Goodbye, Daisy

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Daisy, you punk. You have been our family cat for 18 years, and you stole my heart immediately when my parents placed you in my hands, a tiny creamsicle of fluff. With your intense adorableness, your Queen of Everything attitude (which you lived out every day of your life), your whole-hearted play and mischief, you lodged yourself a place in all of our hearts. You are a fixture, an institution.

How can you get sick and old? You still judge us all silently from your corner, from the couch where you take up more than your fair share, you still purr the loudest when we pet you just behind your ears where you like it. You still yowl for tuna and follow my dad around till he gives it you. You show my mom your keen displeasure when she has to get up from the couch or if she dare use her laptop in your presence. You allow my brothers and me to pick you up and cuddle you right after you got settled down for a nap. And you are just as cute as you were 18 years ago, just a little slower and now you need more naps. You stopped being able to climb your ladder in the back porch a few years ago, too many steps. You had to find new spots to look out the window at your domain. Now you like more people than just our family; you actually agree to being petted by others. You have mellowed out a lot, Daisy. You used to turn your back or simply stalk off in extreme displeasure when we had company. I have lovingly called you my Snot Cat, because you are so, well, snotty and stuck-up. And yet so perfect. 

Daisy, I don’t know what we are going to do without you. You taught me how to love and care for something smaller and more helpless than myself. You showed me affection when I needed it the most; on sad or stressful days, you would find me and curl up with me and purr away. I even had to learn a little about putting another’s needs before my own—getting up in the middle of the night to let you in more times than I can count. I’m sure you appreciated every single time I lost sleep for you. You showed me what true leisure is—it’s in play and delight and living in the moment and napping in the sun. Enriching every part of life, knowing I could come home after work or school, or now that I’m an adult of sorts, I can come over and visit, and find you and tease you or feed you or pet you while you napped. If your Highness permitted, of course. 

And now we have to say goodbye to you, you adorable jerk of a cat. I’m so mad at you, but I’m so thankful for you, too. You are definitely taking part of my heart with you, you punk cat. I mean, I named my first email address and Xanga account after you, and here you go getting old on me. None of us know what we will do without you. Goodbye, best kitty-princess-face of all time. You have been loved and adored every moment of your good, long life, and I know you loved us all too. 

8 Ways to Deal with Chronic Pain

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling. 
-G.K. Chesterton

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 
-The Apostle Paul, in 2 Corinthians 4:16

Chronic pain is a microscopic view of normal living—it forces you to focus and zoom in on what’s happening here, now. And it has the potential to actually be amazing in many ways. For the past few years, I have been muddling my way through my fibromyalgia and endometriosis, seeking ways to improve life while living in chronic pain. We can always be looking for that calm in the eye of our storms, looking for ways to be ok in spite of physical trouble. Here are a few things that have helped me tremendously, in no particular order. 

8) Be Prepared to Modify

One of the hardest things is to realize that your life and how you do things MIGHT/WILL  have to change. If you’re anything like me, this is hard to swallow every time you realize that SOMETHING has to give, whether big or small. A couple months ago, I finally gave in and realized that using my shower loofah felt like dragging tiny razors over my sensitive skin and changed back to using a soft and fluffy washcloth. Weird, but true. Weird, but helpful. On a related note, I now can’t just take a shower and GO GO GO. For the past year or so, I now have to work in a flat-on-back rest time after a shower. For whatever reason, different temperature, extra movement, etc, taking a simple shower requires extra thought and planning. It’s uncomfortable changing our lives because it feels like GIVING IN to our condition, but it’s ok because we are caring for ourselves in spite of it. 

7) Everyone Has an Opinion on Your Condition

This one is never going to go away. It just isn’t. People will tell what you that their aunt’s cousin’s brother’s mother’s friend had the EXACT SAME THING and that THIS IS WHAT WORKED FOR THEM and now they scale mountains and host large parties every weekend.  And here’s the only thing you can do without running away screaming—just say an honest thank you. Honestly. What we chronic pain sufferers need to remember is that people only offer advice because they care and want us to feel better. What most people don’t realize is that there is no magic bullet and we really have tried just about everything. Even though it’s hard to listen to yet another round of Have You Tried, I think it’s important to appreciate that people care enough to speak up. And when we’ve been on the receiving end, it’s easier to simply have compassion for others in hard situations, to simply say “I believe you.”

6) Figure Out What Really Helps You…and Do It

The name of the game on this one is Trial and Error. For my various conditions, gentle movement, following a mostly whole diet, and rest and pacing myself are huge. Also drinking more water than coffee. All things I’m naturally terrible at, but they are worth it. I also know that being alone is key to my mental and physical sanity, so working that in is essential. When it comes to exercise, may I recommend finding a super scary physical therapist who will intimidate you into action? Ha! This worked for me this summer, and now I’m actually moving more days of the week than not! Finding some kind of accountability is really good for those things that We Just Don’t Want To Do. I sure don’t do any of these things perfectly, but identifying what actually helps and what doesn’t is worth the time and effort. 

