For Everything There is a Season

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

Page 3 of 44

Eight Months

September 30, 2020 / / 2 Comments

We are rapidly heading towards month eight of COVID in the United States. 


Month eight.

Who would have thought at this time last year that we would be here now, in this situation? People dying every day all over the country of a virus that the American government has politicized. Many high risk people unable to leave their homes, or can only leave for the most essential of tasks. People not being able to hug whomever they want. Business meetings taking place on something called Zoom. Doctor’s appointments occurring online.

Weddings canceled

50th anniversary parties postponed
Birthdays where hopefully if someone plans it, people drive by your house and wave while honking their horns.
Families divided by thousands of miles because they don’t want to get on an airplane. Or, they can’t because they are high risk.
No concerts, fairs, or large gatherings.

I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.

Add in racial tensions like I have never experienced in my 49 years, natural disasters of every kind, and political tensions that make me believe America may not survive.

I could go on and on but the point is, life as we know it in this country is different in ways that I personally never imagined. I do wonder from time to time if that “normal” way of life will ever exist again. I don’t think so.

In general, as Americans, we are broken.
So broken.

In the first few months of the pandemic, I was an absolute mess. I had just lost my dog less than six weeks prior to the start of the pandemic so I was home alone ALL DAY LONG. I couldn’t leave my house, because of my high risk status. I was scared to death of catching COVID. I was obsessed with the news and any form of media because I always needed to know what might happen next. I couldn’t get the follow-up medical appointments I needed until people figured out telemedicine. To this day, I still have a specialist I cannot get in to see. I typically see her every three months and I haven’t seen her since last year.

As a person with a major chronic illness, I know a lot about feeling isolated and I have some excellent coping strategies, but adding COVID to the mix added a whole new complicated layer to living with my illness.

Frustration and anxiety gave way to anger. I was angry at just about everyone, especially when some places in my state started opening up. I was angry at people for not wearing masks, angry I couldn’t go to church because of the policies in place that made it unsafe for me, mad at family members who were engaging in high risk activities because then I couldn’t have contact with them. I was angry that my friend couldn’t have a funeral for her mother who had recently passed. I was angry at the media, the government, and just about everyone else.

However, the thing I was the most angry about?
The way people were treating each other.

And unfortunately, that is still happening today, especially today. We just had a presidential debate last night and fifteen minutes on social media this morning, and I felt sick. Over the past seven months, I have been mortified with what I have seen and heard. Friendships and family relationships fractured…cussing coming from people whom I’ve never heard utter a cuss word their whole lives…the nastiness…the guilt placed on people based on how they are considering voting…the hatred.

Is this what we have been reduced to?

But, here’s the thing. In the midst of my stress, anxiety, and anger over the past seven months, something happened.

Jesus happened.

I didn’t suddenly “find Jesus” during COVID. 
I already had Him. 
And come to find out, He has always had me.
I had made that commitment the Summer of 2018.

However, the isolation and the questioning about what was happening in the world, and especially in our country, led me to find Him on a whole new level. Part of this was due to starting up a weekly in depth Zoom Bible study with two friends I met from my church. We did two Bible studies, both by a Bible teacher by the name of Jen Wilkin. One was on chapters 1-11 of Genesis and the one we are almost done with now is on the Book of Hebrews. 

Yes, Hebrews!

Doing such in depth (and hard!) studies with other Christians made Jesus more personal to me. Now that I finally understood it, I was moved by the Creation story in Genesis and in awe of the supremacy of Jesus that I found in Hebrews. I was spending more time in my study Bible, more time in prayer, and seeking Him out more. I was spending less time watching the news and less time on social media, although to be honest, that still needs some work! I subsequently found myself feeling less sorry for myself, less anxious, and my anger has dissipated.

It’s very hard to feel sorry for yourself when Jesus suffered and died on the cross for me.

It’s very hard to feel anxious all the time when you come to understand He is in control.

It’s very hard to be angry all the time when you realize that He created every single person and loves them as much as he loves you.

