the melancholy feeling spawns from a Logan's Run fear that I have an expiration date. My paternal unit is to blame for this irrational fear, as he is typically the parent I go to for level-headed logic. In a moment of weakness he foolishly confided in me that, to his understanding, my earliest doctors gave me a lifespan of 30 years. Basically, in one year from now, my hand is going to start beeping and I'm gonna be on the lam, running from a scythe wielding reaper who has a tight schedule to keep. PARENTAL FAIL.
So I'm still happy to be getting older 'cause, hell, here the fuck I still stand and I am grateful for whatever Force that wants me still roaming wild and free on this planet.
I am also grateful to TEAM RACHAEL! - from the first members of TR! to my current card carrying posse, TEAM RACHAEL! has always striven to keep me out of the grave and onto my next birthday.
Even though it's in the job description to keep patients alive, TEAM RACHAEL! isn't just going on a god complex, they actually give two craps about me and want me to live another day. Not everyone can say they get that kind of support or rallying for ones well being, and I count myself among the fortunate.
Thanks, TEAM RACHAEL! I couldn't have gotten to this point without you. <3
Ever since I was a teenager and I started to hear young, lively people reduce to two year old tantrums every time their birthday rolled around I decided to never get bitchy and whiny about my birthday. Growing Old means I'M STILL HERE TO GROW OLD. That outweighs any gray hair I find, any aches I feel, any "ma'am's" I hear. Bitches, I am still alive and that is fucking beautiful thing.
HOWEVER, for whatever stupid ass reason, I felt a weird, melancholy feeling as 29 slowly crept closer. I tried to shrug it off and then, as it persisted, I tried to beat it down with a stick. Short of killing it with fire, I'm just going to have to accept a slight melancholy feeling of just "This is not where I wanted to be in life at this age" BUT THIS DOES NOT TRANSLATE TO "Oh shit, I am so fucking old, I'm going to fill out my AARP membership card and go treat myself the Senior Grand Slam at Denny's before I snuggle down at 7:00pm and fall asleep to reruns of Matlock."
Part of the melancholy feeling spawns from a Logan's Run fear that I have an expiration date. My paternal unit is to blame for this irrational fear, as he is typically the parent I go to for level-headed logic. In a moment of weakness he foolishly confided in me that, to his understanding, my earliest doctors gave me a lifespan of 30 years. Basically, in one year from now, my hand is going to start beeping and I'm gonna be on the lam, running from a scythe wielding reaper who has a tight schedule to keep. PARENTAL FAIL.
So I'm still happy to be getting older 'cause, hell, here the fuck I still stand and I am grateful for whatever Force that wants me still roaming wild and free on this planet.
I am also grateful to TEAM RACHAEL! - from the first members of TR! to my current card carrying posse, TEAM RACHAEL! has always striven to keep me out of the grave and onto my next birthday.
Even though it's in the job description to keep patients alive, TEAM RACHAEL! isn't just going on a god complex, they actually give two craps about me and want me to live another day. Not everyone can say they get that kind of support or rallying for ones well being, and I count myself among the fortunate.
Thanks, TEAM RACHAEL! I couldn't have gotten to this point without you. <3
Friday, April 22, 2011
A Cardiac Crisis and the Monster Mash
The latest prompt from Chronic Babe blog carnival asks: How do you handle a crisis? No matter how hard we try to take care of ourselves, there are times when things go horribly wrong, either with our health or some other personal issue. How do you prepare for such a turn of events? How do you cope in the middle of it all? And how do you recover?
Well, a crisis has to be handled on a situation by situation basis. There are two major crisis that come to mind in my life and I believe I already wrote on one, so I'll talk about the other, more recent crisis I had.
The worst situation, in my head, was to have a major episode of tachycardia around my friends. Though I am not embarrassed by my health and I am happy to talk about it anytime, I knew I would be just mortified if anything occurred while my friends were around. I think it was the idea of appearing weak and sick around my friends that scared me most. I like being the loud-mouthed funny one; not the sickly mousy girl.
