Fitness--with a Chronic Illness

To begin, here's the rundown. This is not a whinging post or an "I wish I had a different life" post. I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I do not need solutions or supplements given to me; I have doctors and experts doing that. Keep your pyramid schemes and juice cleanses on Facebook. I'm good.

Today I'm going to write the blog post I wish I could have read as a preteen, a teen, when I started trying to become fit, and now. I keep randomly Googling, looking for this kind of post, and it just doesn't exist in the form I want it to. So I'm writing it.

Here's to being active and having a chronic illness.

No, that's not a sunburn or bad white balance, I'm that red after a run.

I have asthma and allergies and endometriosis and some other bonus diseases. My body mostly hates me. I'm on hormone therapy to shut my reproductive system down, and it still doesn't manage to do that, my hormones are so messed up. I try to work out three times a week. Here's why: I always feel healthier when I'm active.

But the bottom line is, I can't always do it. And that doesn't make me a bad runner, or a bad athlete, or a bad person. It doesn't undo what I've done and how fast I ran my last mile. It doesn't mean I'm not serious about being fit.

When I was in junior high, I approached my gym teacher and my doctor to ask why, when I ran even a lap of the gym, I felt like I was going to black out in pain. I was told it was a stitch in my side and to breathe through it. I ran slower because it hurt so much. Sometimes I walked. Later, I discovered that "breathing through it" could have killed me. I had a 17 inch cyst on my left ovary that could have ruptured at any time.

In high school, I was still in agony. I really wanted to be athletic, because that was the cool thing. I wanted long hair in a high ponytail, and to run down the street looking fit and healthy. I was neither fit nor healthy. I managed a fourteen minute mile my senior year and was proud. That summer, I had major surgery to remove the cyst I'd never known was there, the same cyst that caused the chronic pain I'd felt since junior high. I lost 15 pounds and part of an ovary during several hours of surgery.

In college, I discovered yoga, and I loved it. For once, my body wasn't fighting me. I stuck to yoga until I met a friend in a lit class and discovered she, now calmly taking notes, had run 23 miles right before coming to class. And I wanted to do that too.

I couldn't.

The face you make after being attacked by biting flies.

I'd hoped the surgery would have done away with what was keeping me still. But I kept getting dizzy and lightheaded. I still had joint pain almost every day, even when I did next to nothing. The longer I stood, the more my diaphragm HURT. I can't explain how that feels, but it sucks. I managed a three mile run with my friend. I spent the rest of the weekend coughing and gasping for air. Eventually, we found out that was asthma, which I'd been walking around with for years. I'd lucked out and never had a massive attack that landed me in the hospital, so I was never diagnosed. I got inhalers and steroids and medicines to make my sinuses work and my lungs work and I felt...well.

When I get steroids now, I wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and have a full day of activity. I get more done at work and home than I thought possible. I can go outside and sit in the fresh air. I feel healthy. This is because at long last, my body works the way it was designed to work. That will never be my everyday.

My everyday is taking a handful of pills, steroid nasal spray, and inhalers. I feel ill for about an hour, which is why I wake up an hour earlier than I really need to, so I can spend that hour eating breakfast and watching YouTube waiting to feel human. On a good day, I feel better at about 6:50 AM. Then I start getting ready. On a good day, I can make it through work and then head to the gym. On a bad day, my joint and/or sinus pain is so bad I can't consider running or lifting weights, so I go home and spend my evening prone, watching TV or reading. That's okay.

It's taken me years--since the days of the 30 Day Shred on this blog--to learn to be okay with bad days. But they're fine.

I might never be a marathon runner. In fact, I almost certainly won't be. I'm still a runner. I'm still athletic. I'm physically fit, even with my "endo-belly." Even with all the times I have to stop at the side of the road and gasp. I'm a runner. I spent the spring recovering from a nasty case of bronchitis. I didn't run for two months. I'm still a runner.

Look at me, outside! Only slightly red-faced!

If you're like me, Couch to 5K won't work the way it says it will. I'm sorry that there's no training plan for us. We have to make our own. Count your spoons. Do you have enough?  Tie on your shoes, go outside or to the gym. Maybe you'll walk or ride a bike, maybe you'll feel well enough to run. Maybe tomorrow you'll do more, or maybe you'll spend the day lying down. It's fine. That happens to me too. We are enough.