Spending more time with Him these past seven months have made me more grateful…for who is in my life, for who is not in my life, and for what I have. It’s heightened my appreciation for all of His wonder that I have discovered in the MANY walks I have taken this year…the birds, trees, colors, and animals.It has definitely made me more grateful for my family. You never realize how much you take people for granted until you are not allowed to hold them.

I don’t know what the future is going to bring. I pray it brings change, a vaccine, a kinder America, and peace for the ones who are searching. But I do know that I’m grateful for a Savior who loves me unconditionally and will be with me every step of the way, no matter what the outcome is.

New Medication Attempt

August 21, 2020 / / 0 Comments

 

During my last rheumatology visit, telemedicine style of course, my doctor and I talked about what options are left for me in terms of treating Sjogren’s. By the way, we officially call it Sjogren’s now, and NOT Sjogren’s Syndrome. I can get into that at another time.

I’ve been at this for twelve years now and have gone through a gamut of medication trials. The biggest issue is that there is no cure, or even a targeted treatment, for Sjogren’s. Our rheumatologists do the best they can with medications used for multiple other autoimmune diseases, but we desperately need a treatment targeted for our disease. We, as patients, do the best we can with symptom management, diet, exercise, alternative medicine, and self care.


The whole medication treatment issue for Sjogren’s is much too long to get into in this post, but let’s just say, it’s a crapshoot at best. For me personally, I take a medication called Plaquenil (also known as hydroxychloroquine…you have all heard of that one!) and Evoxac. The Plaquenil is supposed to help my symptoms. I’m not sure how much it does, but I have tried weaning off it without much success and on top of that, it is supposed to help slow down disease progression and that is very important. Evoxac is a medication I take several times a day to stimulate saliva flow because Sjogren’s attacks the saliva glands and there are numerous complications associated with that, most of which I have had at one time or another. I have lost a lot of function in my salivary glands.

Besides those two medications, I rely on prednisone, which is a steroid, when I absolutely have to. Long term prednisone is dangerous and since I require high doses of it, it’s not a sustainable long-term solution. Typically, I go on a course of it one to three times a year. I did make it a year and a half without it once.

At my last visit, we decided that I should go on a round of prednisone. It was a little nerve wracking because of the COVID situation, but the numbers in my state were down and I felt like it was the best time to try and quiet things down, especially because my level of functioning had decreased significantly since Fall 2019 and we don’t know what this Fall will bring in regards to COVID.

During my appointment, my rheumatologist also mentioned a medication called Sulfasalazine. It is classified as a DMARD (disease-modifying antirheumatic drug), which is also what Plaquenil is. However, it appears that they work on two different pathways and one article I stumbled upon mentioned that the two together could be more effective than either alone.

Part of the issues I have in managing my disease is that I cannot take any NSAIDs, including Motrin, Celebrex and others due to a history of gastritis (which can occur in Sjogren’s patients), and stomach ulcers, which are a consequence of the NSAIDs. I do take a medication called Tramadol from time to time for my pain, but I have been asked by my gastrointestional (GI) team to not take these medications as they can cause some GI issues and worsen others.

The part that threw me off when my doctor mentioned this medication is that nobody had ever mentioned it to me before as a possible treatment. It is often used in patients with ulcerative colitis and rheumatoid arthritis. I distinctly remember administering it to my pediatric patients with ulcerative colitis when I worked at a children’s hospital. Anyone who follows my blog, or knows me in real life, knows that I have a very extensive working knowledge of Sjogren’s. I keep up-to-date on treatments, research, all of it. I will admit though that over the past year or two, I have been working hard at trying to shift my mental focus from thinking about Sjogren’s all the time and have not kept up as much as I used to. However I thought I knew about all the medication possibilities. This goes to show you how important it is to be an informed patient.

From what my doctor said, it is not a medication that is often used for Sjogren’s. Her main concern was that it has several potential GI side effects that are exactly the same symptoms I went through hell with for two years, and finally got under control at the end of last year.


