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.

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.

Breathing Deeply

I never really share the private information of anyone but myself because uh, hello, that's fucking rude. However, yesterday I felt comfortable sharing the news that one of my heart friends underwent a successful heart & liver transplant. I've been receiving updates from her family and relaying them to other interested parties simply because we are Family and no matter how much we bicker or call each other bastards, we care about one another.
My friend is currently in ICU and it's now just time to play the waiting game to see how her body is going to take her new organs.
It's not unlike introducing a newly adopted animal to the treasured pet you've had your whole life because 2 of its litter-mate companions passed away :( So you have to see if that new adopted pet - who isn't a puppy but still has lots of spring in his step and love to give - is going to be welcomed in by the old pet or going to be frequently attacked and pissed on.
Something like that.

Anyway. We're humans, selfish by nature, and when something huge like this happens to one of our own we cannot help but place ourselves in that situation and wonder what would happen. My friend had quite a bit of time to mentally and emotionally come to terms with this surgery (not to undermine the stress factor in any way but it wasn't a SURPRISE! surgery) and when she told me about it last summer I instantly thought I could not do it; I could not go through that.

How fucking stressful - to be on a waiting list, essentially to be sitting around waiting for someone to die so that I might live? My friend and I talked extensively about the awkwardness of being in such a position.
"Hey, it's not like I want anyone to die buuuuuuuuuuuuut if it's gonna happen anyway, may as well put that death to some use!"
You have to address these issues; they're the big, pink polka-dotted elephant in the room. It would be ludicrous not to point this out, not to mention a disservice to the individual who bothered to mark their donor cards.

So there's that - the pressure of waiting and the shitty position you're put in waiting for someone to die.
Next is the stress of wondering...what happens if I don't receive the needed organ in time? Tick, tick, tick, bitches, that ain't a pretty sound; your internal clock ticking away every precious second, the heart ready to quietly shut down like a imploding time bomb.


Then there is the entire rainbow of anxiety one goes through when the time for surgery does arrive. You're relieved - momentarily - because now you see a light for yourself. Then it hits you - Oh sweet Jesus now I have to go through another surgery. This might be more familiar territory but that doesn't make it anymore enjoyable. From pre-op to waking up feeling like a convey ran you over to the arduous recovery process, it ain't no cake walk.

There's another waiting game at play, too. The game of rejection - which I described up above. That is a new worry, a new concern. I would be lying if I said I didn't know anyone who died of post-op rejection. However, I would also be lying if I said I didn't know anyone with amazing heart transplant success stories (high five, Princess Carissa)

So, my knee-jerk reaction is NO. Hell to the no. Just let me go; I had a good run. It's be s'well, thanks for all the fish.

In reality though...if this is the route I eventually turn down...I'll probably brave it out as best as I can. Survival is a highly addictive drug and one gets used to clawing the way to a level of quality of life one is comfortable with.

All my love to those of you who have or will go through this. <3

Rain, Rain Go Away

The fact it is raining today in Los Angeles only sets the scene for this post - the fact that it is one of the most depressive days I have experienced in a very long while. I am in a dark, vile, horrible mood - which makes the pile of deadlines I am buried under feel all the heavier.

The details of what precisely triggered this mood are not important; let's just say jealousy kicked it off.
The long and short of it is this:

I was born in 1982. In the 1980s advertising/media that marketed toward children were vastly different than that of our parents before us. My earliest recollection of messages - subliminal or blatant - were of wide-eyed saccharine cartoon characters telling me I could be anyone I wanted to be and do anything I wanted to do with my life. Everyone - from my parents, my teachers, my peers, my idols, traditional real life heroes, media ranging from Care Bears to serious, coming-of-age movies - told me I could do anything with my life so long as I worked hard to achieve it.

No.
No, I can't.
I can't do what I have been wanting to do for a few years now because the kind of insurance I have dictates that I can only leave the country for 4 weeks (that's 28 days) at a time. This means nothing to many, I realize, but to me this is imprisonment. I want to live abroad. I tried once and failed due to getting sick and having nowhere to turn to. Two years ago I fell in love with another country and was so sad to leave it I cried on the day I left, very tempted to just send my friend home and stay behind until my money ran out.

