Tag: endowarrior

Sweaty & Glittery & Committed

The more you know, the more the healthcare system can change.

Well, I hope that sunset picture gave you a sense of calm before I dive in.

Surgery recovery isn’t easy. Below are some honest realities from the perspective of the three week post-op mark from endometriosis excision and a hysterectomy, which I hope continue to get better over the next week before returning to work.

I had a catheter for 3 days and found it mentally taxing in a way I had not anticipated. It wasn’t part of the plan, but the amount of endometriosis the surgeon found when she opened me up, and ovary repair necessary to preserve my hormonal cycles, turned a 4 hour surgery into a 6+ hour procedure. I am so freaking grateful for mobility over the past two weeks and the ability to pee on my own.

I’m peeing every hour to protect my bladder. There was so much endometriosis all over it, my surgeon told me to be cognizant about not over-filling it to allow the tissue and nerves to heal. I’m also icing my elbows. I can’t straighten my arms without pain. My surgeon is pretty sure the length of surgery (over 6 hours) irritated the nerves in my arms. 

In health, the stakes are high. My quality of life was so low that I was willing to take the risk with major surgery. Nothing compared to the pain I anticipated & GUTTED THROUGH over half of each month. I’m still optimistic about a full recovery. I have a comeback list, which includes truly training both sides once I’m cleared for aerial arts. 

A hysterectomy does not cure endometriosis. Endometriosis exists outside the uterus. My uterus is being tested for adenomyosis, a disease that causes pain similar to endometriosis, but only exists inside the tissue of the uterus. Adenomyosis is diagnosed through biopsy after the uterus is removed. Before recommending a hysterectomy, an expert surgeon (not a general gynecologist) will do additional tests and assess your symptoms to confirm their suspicions. Among many factors, my periods were so long and awful that I was ready to be uter-less, even if an adenomyosis biopsy doesn’t come back positive. Again for the people in the back: a hysterectomy does not cure endometriosis. 

As a white woman in her 30s, America’s legacy of white supremacy allowed me the CHOICE of a hysterectomy. Black woman have not had this choice, which is a product of racial bias in healthcare. Eugenics were policy not long ago. There are countless women, like the legendary Fannie Lou Hamer, who woke up from a surgery in 1961 to find that she had be sterilized without consent, which was legal under Mississippi law. The more you know, the more the healthcare system can change. Just this week, Kyla Canzater contacted Johns Hopkins to voice concern that “white women” was listed as risk factor for endometriosis. Whiteness as a risk factor has now been removed from their webpage.

I mentioned earlier in the post that I’m optimistic about a full recovery. Endometriosis is difficult to manage for a multitude of reasons. Because of misogyny and racism still prevalent in healthcare, it takes approximately 7-10 years to diagnosis. Once your body has been under duress for so long, you’re not just treating endometriosis. There is impact on other organ systems like the kidneys, vitamin deficiencies, chronic inflammation, psychological trauma, all on top of removing the endometriosis. Healthcare is woefully under-equipped to treat the complexity of the disease at this time. In addition to my usual “what I’m reading” send-off, I included links to organizations working to change this.

Further reading and organizations to support:

Stay sweaty and glittery and committed. And remember, because maybe it wasn’t clear throughout my post, Black Lives Matter. There are many ways to implement change and I firmly believe that access to quality healthcare is necessary in the fight for equal rights.

Vulnerability & Identity

I deserve to be healthy. You deserve to be healthy. We are all worth a second opinion.

Vulnerability is easy when you’re happy. I thought I was comfortable sharing—I’ve been writing this blog for over a year and have been on the Internet since Xanga, ya know?—but apparently not. Not when I thought my life was really trending up. Or whatever stock market term makes sense.

One of the difficult things I’ve learned in therapy, and well, all my fucking appointments, is how hard we hold on to identity. This month, I’m taking the time social distancing to reflect on identity and mental health. 