So, back up to October of 2007. I decided to throw a Halloween party for my girlfriends. Not just a simple dinner and scary movies party, either. Oh, no. I went ALL out ~ glowsticks, homemade and store-bought decorations, a YouTube channel to loop videos of Halloween cartoons from our youth, a ShoutCAST radio station to play retro spooky tunes as we ate spaghetti topped with my signature homemade spaghetti sauce. I had a variety of movies on hand, ranging on the fright meter from so bad it's scary to mildly gross to downright nightmare-worthy. I even created a few spooktacular games including a horror movie version of WHO AM I? and a full fledged Halloween theme JEOPARDY! complete with final Jeopardy question and prizes.
It was a crowning achievement in my parties, and I was extra pleased that nearly all of my guests were able to come. As we are getting older, lives are changes, careers are blossoming and it's becoming more and more difficult to get together.
Earlier that day I felt a little palpitation at work. No worries; I popped my back-up pill and alerted my supervisor just in case it turned into something bigger. Fortunately, it didn't...while I was at work, anyway!
That evening, my party was in full spooky swing - we had played one game, watched the Garfield Halloween special and were sitting around the dining room table enjoy dinner with Halloween-y tunes in the background when all of a sudden--! WHAM! My heart takes off like a bat out of hell, going into full-blown tachycardia. Remaining calm and quiet about it, I do not let on what's going on. I drink copious amounts of water and take deep breaths, then slowly get up and take my evening pills. Nothing. My heart doesn't even slow down or pause.
I excused myself and go visit my mother in her room, collapsing on her bed and confessing what has been going on. I want to keep it a secret if I could, try and get my heart down on its own. My mom tries to listen and record it with her stethoscope but it was going too fast.
She goes to get another emergency pill I use for rapid heart rate - trying not to meet the eyes of my friends in case they ask where I wandered off to. She gives me the pill, but I am suddenly nauseous and...well, I get sick. Sicker than I've ever been. I have never, ever, once upchucked during a tachycardia episode. This does not bode well. It was time to call it quits, throw in my towel and get my ass to the ER.
My mom went out to my friends and told them - I was too embarrassed (not to mention sick) to do it myself. They were totally shocked, having no clue I what I was dealing with. They tried to clean up a little, just enough to make sure my kittens (only 6 months old at this time) wouldn't get into anything. I changed into my pajamas (the only way to be admitted to any hospital!) and took my electric razor and quickly buzzed off my arm hair.
PROTIP: If you're going to the hospital, shave your arms! You will thank me when the hospital tape doesn't hurt as much.
I tried to crack jokes for my friends, but they were clearly freaked. I was pale, sickly and probably a little blue around my eyes and lips. Perfect look for a Halloween party, but not under these circumstances!
I apologized profusely, lamenting about my ruined decorations, games, prizes, etc. but my friends were of course more concerned about me than getting to dessert and Jeopardy.
They gathered their things and left, and my mom and I left. In front of my friends, I remained collected, calm and even jokey. As soon as they were out of sight, though, and I was in the backseat of my mom's Toyota, I was crying, stressed and utterly freaked out.
This was one out of two situations where I honestly thought to myself, Oh my god, this it. This is freakin' it. It's all over, age 25. Well, at least I traveled...
So it's 40 minutes of these kind of thoughts that I am trying NOT to have. Now, you may be thinking OMG WHY WOULD YOU DRIVE SO FAR? Frankly, I don't trust my local hospitals, especially in an emergency. They're not specialty hospitals, they don't know how to handle me and they've already proven to be incompetent twice over by this point.
When my tachycardia first began, it would send me to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia ER at least once a month in a four year span. This night blew those episodes out of the water!
It was the actual act of being physically ill that made kept my internal panic button flashing, but I did my best to not think this was curtains for me. When I was finally at the ER and surrounded by doctors that I knew, however, I felt better and was able to calm down. I trust TEAM RACHAEL! and TR! affiliates like Dr. Catwoman with my life. These are the people I knew would save me and make it better. As much grief as I give them, it's moments like these that make them worth every single pill they prescribe, blood test they order and obnoxious stress test they administer.