I decided I would see how the prednisone course went and meanwhile, I talked to a few Sjogren’s patients. Some of them had positive results with it, some have not, and many reported side effects. Sometimes the GI side effects are temporary and the risk can be lessened by starting the medication off slowly, meaning lower doses and at a lower frequency. Because it is a sulfa drug, there is also a risk on an allergic reaction, but I’ve taken enough sulfa drugs to not be very concerned about that.

I also decided to have a conversation with my GI team, whom I trust implicitly. They agreed with my rheumatologist about the potential GI issues, but compared to taking the NSAIDs, Celebrex, and Tramadol, they thought it was the best of all options to go with, if I could tolerate it. Of course, it’s expected I will report anything unusual that may occur.

I did my online research and read about the side effects, the blood work that needs to be periodically drawn, and the fact that it can take two to three months to see any positive benefits. The decision was made to start it now, while I’m still doing well on the prednisone, to give the medication a head start to work.

I have to be honest, I was nervous about it. I think the main reason I was nervous about it is because of the possible GI side effects AND the fact that it has been FOUR years since I have tried a new autoimmune medication. Plus, I am very sensitive to medications, supplements, all of it. I prayed about the decision quite a bit and found peace in knowing that in my decision making process, I have kept doing the next right thing…the MD discussions, the research, and talking to patients. Now, it’s all up to God and paying attention to my body.

I believe strongly that at this point in my journey, I have too much to lose to NOT try it. I have the bottle here at home with me now. It has to be taken with food, which is going to be a huge challenge since I do intermittent fasting, but for now, it’s only once a day, and that I can manage. I was going to start it today but then realized that I have to go to an appointment this afternoon and I don’t want to introduce a new medication into my system without being at home. So, tomorrow it is.


I do hope the medication helps and that I tolerate it. I have some hope, but I’m also very realistic. And if it doesn’t work, or if I have to stop it because of side effects, I’ll just keep trying to move forward.

Returning To My Gift

August 16, 2020 / / 9 Comments

It has been almost two and a half years since I’ve written in this blog. It has been the same amount of time since I’ve really written anything, except for Facebook posts and greeting cards. These facts do make me sad.


For those of you who know me, and to inform those of you who don’t, writing had long been my passion. I started writing this blog regularly after becoming ill, losing my job, and going on disability. I had always enjoyed writing, but once I had hours upon hours of free time to fill up, I realized that writing was not only an outlet for me, but a way that I could help others through what I was experiencing and learning in my chronic illness journey.

This blog mostly started off because of my health journey but it became so much more than that, hence why I titled it Thoughts and Ramblings on Life, Love, and Health…a title that I am actually considering changing, but that would make complications for me since the blog title is on my book. The jury is still out on that!

I started this blog in 2010 and was very dedicated to it.The more I wrote about chronic illness and autoimmune disorders, mostly Sjogren’s, the more I heard from other patients about their experiences. It was at that time that I felt moved to get word out into the world about how much Sjogren’s was misunderstood and misdiagnosed. So I spoke with many of the patients I had come to know and their stories gave birth to my first and only book, Tales from the Dry Side: the Personal Stories Behind the Autoimmune Illness Sjogren’s Syndrome.

Several years after the book was published, I stopped writing, completely. People asked me why I wasn’t blogging anymore and I kept telling them I had lost interest. And when I told people this, I meant it. I had absolutely no desire to write or put my thoughts and feelings out into the world anymore.

Deep down, I knew there was more to it than that. For example, my last blog entry before today was a story about my dog, Molly, who was like a child to me and died at the age of 15 years old. Her death, and my post about her death, absolutely wrecked me. 

After her death, I had several painful surgeries, followed by long recoveries and we almost lost one of my stepchildren. Shortly after Molly died, we were in a position where we needed to take in another dog, who was not living in good circumstances, and desperately needed a home. That dog, Foxy, subsequently suffered many serious health issues during a majority of her time with us and ultimately died a short two and a half years after we took her in. 