Athletics help me feel normal. It’s been a part of my identify since I was a child, I cannot remember otherwise. Even though it could just as well be otherwise. (A bit of an aside, I got really into existentialism when I had a blood clot at 19.)

Lindsey Vonn’s documentary, The Final Season, was illuminating when I watched it a few months ago while I was flattened on the couch by endometriosis symptoms. The film came to a climax during the press conference before her final race. She’s sparing with a male journalist about her career. Vonn is unrelenting and gives everything, despite the physical pain that is living the life of a serious athlete in your 30s. She feels isolated.

Though different, chronic injury is on a similar plane as chronic illness. I was chronically injured as a Division I swimmer since my freshman year. I started at Rutgers as a distance swimmer. When my shoulders failed me (or rather, the 10,000 yards a day wore down the cartilage), I was able to transition to middle distance backstroke and butterfly with a strong underwater kick that had already been a major part of my distance success. A group of us were in a similar situation, which created a special bond. We spent extra time with trainers, extra time with doctors, but we were still isolated from teammates that thought we weren’t trying hard enough. Similarly, when you have a chronic illness, it’s hard not to notice when friends and family are frustrated that new treatments, new diets, additional surgery, don’t seem to help enough. Then you have people slide into your life with: Meditation changed so-and-so’s life. Yoga healed my friend’s fibromyalgia. Etc, etc.

So what’s identity? I think about impression management and have so many questions: Am I communicating I’m an athlete? Am I communicating I’m an artist? Can I be a jock poet? If I can run and practice circus, am I really sick enough to have a chronic illness?

When I was an athlete, I would train through pain, which lead to severe chronic injuries. I’d downplay it with doctors, I’d trust I could keep going because a coach said I should. Because they said it was a sign of toughness. I don’t always talk about my doctor-anxiety in therapy, but all the work I’ve been doing with my therapist has made me realize that if something feels wrong, it probably is. This has made me smarter in running. It has made me comfortable speaking up at work. It has helped me realize I’m not crazy or hysterical if I’m upset when I’m dismissed by a doctor.

Here’s an example. Last summer, I went to my primary care physician because my energy was unusually low. I read her the list of symptoms I tracked in the months leading up to the appointment. Rather than ordering a blood test, she countered every symptom with the response, It’s probably anxiety and depression. After her forth response, I spat out, You’d be depressed to if no one believed the pain you have been in for years. She ended up relenting and ordering bloodwork, but only ordered one very basic thyroid test. Another doctor ordered a better panel, but in the end, I knew I needed a holistic approach. I saved money to see a highly recommended out-of-network doctor that practices naturopathic medicine, therefore looks at the full picture of what is happening inside a patient’s body coupled with their lifestyle. The results were a surprise to no one that listens to the length and heaviness of my periods during an intake: my iron WAS low. Off I went to a hematologist that immediately recommended an iron infusion. 

The two-part infusion was a few weeks ago. I have noticed some significant changes. Although my period this month was bring-me-to-my-knees painful, I didn’t have the brain fog that usually comes with severe fatigue. It’s a relief, I have been really concerned about that symptom. I also coped with the pain better than I have for the past few years. No emotional breakdowns this month. I’ll keep track of this in my spreadsheet, but the anxiety and depression that would normally come with my period barely registered. It seems that because I was not bone-tired, I could hold on to the fact that the pain was temporary, another surgery is on the schedule, I could keep going even though the state of the world is precarious. Nurse and endometriosis advocate, Nancy Petersen, referenced a study at the Endometriosis Summit that supports this: for many chronic illness patients, their depression lifts when (and only when) their significant symptoms are properly treated. I keep thinking about my PCP, who does not seem to understand that.

I deserve to be healthy. You deserve to be healthy. We are all worth a second opinion. We all deserve access to quality healthcare. Our system needs a serious look at the accessibility of long-term care for chronic patients. 

The books I was thinking about while writing this:

  • The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
  • She Said, Jodie Kantor and Megan Twohey
  • The Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut

Stay sweaty and glittery.