How did that night end? Well, I'm here, aren't I? They knocked me out and decided to electrically cardiovert me (that's when they get out the paddles and yell, "CLEAR!" on TV) which shocked my heart back into submission. I woke up immediately afterward, feeling surprisingly rested (amazing what 100-400 watts of electricity can do for the body, huh?) and asked how long I'd been knocked out. 30 seconds!
Thank goodness, they found the source for my tachycardia: hypothyroid (crazy what that little sucker thyroid gland can control!) and while I've had a couple of arrhythmia issues here and there, I have, thankfully, not been to the UCLA emergency room since October of 2007.
So, long story short: How do I handle a crisis? Get my butt to TEAM RACHAEL!, stat!
Well, a crisis has to be handled on a situation by situation basis. There are two major crisis that come to mind in my life and I believe I already wrote on one, so I'll talk about the other, more recent crisis I had.
The worst situation, in my head, was to have a major episode of tachycardia around my friends. Though I am not embarrassed by my health and I am happy to talk about it anytime, I knew I would be just mortified if anything occurred while my friends were around. I think it was the idea of appearing weak and sick around my friends that scared me most. I like being the loud-mouthed funny one; not the sickly mousy girl.
So, back up to October of 2007. I decided to throw a Halloween party for my girlfriends. Not just a simple dinner and scary movies party, either. Oh, no. I went ALL out ~ glowsticks, homemade and store-bought decorations, a YouTube channel to loop videos of Halloween cartoons from our youth, a ShoutCAST radio station to play retro spooky tunes as we ate spaghetti topped with my signature homemade spaghetti sauce. I had a variety of movies on hand, ranging on the fright meter from so bad it's scary to mildly gross to downright nightmare-worthy. I even created a few spooktacular games including a horror movie version of WHO AM I? and a full fledged Halloween theme JEOPARDY! complete with final Jeopardy question and prizes.
It was a crowning achievement in my parties, and I was extra pleased that nearly all of my guests were able to come. As we are getting older, lives are changes, careers are blossoming and it's becoming more and more difficult to get together.
Earlier that day I felt a little palpitation at work. No worries; I popped my back-up pill and alerted my supervisor just in case it turned into something bigger. Fortunately, it didn't...while I was at work, anyway!
That evening, my party was in full spooky swing - we had played one game, watched the Garfield Halloween special and were sitting around the dining room table enjoy dinner with Halloween-y tunes in the background when all of a sudden--! WHAM! My heart takes off like a bat out of hell, going into full-blown tachycardia. Remaining calm and quiet about it, I do not let on what's going on. I drink copious amounts of water and take deep breaths, then slowly get up and take my evening pills. Nothing. My heart doesn't even slow down or pause.
I excused myself and go visit my mother in her room, collapsing on her bed and confessing what has been going on. I want to keep it a secret if I could, try and get my heart down on its own. My mom tries to listen and record it with her stethoscope but it was going too fast.
She goes to get another emergency pill I use for rapid heart rate - trying not to meet the eyes of my friends in case they ask where I wandered off to. She gives me the pill, but I am suddenly nauseous and...well, I get sick. Sicker than I've ever been. I have never, ever, once upchucked during a tachycardia episode. This does not bode well. It was time to call it quits, throw in my towel and get my ass to the ER.
PROTIP: If you're going to the hospital, shave your arms! You will thank me when the hospital tape doesn't hurt as much.
I tried to crack jokes for my friends, but they were clearly freaked. I was pale, sickly and probably a little blue around my eyes and lips. Perfect look for a Halloween party, but not under these circumstances!
I apologized profusely, lamenting about my ruined decorations, games, prizes, etc. but my friends were of course more concerned about me than getting to dessert and Jeopardy.
They gathered their things and left, and my mom and I left. In front of my friends, I remained collected, calm and even jokey. As soon as they were out of sight, though, and I was in the backseat of my mom's Toyota, I was crying, stressed and utterly freaked out.