I tried to ignore the void in my heart - distracting myself with achievements in work, relationship and family and friends but it has been no use. I am miserable and everyday I feel like I am not leading the life I want to live.

This is not who I am; I have absorbed those messages implanted into me and grown up with the mentality that one should pursue their dreams no matter what. No family member, no significant other, no friend would ever going to hold me back.
(Aside: I hung back from a chance to study abroad and have no regrets about it because the elderly feline I stayed back for was of more value to me than anyone else and did not have the capacity to understand my absence.)

It destroys me that I cannot live by my own philosophy. I'll take whatever opportunities I can to travel, though, and experience what I can within my limitations, until hopefully one day I have none.

Patients for a Moment: More than your disease

I'm participating in the April edition of Patients for a Moment.

This is the question in full:
"Who are you without your disease or condition? What makes you more than just your disease? How have you adapted these aspects of your life so they're not completely overcome by your illnesses?"

Then the hostess goes on to list some examples - basically take away my illness and what do I have left going on my life?

The wording of the questions as I interpret it - "Who are you without your disease or condition" - means to me "Who is the person you would be without your disease or condition?"

Which is a different interpretation of what our hostess goes on to list as examples of what she means (i.e  the rest of your life BESIDES your health)

Here's the cold hard fucking truth: There isn't a single aspect of my life that is the way it is because of my heart condition. Every single little thing is happening because of these health problems.
I'm a freelance writer because I had to quit my career. I focus on writing because my health couldn't keep up with my acting. I am living at home with family because I was never able to earn enough income to move out. I never finished college because my health (ok, and my patience) couldn't keep up with the stressful work load. All of my art somehow reflects my feelings on my health, my facade, and my fears.
Every minute detail of my life is dictated by this heart condition...but so what? It is what it is and I'm going to have fun and be who I want to be, contribute as best as I can and hopefully make a bitch or two smile every now and again.

So let's break this shit down, question by question.

Who are you without your disease or condition?
- I don't know that person. She would be a stranger to me and I wouldn't recognize her.

What makes you more than just your disease?
I think it's pretty obvious considering how present I am on the internet, but maybe not to some of you so's I'm gonna list all the shit I do outside of being a Professional Patient.
- Food and Travel writer, when I can get gigs. Sometimes PR companies hit me up to cover food related events. Those are the best because it's a good time for me, content for my blog and essentially free press for the event.

- Mixed Media Artist. I only give my work to charity, but I have sold a few morbid art dolls that I've made. Usually my pieces reflect some sort of essence of my heart condition though. I'd like to do more of this but you know, the muse comes and goes.

- Novelist. Yeah, I've completed quite a number of novels and no, they're not published. I hope to self-publish them one day. I no longer have Big Publishing House dreams because that shit scares me, but if I could find a small but loyal fan base I'd be the happiest bitch in the world. I've written everything from children chapter books to adult stories.

- You all know I volunteer with Camp del Corazon so there is no need to go further into that.

- I'm pretty much the one who runs the house here since I'm at home most of the time. I try to keep things tidy and organized. Some days are better than others.

- I'm plastered all over the goddamn internet because that's all I learned how to do in life (and I've yet to repeat any of the big money I made as an idiot teenager hawking shit on eBay). I make silly YouTube videos about being a Professional Patient and about Batman. I used to host my own radio show and podcast. I tumblr about memes and macros. I got little nooks and crannies all up in this bitch.

How have you adapted these aspects of your life so they're not completely overcome by your illnesses?
Everything at one point or another will be overcome by my heart condition - even temporarily. I just have to maintain a kind of life that allows to be put on pause every now and then. I just had to learn to accept this and be all that I want to be when things are quiet with my health.


PS: Is it just me or did the Blogger "upgrade" get dumber and shittier than usual? Christ, Blogger, who do you have back there running this shit, cigar smoking chimps?