It’s Mental Health Awareness Month. National Alliance on Mental Illness has resources year round, locally NAMI Metro Baltimore is there for anyone that needs help.

Health in the Time of Coronavirus

The staff member that answered confirmed the appointment was moving forward. She said, “Essential appointments are not cancelled.”

How is everyone doing? I had other writing planned…and then COVID-19.

Baltimore businesses and other nonessential services have been closed for a week. I’m not alone in my anxiety about missing appointments that help me function, help me participate in society. My social media presence looks pretty rosy—I know. That’s curation. When the endometriosis pain is overwhelming, I can look at what I’ve done and remind myself that how I feel is not forever.

Reminding myself that it is not forever does not minimize the impact. The pain is real. I’ve lost an unreasonable amount of time. Previous symptoms have escalated, and new ones have been consistent for quite a few months. After the recommendation of Nancy Petersen (The legend!!—I introduced myself at the Endometriosis Summit which I will write a bit more about shortly, but I have to say that her in-person energy is warm and hopeful. She’s always trying to problem solve with the best information), I made an appointment with a new surgeon in the Baltimore area. The appointment was earlier this week. I worried and worried that it would be cancelled, so I called the day before. The staff member that answered confirmed the appointment was moving forward. She said, “Essential appointments are not cancelled.”

I thanked her profusely for staying open before hanging up to cry. Even with the incredible practitioners I work with, I haven’t acknowledged that endometriosis care is essential. I’ll bring this up in therapy tomorrow…probably. Honoring that endometriosis has brought life-altering pain is an ongoing and difficult place for me to go. For now, I want to say that I’m hopeful about my current care plan. Because even with some dear healthcare providers closed, I still have the support and knowledge they shared. In the pandemic, please remember to deep breathe and do healthy things to move. That’s the best advice I can give, I’m not a doctor! I’m a master of words.

I did want to share a bit more about the Endometriosis Summit earlier this month, especially because it’s a reminder that community continues to work hard. Go if you are able to attend, or watch the live-stream. I learned more in six hours than I had in the two years since my diagnosis. The pelvic floor PT, acupuncture, therapy were all validated. Another big development from the conference: Endo What? launched the School Nurse Initiative. They will send a free education toolkit to the school nurse of your choice. Even with schools closed, the organization announced today that nurses working from home can still receive the kits. Participate to help educators learn so the next generation doesn’t have to spend years suffering silently.

The book I was thinking about while writing this:

  • Beating Endo: How to Reclaim Your Life from Endometriosis by Dr. Iris Kerin Orbuch and Amy Stein DPT
  • Dear Girlsby Ali Wong
  • The Crying Bookby Heather Christle

Stay sweaty and glittery.

Filming with WebMD

It’s easier to put on red lipstick and scream on the inside.

Casual kitchen interview look

In November, I spent two days filming with a crew for WebMD. I share my endometriosis journey to help spread better information, to break down the isolation of the alienating condition. Because it’s chronic, I worry how it will affect my career. I worry that people will just look at me as sick and weak. I know those are fears, not facts, so I’m so glad WebMD has a three part series about endometriosis in which I am one of the features (and I talk about these fears).

Often I hear, I didn’t know it was so bad. Endometriosis isn’t a light conversation. It’s easier to put on red lipstick and scream on the inside. Pushing down trauma doesn’t work (it will roar), so here’s a special shout to the practitioners that have helped me listen to my body and advocate for better care: Indigo Physiotherapy, Caitlin Self, Sustainability Wellness, Be Psychotherapy, and not a practitioner, but In the Dark Circus Arts has been a magical space. Then of course, there is Staci, doing so much for the community at Cramped Style blog and the Baltimore Flow.

I’m of the mind that health justice and civil rights have similar goals—so let’s work together to change the experiences for the next generation. Watch all three videos through the link.

The book I’ve been savoring: Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones.