I used to joke when someone asked if I was a runner. I would reply, "Yes, the world's suckiest!" Then I realized how cruel that was to myself. Spoonies, let's stop stomping on our accomplishments. Let's be proud of all the things we can do instead

This Post Is Brought to You by Chronic Illness Cat (And Whinging)

Last week I woke up and I tried to take the brick off of my face, but there was no brick because it was actually just the normal, eternal sinus pain, massively worsened from the constant headache it normally is. So I went to the doctor at the walk-in clinic because it was the weekend, and I was given the kind of antibiotics they give people who are infected with bio-weapon sorts of diseases. I think every bacteria in my body cringed in fear the second I picked up the prescription.

Every once and a while we try to treat my chronic sinus infection. Mostly we just make it bearable, because there is no way to actually treat it, only to manage the symptoms. I could do sinus surgery, but seriously, why? It would be a temporary fix. I am saving it for my

Here is a normal day of medication for just my sinuses: Morning: Allegra, Sudafed, Mucinex, Ibuprofen, Prevacid (to treat reflux from all the medicine). Midday: More Sudafed and Ibuprofen. Evening: Benadryl. Lots of it. Sudafed. Nasacort. *

Soon I will have no headache! I thought. I will have a blissful week of normal. I can't wait! Because literally I get one week of happy, then my sinuses remember they are really exclusive, so they close up and only hang out with each other.

I picked up my medicine plus more Sudafed.

Then I went home. I took the medicine. I even picked up some homeopathic thing the doctor lady said would make me catch less crap! And I thought, now I will feel better.

Then I woke up the next day and thought WHAT THE ACTUAL [REDACTED].

Because how do antibiotics make you WORSE. I was worse. I drug myself around that day. Then the next day I was even worse. And the next day I felt even WORSE. My lungs were turning themselves inside out. But I did not invite lungs to this party. I did not know lungs could just show up to a sinus infection after a person was taking antibiotics. I felt so horrible that I could not even call the doctor, and my family kept checking to see if I was dead. I think they were looking up burial plots and pricing caskets.

On Tuesday, Mum handed me the phone. It was the nurse at my doctor's office. The nurse said, "We need to see you." I was like, "What is happening?" and she said, "NOW."

I may have asked if I needed to put on real pants.

Then I made Mum drive me because I could not tell if up was still a thing and also could not hear words. And I went in to see the doctor only to find out that through Christmas, New Year's, and well, all month, I've been walking around with pneumonia. This would be why fitness got suddenly harder for some reason. Also why I discovered I needed my emergency inhaler more than usual. Also why I was feeling like death.

See, when I got the antibiotics they use to treat deadly deadly anthrax, they worked so well, they killed the pneumonia no one knew was there. I'd had pneumonia so long, my doctor said, that they couldn't hear it anymore because it had become one with my lungs. I was kind of proud of my lungs for having made pneumonia feel so welcome, because that was hospitable of them as organs, but seriously, lungs. Could you work?

So now I have steroids because I am allergic to being sick, and also I cannot sleep. And also I cannot sit still. And also I cannot stop eating. And also I am very happy because nothing makes me happier than steroids do, they are like the best mood stabilizers on the planet,** and also now I know I am straight-up NOT a wimp, because I was walking around dealing with crap and having pneumonia all at the same time, and I didn't even notice.

We will pretend not noticing had more to do with me being freaking awesome and tough and less to do with this.

* Before you freak out about dosages or NSAIDs, seriously, this is what my doctor says I'm supposed to do. If you can come up with a better way to keep me from being stuck in bed with sinus headache-induced migraines, I'd love to see your peer-reviewed published medical journal article about it.

** This is because when I take steroids, I know what non chronically-ill people feel like when they wake up, which is NOT like they are surprised to still have a pulse. I am always surprised.

Vacation Highlights!

As some of you know, I was on "vacation" last week. The quotes mean I didn't travel anywhere, really. I took a day trip. But really, this was a stay-cation. That's okay.

1. I drank a bubble tea in Saugatuck, Michigan! It was delicious but it contained mango so the day ended with me projectile vomiting in a Menard's bathroom because I am allergic to mango.*

My mum and her sister by the lake.

This is my face before mango was in everything, back when there was beauty in the world.

2. I bought shoes. They are adorable and yes, I can walk in them. The soles are ORANGE.

Obsessed.

3. I got the air conditioning in my car mended! And then I found out my rear brakes need replaced, so now that is happening. I will be poor for such a long time.