5) No One is Going to Understand You Perfectly

Ah. My old nemesis. How I wish this wasn’t so. Because chronic pain is usually invisible and weird and funky and not the same for everyone, most people will not get us and this hurts. On top of the physical pain we already feel! But even though this does not feel good, it’s normal. And it’s ok. When we seek constant validation from others, we lose every time. Chronic pain gives us an opportunity to believe ourselves for a change, and know that what we are experiencing is real and it’s really not our fault. When we believe this, we don’t need all the outside affirmation that we think we do. This means it’s a real treat when someone does believe us or sits and listens or sends a card or a message, instead of being our lifelines. This means you can allow people to flow in and out of your life, holding all relationships with open hands. Not all relationships will remain life-giving and it’s ok to let go, whether it’s doctors or friends. Also, no one will completely understand your Netflix queue…and that’s ok. Own that queue, man.

4) Work in Ways to Still Do What You Love…and Find New Things to Enjoy

I looooove baking AND strawberries. WIN. 

Living with constant chronic pain and fatigue is exhausting. And it takes up a lot of time. Like, a lot of time. It’s always shocking when I realize how long it’s been since I finished a book. I freaking love reading and books and grammar and punctuation and all those good things. ENGLISH MAJOR HELLO. This is one of those things that if I make a conscious effort to make time to do on those days when I’m not feeling so fibro-foggy in my brain, I will feel more like my old self again. Identify those things that make you feel like you, and sneak them in. And be open to new things that you can do while resting on the couch or the front porch. Sometimes I like to just paint terrible watercolors while watching tv. It’s just fun to drag the paintbrush around a little. Or plant some flowers in an easily accessible spot and limp outside to spend some time in the fresh air and poke at your plants. It’s good, people. It’s all good. 

3) Do Your Own Research…but Don’t Overdo It

There’s a lot of information out there, my friends. A lot of information. How do we research wisely? How do we sift through the information that we read without going absolutely bonkers? Doing our own research and being our own advocate is key, but we have to rein it in, too. Or you will go crazy feeling guilty and overwhelmed, and it can take over your life—this whole trying to feel better and get back to normal life business. So when you start to feel a bit crazy, take a step back and note all the things you DO that are awesome and helpful. Drinking more water this month? Yay! Exercised 2 or 3 times this week? YOU ROCK. Remembered your supplements? You inspiration, you. 

2) Pacing and Asking for Help is Key

I want to do it all. And I want to do it myself. I’m sure you can identify. I used to think that when I had a good day, I should strike while the iron is hot and DO EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE. Clean the bathroom, vacuum the house, do the errands, and finish the laundry. Bam. But now I’m realizing that on good days, I still CAN work on my to-do list—now I just need to build in breaks. That whole pacing thing. I can still get stuff done, but with more sitting and more resting. Also, on bad days and good days, it’s always good to consider asking for help. I’ve found that I’m the only one judging myself for needing something, and that everyone is really and actually glad to help. It’s crazy. Also, when people offer help, don’t just say no. Consider how they really can help, and step back. 

1) It’s Ok to Have Bad Days

This is foundational for chronic pain/chronic anything sufferers. We can pace, plan, exercise gently, eat well, etc, and sometimes days are still just unexplainably hard. It’s ok to be disappointed when we wake up and just know it’s going to be a long painful day. For these days, I recommend having a plan of some kind to get you through it. For me, it’s showering at some point, having snacks at the ready, watching murder mysteries, moving for at least 5 minutes and stretching for at least 5 minutes, and asking my husband to take care of dinner. Which he usually does anyway, because he is a saint. It’s also ok to cry at various times throughout these days, or wait till someone comes over and you can cry on them. If you can laugh at funny show or with funny friends, that is maybe even better. Distract yourself in good ways from pain and ruminating too much on hard things. See if you can get up and do a load of laundry or start the dishwasher. Go outside for a few minutes and just breathe. You can do this. You can do Bad Days and survive. You can have this idiotic chronic condition and do your best with it. 

What I’ve realized after writing this list is that I will always need everything on it. Always. When I get better, God willing, I will still need to ask for help. I will still need to remember that no one will understand me ever the ways I want them to. I will still have hard days where I will just to need to hold on and think of ways to live well in spite of what life throws at me. People are always going to have opinions. And that’s just ok. This chronic pain has forced me, ungracious and slow to budge from my own opinions, to rethink things, and this is a good thing.