A relative passed away, my health deteriorated, and I made a major decision to leave a church I had been a longstanding member of and I not only changed churches, but went to another church home that was in most ways, the opposite of where I came from. And, I did this alone, meaning without my husband. I guess in many ways, I felt the need to turn inward, to self protect, and to be in survival mode.

However, not too long ago, there was a week where on three separate occasions, the topic of finding and recognizing my spiritual gifts came up. I think the first time might have been during a sermon at church. We’re in a pandemic. I lose track of a lot of things! The second time was definitely during a church related class that focused on finding and using your spiritual gifts. That grabbed my attention like a lightning bolt. The pastor was talking about worksheets we were given that would help us find our spiritual gifts. Immediately, writing came into my head. While I do believe I have other spiritual gifts given to me by God, that was the one that overtook my brain. and it was in that moment that I realized how much I missed writing and how much I was wasting this God given talent…not because I’m some amazing talented writer who has perfect grammar and what have you, but because I write in a way that makes people think and more importantly, helps people.

The third thing that happened in that span of time was that my therapist asked me during a session why I don’t write anymore. I explained to her about not having the desire to write, etc. But then something in me stirred and I knew I should share with her how I had been feeling about the writing issue. So, I finally did.

Because let’s be honest, it wasn’t about not having the desire to write. My therapist and I had some good conversation about this and all the underlying junk that went with it, a lot of which I mentioned above. She encouraged me to not worry about blogging and just write for myself and eventually I did, in a journal. I found this process helpful in identifying much of what was holding me back: thinking I wasn’t a good enough writer, feeling “less than” compared to other writers, being sick of hearing about, and writing about, Sjogren’s, for so long feeling too vulnerable to put myself out there, and the fact that the person (and hence, writer) that I am now looks quite different compared to the writer I was over two years ago, especially from a spiritual perspective. I was afraid of judgment. There’s this big part of me that wants to write about my faith and Jesus, but I’m so afraid of getting it wrong.

So I spent a lot of time in prayer about all this and I did more journaling…just for myself. I had never written for myself; it was always for other people. What I came to realize is that the gift of writing that I have been given is not for me to ignore or take lightly. It is a gift to be used and shared. I don’t need to beat myself up over the time I didn’t use this gift; it was a season. But now, it’s time to move on to a new season and I hope you will come with me through it.

If you are a reader of my blog, thank you for being here. I do ask for your patience as I found out when I logged in to write this post, that my blogging platform (eBlogger) had completely changed almost everything about the platform. I cannot even find spell check right now. And, when they made the changes, all the formatting got messed up. I guess that means I’m just going to have to work a little harder at it.

Also, thank you to the people who gently kept encouraging me to come back, most especially, my very supportive mother and my ever patient husband. I love you both.

A Story Of Euthanasia

February 7, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I was alone at my favorite restaurant today and the waitress had just set my meal down in front of me. I started to eat and all of a sudden, memories rushed into my head; memories so powerful that the tears threatened to come.

Eat, I told myself.
Hurry up and eat and you can cry in the car.
So I did.

And I cried all the way home. As I was driving home, I realized that the second I got home, I needed to finally write about this. I promised myself that much at least.

It’s been a little over 9 months since my dog, Molly, died. And while I’ve wanted to write about it, I haven’t.

I couldn’t.

I’m not exactly sure what makes today different. Maybe because I promised myself I would. Maybe it is because I have this nagging little voice in my head that is telling me that it has to be written today because soon, someone else is going to need this story….a story that I wish I could have read 9, 10, or 15 months ago.


Molly was my almost 16 year old basset hound/black lab mix rescue. She was my constant, faithful companion for 13 of those years. She was more than a dog to me; she was my child. I couldn’t imagine a life without her.

But this story isn’t about her life. It is about her death and the process of having to make the decision to end her life.

I had noticed one day in the Fall of 2016 that Molly’s breathing seemed labored. In addition, she was more fatigued than usual. Our vet couldn’t see her that day and recommended we take her to the E.R. After many stressful hours, she was diagnosed with probable heart failure.

For me, that was the beginning of the end.