4. We scraped the house to prep for painting, and I was attacked by a swarm of wasps. I got stung (obviously) and my sting-sites became MASSIVELY swollen and really red and hot and scary, so I had to go to QuickMed.

Day one, when it looked sort-of normal-ish.

5. I was given a temporary tattoo by a doctor and a lot of steroids. A lot a lot. Plus I have to take antihistamines three times a day. And now I have to get tested for allergy to wasp stings, making me the female version of Richard Gansey III from The Raven Cycle. (I would rather be Calla.) That test is on Wednesday. Hooray.

Hard to tell, but this is a 4cm swollen blob of evil. And it BURNS.

I have opted not to show you the other stings, which are on the back of my leg. Not only would photography be next to impossible, I am so not photographing my thigh. Better luck next time, creepy internet people. We are sticking to Victorian-level scandal on this blog. Ankles only.

* Don't worry, I cleaned. I thought I was going to pass out and die, but I scrubbed that bathroom stall until it shone. That bathroom was nicer when I left it than it was when I walked inside.

What AREN'T You Allergic To?

I did a post last week about LUSH. I love LUSH, which surprises most people because I am allergic to everything. People think, "Laura, LUSH stuff has a smell and you said you were allergic to stuff that has a smell. Are you saying you're NOT allergic to smells?" This is when we get Sciencey.

I am allergic to lots of things. Some of them are the normal sorts of things everyone is allergic to, like mold. But, for the most part, I am allergic to fake stuff. This means if something as a fragrance that is made in a lab and not made from squeezing fruit and berries, I am allergic to it. If it is made out of petroleum byproducts, or petrochemicals, I am allergic to it. If it is used to keep meat or salads shelf-stable for months, I am allergic to it.

Here is a Venn diagram:

The natural things I'm allergic to include: wasps, mold, mangoes, tomatoes, and Seth MacFarlane.

The reason why LUSH works is because 1. they stick to natural ingredients as often as possible and 2. they disclose EVERYTHING. What's nice about LUSH is that I can actually compare the list of deadly deadly chemicals to their ingredients and know that if I use this soap or that conditioner, I won't get sick. Usually I can only tell if something's going to give me a reaction by doing a patch test on my arm and waiting for a problem, even with so-called "fragrance free" products...which aren't always fragrance free. My reactions can range from: nausea, headache, asthma reaction, sneezing, rash, chemical burn (this was unpleasant), joint pain, lightheadedness, and probably death.*

This is where I continue to advertise for companies without getting paid, because I found two other sources for bath and body products that people like me, with hideous allergies, can check out.**

Lavanila Laboratories was my big find of this year. Lavanila makes all sorts of natural products like deodorant and body butter, that have NOTHING unnatural in them. I would have Lavanila's baby if it were a person and not a company. Their stuff smells amazing, works incredibly well, and I can trust that anything I order from them will be safe for me to use.

Another company for allergy-friendly products is The Honest Company. I haven't tried a lot of their products, but I ordered sunscreen from them this year after I discovered why I was feeling sick every time I used normal sunscreen.*** The Honest Company makes sunscreen without chemicals, so it's safe. I also want to try their bug spray, since--you guessed it--I'm allergic to DEET, too. They make all sorts of things, including cleaning products, and since I'm allergic to the vast majority of commercial cleaning products, I'm interested in trying some.

* Death hasn't happened yet. We'll see.
** Seriously, feel free to pay me. My dream job is to be paid to use stuff I already love.
*** Sulfa, an antibiotic that I'm allergic to, is related to PABA, which is in, like, every sunscreen ever. I'm also allergic to other sunscreen ingredients, so it's just safer for me to avoid sunlight and, failing that, to go with all-natural sunscreen.

When Did I Become This Person?

When I was in high school, you could not have paid me to do any sort of exercise. I dressed for gym only because I didn't want to get in any kind of trouble with my gym teachers, because they were physically fit and I was afraid of them.

In college, I put off any kind of gym class until the last possible moment, which was when I needed credits to fill out a semester. Stupid gym. I took yoga, because it involves breathing and being able to touch your toes, and I was good at both of those things at the time. Now I am only good at one of them.* Then I took karate because I wanted to not get murdered by someone who was out to steal my virtue, and I learned many many ways to kill people but no ways to incapacitate someone and flee.**

After college I stopped doing all sort of exercise at all, because not moving and instead watching season after season of TV series was way more fun. Also I started eating for entertainment because for some reason no one was giving me reading or other homework assignments anymore, which was a real drag. I miss homework. Why won't anyone ask me to write them an essay anymore? I miss essays.