This was one out of two situations where I honestly thought to myself, Oh my god, this it. This is freakin' it. It's all over, age 25. Well, at least I traveled...
So it's 40 minutes of these kind of thoughts that I am trying NOT to have. Now, you may be thinking OMG WHY WOULD YOU DRIVE SO FAR? Frankly, I don't trust my local hospitals, especially in an emergency. They're not specialty hospitals, they don't know how to handle me and they've already proven to be incompetent twice over by this point.
It was the actual act of being physically ill that made kept my internal panic button flashing, but I did my best to not think this was curtains for me. When I was finally at the ER and surrounded by doctors that I knew, however, I felt better and was able to calm down. I trust TEAM RACHAEL! and TR! affiliates like Dr. Catwoman with my life. These are the people I knew would save me and make it better. As much grief as I give them, it's moments like these that make them worth every single pill they prescribe, blood test they order and obnoxious stress test they administer.
How did that night end? Well, I'm here, aren't I? They knocked me out and decided to electrically cardiovert me (that's when they get out the paddles and yell, "CLEAR!" on TV) which shocked my heart back into submission. I woke up immediately afterward, feeling surprisingly rested (amazing what 100-400 watts of electricity can do for the body, huh?) and asked how long I'd been knocked out. 30 seconds!
Thank goodness, they found the source for my tachycardia: hypothyroid (crazy what that little sucker thyroid gland can control!) and while I've had a couple of arrhythmia issues here and there, I have, thankfully, not been to the UCLA emergency room since October of 2007.
So, long story short: How do I handle a crisis? Get my butt to TEAM RACHAEL!, stat!
How I deal with the medical establishment
How to deal with the medical establishment is the topic proposed for the current ChronicBabe Blog Carnival.
Annie blogged about health care; I don't think I am emotionally or psychologically prepared to talk about health care right now. Going through what I went through to obtain health care, what I go through to maintain it, and what I sacrifice in my life to keep it has made me develop some severe anxiety. So not ready to blog about that. Instead, I'll give my profound and sage advice on dealing with New Doctors, Baby Doctors and Hospital Stays.
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Annie blogged about health care; I don't think I am emotionally or psychologically prepared to talk about health care right now. Going through what I went through to obtain health care, what I go through to maintain it, and what I sacrifice in my life to keep it has made me develop some severe anxiety. So not ready to blog about that. Instead, I'll give my profound and sage advice on dealing with New Doctors, Baby Doctors and Hospital Stays.
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HOW I DEAL WITH...
New Doctors
Throughout my life thus far I have had eight (including my current) cardiologists. I've always had a chip on my shoulder in regards to meeting new doctors; my bravado is what I use to size up the new white coat in my life and I see who will take my crap, who won't and who will dish it back at me.
This is an attitude I have carefully cultivated over the course of my life because it is the only way I can push the fear aside and let things be all right. My humor is my shield against the cruel realities of my health and I use it generously because the alternative is to hide under the covers and cry. That is not a long-term answer. Being a borderline ass is something we can all deal with, though.
Remember: Like many a-thing in the wild, doctors are more scared of you than you are of them. Look them in the eye, give them a firm shake of your hand and be vocal, open and honest about absolutely everything in your life, regardless if it pertains to your health or not. They need to sniff you out and realize you are a creature to be respected as well!
Baby Doctors
The only people who I never mouthed off to as a kid were the student doctors - those pesky little shits who, without a friendly "Hi, how are you today, little girl whose name I can't bother to remember? Do you mind if I listen to your heart?", would just come at me with their cold stethoscope and have a go at listening to my unique heart.