My husband and I talked and decided to proceed with medication to manage her heart failure. At this point in her life, at 15 years old, she had slowed down considerably and had some hearing loss. To be honest, I had been mentally preparing myself for years that her advancing age meant we would soon have to make some difficult decisions.

We started with two medications and then took her to see a veterinary cardiologist. She said that yes, she had heart failure and when I asked, said that she thought Molly would probably be able to be managed on medications for roughly 2 years. We left there with several more medications and in addition to medications she was already on for arthritis and a thyroid problem, her list totaled 8 different medications.

Molly actually improved for several months but then her breathing got worse again. The cardiologist told us her echocardiogram showed worsening of the heart failure. Medication doses were increased.

At this time we also started to notice some changes in her behavior that indicated she may have dementia. And, her hearing was getting worse. I had a conversation with our regular vet about when we would know that it was “time.” She talked about how many people make the decision to euthanize when the dog stops eating, appears to be in a lot of pain, or isn’t enjoying life anymore.

Molly didn’t seem to be in pain; she was on a pain medication for years for arthritis. She was eating, although not as much as she used to. However it was becoming obvious that she was starting to struggle. The dementia was getting worse. Her breathing, at times, was getting worse, and her quality of life was worsening.

I remember one afternoon, a few weeks before she died, I was lying down on the couch, on my back. Molly was always an affectionate snuggler but she did something new that afternoon. She got up from her spot by my feet, climbed up on my belly and chest, and rested her head so that we were practically nose to nose. She looked me right in the eye. It was spooky.


I can’t really explain how I knew.
But I did. 
I knew she was telling me she was ready to go.

So why did it take us several more weeks (2? 3?) then to euthanize her? I think there were many reasons. I was waiting for my husband to say, “it’s time.” (this is something we only discussed very recently…about how I knew before he did that it was time). He would point out that she still enjoyed being outside sometimes or that she was still eating. At times her breathing wasn’t as bad. I was waiting for one of our two vets to say, “it may be time.” Neither ever did.

I was OK with euthanizing Molly. Well, as OK as anyone can be I suppose. The last thing in the world that I wanted was for her to suffer. But I was caught up in the thought of, “what if I am wrong…what if it is too soon?”

I was afraid of murdering her.

But I couldn’t get rid of that nagging feeling from that day on the couch when she looked at me. And I was actually thinking about that as I walked into our house one day after about 2 hours of running errands. Something didn’t smell right.

I walked into our living room to find several small piles of stool. Not even diarrhea. Just regular stool and it seemed like she thought she was outside. She had been incontinent of urine on and off for many, many months, but the stool? That had only happened one time in all the years I had her and it was due to her getting into something outside when she was 4 years old and not being able to get outside to the bathroom in time.

And that did it for me.
I knew.

I knew that she had to be really confused to do that inside the house. I could live with accidents in the house. Hell, I had been dealing with urine for a while. But it symbolized how much she was struggling, and likely suffering. Things were just going to get worse.

I called my husband at work and told him we were putting her down. I called our regular vet and told them I wanted to make an appointment to have her euthanized. I was shaking so hard, I dropped the phone at one point. We chose a day the following week  when neither one of us had to worry about going to work for a few days afterwards.

Since we first found out she had heart failure, we were making the most of our time left with her. We got 7 months of appreciating every single moment with her. But after I made the appointment, I told my husband I wanted to take her to the beach one last time. Years ago that would have meant a full day trip with several hours of exploring.


We had a glorious 30 minutes with her on that beach. She was almost like her old self again, until then she wasn’t, and we decided it was time to go.

Two days after that beach trip, it happened again. It was a Tuesday and she was scheduled to be euthanized on Friday. She was lying on my bed and I had been checking in on her a lot because it seemed like her breathing was more labored. The beach trip, which included 4 hours in the car, was probably too much for her but I was OK with that because she enjoyed it so much.

I laid next to her on the bed and she turned to face me and it was there again…that look. The look that said I’ve had enough.