I was diagnosed with asthma, which made the majority of my life make more sense, because breathing shouldn't be hard and it always was. This made me take medicine and also sit more. You don't have to overwork your lungs if you sit. Your lungs can take a break when sitting happens.

But then Erin had to peer-pressure me into starting The 30 Day Shred, and after that, I felt like I was cheating if I wasn't exercising. So now I have become the sort of person who does different things.

• I have two special pairs of shoes and a whole other wardrobe dedicated solely to fitness activities.

• When I go to Old Navy, it is to see what fun exercise clothes they have on sale. The 40% off sale thing they do is like CHRISTMAS.
• At T.J. Maxx, I look at the home stuff, the shoes, and the fitness clothes. Sometimes I venture into the other areas. But mostly not.
• I run three times a week, but I wish I could run every day. That is because I harbor the belief that running will at some point get easier. This is a lie, as illustrated here.
• Every step I take, every move I make, this happens:

• That torture was not enough, so I started using all the weight machines at the gym, too.
• That was also not enough, so I started this 30 Days of Yoga video series.
• Today I ran two miles, then did 40 minutes of yoga because the one 20 minute video was also not enough.
• I am looking forward to my allergies getting less hideous, because then I will do all of this fitness stuff outside instead of inside.
• I am now willing to go outside.
• Although it is spring now, and so my eyes have no moisture at all, and I am using eye drops just to blink.
• There are not enough eye drops in the world.
• I still took a walk outdoors today with Darcy.
• I am in bed eating apricot-raspberry thumbprint cookies right now. This is a healthy choice.

My aunt called on the phone today and asked how I was enjoying my day. Basically I told her that I ran and then did yoga, and basically she was horrified. Then I realized in shock that when I started exercising a few years ago, it basically changed everything about how I define "fun" and "health" and what amount of sweat I consider socially acceptable while in the presence of others.

I'm going to put in some more eye drops now.

* Asthma. Because asthma.

** My teacher only taught us kill moves. He was a very small, very angry man who thought that if you got into a fight, you had to be willing to END the fight. With terminal intensity.***

*** That is an X-Files reference, and if you don't know it, it means you haven't watched season two of the X-Files, and you need to fix that now. Seriously. Watch the X-Files.

Sneezy Wheezy Laura

While I was on vacation last week, I went to the Art Institute of Chicago because I love me some Dutch painters.

Pieter Claesz. PIETER CLAESZ.

Oh, look, a lion! Also various buildings.

We started with my aunt's favorite part, Impressionism. I used to be crazy about the Impressionists, but then I became obsessed with certain Dutch Golden Age painters. As one does. But we started in Impressionism, because my aunt. She doesn't get to go to museums of any sort as much as Mum and I do, because she cannot convince my uncle or cousins to come along. We discovered this and decided to remedy it, because Mum and I are museum people.

See? See that painting right there? Firstly, it is giant. Secondly, it is in a room where everything fell apart for me, nasally speaking. One moment I was happily walking along, looking at the adorable school children who had come on a field trip, the next minute I was making sounds similar to explosions and begging tissues off Mum.

What happened?

Allergies.

See, some lady walked through the room before me. And she was wearing the most potent gardenia perfume I have encountered outside of the sample bottle of that hideous (and sexist) Harvey Prince gardenia perfume that came in my Birchbox.

If you look below, you'll see exactly when my spirit died. Mum said, "People are taking their pictures with Vincent van Gogh! You need to do it!" I followed her over, stood still, let her take my picture, and then blew my nose repeatedly.

Vinnie and I like to hang out sometimes.

I sneezed through that whole museum. Nothing helped. I tried washing my face in the bathroom, and STILL I got no relief. It was nightmarish. I kept thinking the guards were going to ask me to leave, because my sneezes are loud normally, but in the echoing chambers of the Art Institute, they were nearly deafening. By lunchtime, I was half convinced I'd somehow contracted a cold. But no. Allergies.

I feel I should offer a blanket apology to all those who thought I was giving them TB or some kind of hideous cold virus by coming to the museum sick. I'm sorry I freaked you out, people. But blame Perfume Lady.