These people needed a slap of respectable bedside manner lessons and by the time I reached my late teens, I wasn't having it anymore. If any of them came at me with so much as a flashlight I held up my hand and made them introduce themselves to me, shake my hand and ask my permission to manhandle me. Then we'll get along real nice. :)
Hospital Stays
- Label everything you own and send what you can home. Tie a string around your wrist and the drawer you keep your belongings in so if some snoopy prick decides to rummage through your goods you can catch them in the act (I once had a pair of PJs and a book about the Poky Little Puppy stolen. I am still bitter about it twenty years later)
- As soon as you are admitted, demand to see a menu for the next day's meals and fill it out as soon as possible. TRUST ME; you're going to get the left overs of a hard boiled egg, prune juice and stale, dry wheat toast otherwise.
- Always go for the green Jell-O
- Never be afraid to just say NO to student nurses who want to try and take your blood.
- Always ask if the Super Nintendo or whatever game system they have lying around can be wheeled in to your room and hooked up.
- Always bring the essentials from home: Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hair ties and hair brush. You will feel less gross.
- If you're too cold, ask to have a heated blanket...or three.
- If your room has a dry erase board, leave little messages of appreciation to your nurse. Buttering her up can have massive bonus points, especially when your fighting your roommate for control of the TV.
- Always take a souvenir to remind you of your stay. Here's mine from last year's heart catheter:
This is how I deal with the medical establishment; with irreverence and petty larceny.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Matters of the Heart
Ever since I took an interest in writing (since the age of twelve) I've been harped on to write about my heart condition. Initially, I fought it – still do sometimes – because it's something I live with that I don't want to live with and when I write, I want to write about topics that bring me joy and might help and inspire others. Surprisingly, my heart condition does not bring me joy. Even more surprising, I'm kind of expert on it because it's something that fits so seamlessly into my life and basic decisions I make that I hardly notice.
What I have noticed within the congenital heart defect community is that we all have questions - and we all want to help one another, with our money, time, political efforts, networking, volunteering, etc. but who is answering the basic, every day questions of living life and how to deal with mundane issues that are most often taken for granted amongst "healthy" people? Questions about being in the work force, college, dealing with peer pressure, being teased as a child, trying to fit in, keeping up with friends, physical education, academia professionals who didn't "get it", doctors who did not listen, doctors who DID listen, long hospital hours, recovering from surgery, depression, etc. are only topics that merely scratch the surface on what I have experienced and am happy to discuss.
What knowledge I may possess might help others, specifically, people with loved ones (parent/children, friends, etc) living with CHD, those that work with people living with a congenital heart defect, and young folk with CHD who are starting to enter adulthood. You may just be a curious passer-by intrigued by this post and want to ask questions. Everyone is my guest and all questions are welcome. There is no subject that is taboo; if I don't feel comfortable or experienced enough to answer your question, I will state so plainly.
I do not pretend to have all of the answers, and I make no guarantees. What I do promise is availability to answer your questions as open and honestly as based on my personal experience. That is all any of us can promise. My only hope here is that perhaps my answers will help someone, and at the very least, others will know they are not alone.
What I have noticed within the congenital heart defect community is that we all have questions - and we all want to help one another, with our money, time, political efforts, networking, volunteering, etc. but who is answering the basic, every day questions of living life and how to deal with mundane issues that are most often taken for granted amongst "healthy" people? Questions about being in the work force, college, dealing with peer pressure, being teased as a child, trying to fit in, keeping up with friends, physical education, academia professionals who didn't "get it", doctors who did not listen, doctors who DID listen, long hospital hours, recovering from surgery, depression, etc. are only topics that merely scratch the surface on what I have experienced and am happy to discuss.
What knowledge I may possess might help others, specifically, people with loved ones (parent/children, friends, etc) living with CHD, those that work with people living with a congenital heart defect, and young folk with CHD who are starting to enter adulthood. You may just be a curious passer-by intrigued by this post and want to ask questions. Everyone is my guest and all questions are welcome. There is no subject that is taboo; if I don't feel comfortable or experienced enough to answer your question, I will state so plainly.
I do not pretend to have all of the answers, and I make no guarantees. What I do promise is availability to answer your questions as open and honestly as based on my personal experience. That is all any of us can promise. My only hope here is that perhaps my answers will help someone, and at the very least, others will know they are not alone.
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