I cried and stroked her head.
I called the vet.
I called my husband and told him I moved up the appointment to the next morning.
He asked if I was sure because it was my birthday. I told him that I couldn’t prolong her suffering just because it was my birthday. It was the right thing to do.

Molly died on May 3, 2017.
The events of that day are for another time, another blog entry.

So what’s the point in writing all this? Sure, it’s a bit cathartic but God knows I’ve had plenty of people to process this with since last year.

This is about more than that. It’s about letting whomever reads this know that if you are in this same situation, the situation of choosing death over life, or mercy over suffering, or even compassion over selfishness, you can do this.

Know that there is no “right” time.

If you are taking the time to find your way to this particular post, I know you love your pet. And when you make this kind of decision out of love, you cannot be wrong. You are not giving up on your pet. And for God’s sake, don’t buy into the whole, “I’m murdering her/him” thing.

You WILL NOT be wrong.

Since last May, I have beaten myself up several times about if maybe we should have put Molly down sooner. Maybe we should have done it when she was first diagnosed with heart failure. That was actually some of the memories that revisited me today during my lunch.

But then I stopped to think about my motives. Did we keep her alive all those months because we couldn’t bear to let her go? No. It was a process of trying to give her a good life while managing a significant illness.

What I will say to someone who is wondering when the right time is to euthanize a pet: listen to your gut. Don’t overanalyze because it just makes the situation worse. Pay close attention to your pet. You know him or her better than anyone. If your pet gets sick with something that will eventually kill them (heart failure, liver disease, cancer, etc.), make some tentative decisions about how far you are willing to go with their treatment. Think about the kind of life you want for your pet, and for you and your family. And lastly, don’t let a vet, family member, or anyone else push you into decisions that in your gut, you know are not in the best interest of your pet.

I know, it’s hard.
Hard is an understatement.
I won’t lie.
It’s an agonizing process.

But in the words of my hero, Glennon Doyle,
“We can do hard things.”


Molly around 8 years old
Molly at 14 years old

On Illness and Bravery

August 3, 2017 / / 3 Comments

I randomly picked up my husband’s most recent copy of Time magazine this morning to flip through while I was eating lunch. There was an excellent essay written by Josh Friedman, an American screenwriter, entitled, “It’s OK To Be A Coward About Cancer.” It grabbed my attention for several reasons: I am a 21 year cancer survivor, I currently spend every day battling an autoimmune illness, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be “brave” when struggling with an illness.

The essay starts off  with Mr. Friedman discussing Sen. John McCain’s recent brain cancer diagnosis and the subsequent tweets from well meaning colleagues about how Sen. McCain should give his cancer “hell” as well as other encouragements to “fight.” Mr. Friedman explains about how this “tough guy” narrative is “seductive” as it suggests we have control over our fates and that we can will cancer away. He continues on to explain that, “courageousness is a standard that no sick person should feel like they have to meet.” Mr. Friedman then goes on to briefly explain about his own personal run in with cancer and how he dealt with it…

“Before the surgery I spent most of my time crying. Well, crying, rocking my son to sleep, crying more and then taking Ativan so my wife could rock me to sleep. When I woke up after the operation, the tumor was gone. But the feeling of cancer was still inside me. My body was now a sinister stranger. It had betrayed me; it had snuck up and tried to kill me. I would never trust it again.

I banned my friends from visiting and spent my recovery staring out a hospital window wondering if I’d ever see my boy grow up. In my more optimistic moments, I decided I should quit writing the scary-robot show before I’d actually started. It all seemed ridiculous and disconnected from my life. Besides, no one would be mad at me if I just stopped.

Not exactly a profile in courage.Not even in the most favorable of lighting.”
                                                                         
 – Friedman, Josh. “It’s OK To Be A Coward About Cancer.” Time Magazine August 2, 2017: Pages 21-22. Print.

FINALLY.

Finally someone being real about the experience of illness.

I am going to preface the rest of what I have to say about this topic by clarifying something for those of you who may not know me in person. In general, I am a very positive and optimistic person. Sure, I have my moments, sometimes even hours or days of feeling sorry for myself but overall, I keep things pretty upbeat. And that is not by accident either. I work hard at it because I feel strongly that maintaining a positive attitude has a profound positive impact on my physical symptoms.