By the evening, I was feeling a bit better. I had to use my inhaler, though, so Perfume Lady owes me I think at least $27.00 or something for the medicine. I feel like I should be able to charge people who trigger my asthma attacks for the medicine I have to use. I mean, if she hadn't worn that perfume, I wouldn't have had to use my inhaler. I buy my emergency inhaler just to cope with people's perfume or cigarette smoke. I wouldn't have to if people skipped using perfume or smoking. I should be able to send invoices.

Sending invoices would be fun. I could put pictures on them.

I especially like the last one, because I have wanted to punch my allergies in the face for years.

Sometimes Benadryl Happens

I took an involuntary blog break this week due to copious amounts of Benadryl. Oh dear. Benadryl.

I hate taking the stuff. I only use it during episodes of extreme allergic reaction when I think I'm about to die of sneezing or asthma symptoms and am okay with the dying happening because that's how bad I feel. Only in times of desperation.

But Nancy had a cold. And I caught the cold. (Either that or the child who sneezed directly into my face this week gave me the cold. Meh. It came from somewhere.) When I get a cold, my nose runs. And when my nose runs, and when I sneeze, it triggers allergy symptoms. And asthma symptoms. It's as if I'm allergic to having a cold, which isn't possible, but the results are the same. This always ends in sinus infection, which I really could live without. Sinus infections suck.

Usually I push through it. This time I thought, It's Sunday. SUNDAY. I can rest today. So I decided to try a new way of treating colds--by not treating the cold but instead treating the allergies. I took a dose of Benadryl and slept. And slept some more.

And I did not get a sinus infection. It's like an early Christmas present, but without the pine-scented things that give me migraines!

Instead I lost half a week and spent the remaining part of the week catching up on everything I missed. It was busy. Very busy.

It has resulted in the printing of thousands of pages, which I will now assemble into reading logs for a new program at the library. Assembly means stapling.

Stapling means I will have "SWINGLINE" bruised into my palm for the foreseeable future.

This stack is about 50 booklets waiting to be folded. I have that many already folded. Eventually we'll need 500 total. Or more.

I'll be doing this for a while.

In Which Life Gets Better

I complain about prescription drugs a lot on this blog, mostly because it costs so much to keep myself alive when many of you are able to not pay money to keep breathing. I am really jealous of people who don't have to pay $400+ monthly just to breathe. That must be cool.

Every once and a great while, something good happens. Something that makes life better. And last night, while house-sitting, reclining with a nervous little chihuahua mix in front of a TV that may be bigger than my car, I discovered something that WILL make my life happier, easier, and yes, even better. The nasal spray my doctor prescribes me for the endless sneezing fits and nasal inflammation is now available over the counter.*

OVER THE COUNTER.

Not only that, the cost for said medicine has plummeted. The last time I checked (which, granted, was over a year ago), it was a bit over $200. Now it is $20 for TWO MONTHS worth.

I haven't been using this stuff, because it was too expensive to get it AND the two inhalers. Because really, if I have to choose between sneezing a lot and having my lungs give up and die inside me, I'm going to pick sneezing. Sneezing, as far as I'm aware, can't kill you. Not breathing does kill you. I know; I looked it up.

This is big news, because now I can get this medicine when I need it. Which means I might be able to skip my annual spring sinus infection and my annual fall sinus infection, meaning I want to throw a party. Sadly, I am no good at parties. But the thought is there. Maybe I'll just have a cupcake. Cupcakes are celebratory.

* If you're interested in knowing what this drug is, you can find out by Googling it. Honestly, if they're not willing to give me a discount on their drug, OTC or not, I'm not giving them a plug here. Drug companies don't get a free lunch on this blog.

A Nice Hot Bath

I am allergic to my own hair.

No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.

No joke.

So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.

As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."

But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.

I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.

And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.

The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.

So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].

Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."

Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"

Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).

"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."

And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.

From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.

Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.

Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.

So Mom got Dad.

"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"

The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.

Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.

As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.

Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.

"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.

"I am listening."

"You AREN'T LISTENING."

"I am.*"

Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.

So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.

When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"

Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.

More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.

*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.

Say Goodbye...

The date has been set.

It's all over.

I always knew it would end this way. Part of me didn't want it to, but I know it's for the best. We've had a good long time together. Now it's time for us to move on to something new and fresh.

NOW--grab a scrap piece of paper and scribble down what you think I'm talking about. And hold onto it--I want to know what you were thinking. And no cheating, Rachael. I know you already know.