coffeebarconfessions

It's no secret how I feel about modern medicine. While it has saved my life more than a few times, when I got sick with something no doctor understood, modern medicine's apathy almost took me down. Hindsight is so clear, and looking back nine years later I can contribute a significant amount of my suffering with chronic illness to a lack of medical acceptance. Being sick sucks. Being sick for a lifetime sucks harder. And being sick for a lifetime, and nobody believing you, well, it doesn't take a genius to point out that's like taking a slow boat ride to crazy. For so many years just thinking about the way doctors dismissed, degraded, belittled and judged me used to send me into an epic meltdown of Chernobyl proportions. Luckily my heart and soul have healed a little, and my mind is determined to evade negativity, so I can now talk about it without anger-hives breaking out all over my face. It's what happened, and getting all hot and bothered over a past I cannot ch

When I got sick in 2005 my doctor insisted was there was nothing wrong with me. Seeking a second, third, fourth and fifth opinion didn't change my non-diagnosis, despite my worsening health. After a ridiculous breakdown I was finally given two diagnoses of exclusion, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia. Little good it did, however, because I was told there was no way to treat those illnesses. Once again I was sent home with a patronizing pat on the head, except for this time it included the terrible advice to learn to live with something that was in the process of ripping my life apart. I guess it was progress, but it sure didn't feel like it. The people I came across who didn't think I was crazy, because they too had been sick with something mysterious at one time, all knew the answer. One lady had a parasite, so she insisted that's what was making me sick. Another person had a candida condition, a different one Lyme  disease, and about 75 people a thyroid proble

One week into my little New Year's resolution action-plan to revitalize my life, and I've erased four marvelous months of progress. Just gave it away, like there was a never ending supply of changed behavior sitting in my closet somewhere, and all I had to do was go grab more. I feel silly, more than a little greedy, and altogether certain the only way I can regain my lost ground is to get back on the horse of determination. It's nuts, how quickly expecting measurable improvement knocked me on my ass. Allowing the tiniest seeds of discontent to blossom for just a second sent me into a full-on meltdown twenty minutes later. And then they just kept on coming. Before I knew it, everything was wrong, bad, awful or terrible. Like, everything . Clearly my grand plan to ignore any and all unhappiness, for fear of sinking into the miserable pit of despair, is the only state of mind I can exist in. Perhaps I should think it's odd all this upheaval was accompanied by the familiar

As I'm doing yoga this morning I started thinking about how far I've come with my practice. I've done it intermittently since high school, but a year or so after getting sick had to stop. Of course I can't remember now if it was pain or fatigue that ended my affair with Downward Dog, but assume it was an awful combination of both. After gaining 50 lbs. of toxic disease and drug weight, spending day in and day out feeling like a sausage about to burst from my casing, and hurting so bad death was a welcome notion, I started doing yoga again. Heavens to Betsy it was awful! Not only did I already hurt so bad I could hardly move, I was so damn mad I couldn't do what was accomplished with ease in my pre-sick years, it made me angry and depressed to even try. Luckily I can laugh at the irony now, because the whole point of yoga is to accept ones natural limitations, and instead of reaching for someone else's ideal, celebrate the peace of what is now. I guess I had a lo

I'm not much of a New Year's resolution kind of a girl. As much as I love new beginnings to start fresh with brand new habits, a Monday is pretty much all I require. From my observation, it seems like all those vows of health, happiness and prosperity are pretty much forgotten about by Superbowl, anyway. However, never one to be bound by the chains of my existing beliefs, this year I went New Year's resolution hog-wild. I've made tremendous progress, with both my life and health, in the back-half of 2013. But is my inherent type-A ever satisfied? Of course not! I want more! Discipline, setting limits, and keeping my own rules, are three very hard concepts for me to employ. The intention is always there, but reality seems to be the bigger victor in choosing how my time is spent. Mainly, feeling like complete crap all the time, because I live with chronic illness, wipes away every good aspiration and determination aimed at improving my life. It's a viscous cycle I was

Exactly one year ago today I woke up crying. Doom and trepidation flooded my soul, as I clutched my husband and poured out my terrible, and more than a little superstitious, hunch. Something deep inside told me I was in for the hardest year of my life. So hard, survival itself was not guaranteed. Along with this certain knowledge came a big, fat pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow. If I managed to outrun 2013, I've made it through the worst of times, and will be free to move ahead with life.  A self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps, because this year almost did me in. What's odd is I've had "harder" years. For a long string of them, bad stuff, in the way of multiple and life-threatening illnesses, kept happening to me. I liken that phase to the moment the hurricane actually hits. What more can you do but hang on for dear life, and pray something worth rebuilding remains at the end? That first day, when the rain clears and the floods start to recede, is heartbrea