However what I have been learning about myself lately and I suspect that this is true for many other people, is that I spend a lot of time and effort being “strong” or “brave.” I did so 21 years ago when I went through cancer treatments and I do so now battling Sjögren’s syndrome. It is what is expected of those of us, living in this society, with a life threatening or chronic illness. Being strong and courageous is what you’re supposed to do and being weak is just not acceptable.

You’ll get through this; you’re tough.
You have to stay positive.
You can’t let this thing beat you.
Stay strong.
You’re so brave, I could never do what you’re doing.
(By the way, bravery has nothing to do it. Those of us with illness have no choice in the matter).

Those of us waging the daily battle against a chronic and/or life threatening illness hear these messages every day. We hear them in the media, from our healthcare providers, and especially from family, friends, coworkers, and everybody else in our social network. What are we supposed to say in response to these well intended words of support? We know that all these people (well, except for the media maybe) have our best interests at heart. They love us. They want to do everything they can to support us. They mean well.

In all honesty, people who are going through the battle every day DO need to hear some of these types of messages. But we also need to hear that we can be honest with our feelings about being sick and that we are accepted as we are, even if we are not feeling strong or brave. We need people to lean on and to hear our fears and anxieties.  We need to meltdown. We also need to hear things like:

This must be scary for you.
It’s OK to cry.
This totally sucks, doesn’t it?
You don’t need to keep on a brave face for me.

Most importantly, we need people to bear witness to our experience, all of it.

As Mr. Friedman writes in his essay, “Because when we glorify strength without showing empathy for weakness, we end up with a toxic version of heroism, one that links bravery to goodness and cowardice to getting what you deserve.”

– Friedman, Josh. “It’s OK To Be A Coward About Cancer.” Time Magazine August 2, 2017: Pages 21-22. Print.

Mic drop.

That’s the thing. Dealing with an illness is not black and white. It is this journey where we may have days of thinking we can overcome all the obstacles being hurled at us and other days where the whole situation looks hopeless. Most importantly, there are even more days where we fall in between those two extremes.

Despite all my medical issues over the years, I also used to struggle with how to speak to someone who had a significant medical issue. As a nurse, I could easily speak with with my patients and their families going through catastrophic illnesses but with those in my personal life going through the same thing? Not so much. It was scary. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. What if I upset them? What if I said something stupid? What if I made it worse?

Then last year, all of that changed. I had a close friend whom I had been friends with for 30 years. And, I’m only 46, so that is a long time. He had been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer two years previously and things were not looking good. I had been spending time at his home. During one of our conversations I blurted out to him (because we’d been friends for a long time and I could blurt out anything),

“Shit, this must be really scary for you.”

If you want to know what it is like to enter a sacred space with someone, a truly sacred space where you put aside your own insecurities and fears in order to be fully present for someone, acknowledge the fact, out loud, that they will be dying soon.

Don’t run from it.
Please don’t.

Because of all the things I have done in my life, that moment, and all the moments that immediately followed where my friend was able to open up and express all his fears and sadness about leaving his family, his children’s future, and his fears about the process of dying, not only helped him, but forever changed me and the way I go about supporting other people with illness.

I never told him to be strong that day.
I never told him how courageous he was.

I just gave him permission to be human: to cry, to be pissed off, to be scared.

Since that experience, I have had several other instances where in trying to support someone with an illness, I have tried to not use the courage/strength narrative that so many of us with illness hear all the time. And I have to say in doing so, I have not yet had a negative experience or an experience that made me wish I had said or done something different. I am certainly not proficient at it yet. Just recently, I feel like I very much dropped the ball by focusing so much on the “being strong” narrative that I was not fully present to hear what someone was trying to convey to me. It’s not an exact science really, but rather a work in progress.

You, too, can give others permission to be human during times of illness.
Sometimes it’s awkward.
Sometimes it’s scary.
You just have to be brave.

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