Stay sweaty and glittery.

Changing Pain

I’m more than work and physical pain. There is movement and creativity—all experiences better when shared.

I’ve been looking back at my blog this year and notice how often I work to mention joy. I can’t deny the impact of Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights on my perspective. I think about his work, and many others I’ve read this year, while reflecting on what I’ve attempted to do in 2019. Which has turned out to be a lot. One of the difficult things I’ve learned in therapy, and well, all my fucking appointments, is how hard it is to undo thought patterns. 

Much of my time this year has been spent at doctors: pelvic floor physical therapy, gynecologist, acupuncture, therapy, orthopedic physical therapy, general practitioner…I’m exhausted. In November, I was at multiple doctors a week. I burned out, cancelled a bunch to get back to some basics and have social time. Trying to pack all the appointments for my health ended up becoming more stressful than helpful.

I’ll echo what many have said about chronic illness: it’s isolating and exhausting. Managing your health feels like a full-time job. You’re always calculating your time. You look at other people and feel resentment that they haven’t been to a doctor weeks, or even years (that’s probably a bad move on the opposite side of the spectrum). Every social interaction and choice become loaded with the question will I make my symptoms worse? What will I have to do to undo this event?

Talia Hibbert puts the isolating feeling in perspective in Get A Life Chloe Brown, “Her body was vulnerable enough without her heart following suit.” Chloe Brown has fibromyalgia, and after her friends and fiancé have left her, she’s convinced herself she’s better alone. Que her writing a list to be more adventurous. Relationships are already vulnerable. Add constant pain, unpredictable energy levels, and a social life feels more like a let-down. But like Chloe, that’s not what I want. I’m more than work and physical pain. There is movement and creativity—all experiences better when shared.

The shift I’m feeling isn’t only from the books I’ve read. I can’t tell if it’s the annoying phrase, getting older, or the perspective change with time. Or therapy. After writing a book about not wanting to be vulnerable, maybe now it’s easier to see the importance of relationships. My partner is incredibly supportive, I’ve had a chance to collaborate with all sorts of creatives and change-makers at work, I can make time for friends, my family sticks around—maybe it all will be okay. I can change how I react to pain.

In order to intentionally find more joy and spend time with loved ones, I’ve decided 2020 will be The Year of the French Fry. I LOVE potatoes (ask friends that went to The Woods writing retreat about my 2018 potato poem). I also love exploring different parts of Baltimore with people. So in the comments, please suggest your favorite fries, from Royal Farms to upscale restaurant. French fries have diverse pleasures. Just like Baltimore. 

The book I was thinking about while writing this (obviously, perhaps):

Stay sweaty and glittery.

Something to Know

One of these times, if I get the words in the correct order, if I retrace more precisely the lines of history, I am convinced I will learn something I need to know.
– Rebecca Makkai

There is no better time to write than during a two hour wait for my tires to be replaced, am I right? Eleven months into blogging about endometriosis, and I have more frustrations than answers. I’ve heard countless authors talk about this, read countless essays about this—there is an idea that you can write your way out of something. I should say something about obsession here.

What else don’t we know? The universe may be one billion years younger than projected. This is the ultimate I thought it was Friday, but it’s only Wednesdaymoment. I white knuckle through the day and feel the thrill of bronzer tricking people about my health. It’s the sinking thrill of the phrase you don’t look sick. 

Memories are a haunting. I feel the ache start to grow in my pelvis and panic, then try to breathe. What have I done wrong this month to trigger symptoms? Why did my surgeon say there was nothing else he could do? Is my mood at this point in the cycle because of medical trauma? Why can’t I deflect with some jokes right now?

Still, I’m not interested in the theory that endometriosis is caused by trauma. The theory allows doctors to dismiss pain as all in your head, or even with the best intentions, make the pain some part of an individual suffering narrative, rather than an illness to be treated with medical intervention. I’m interested in how we (general public, doctors, researchers) will cling to any vague theory that may provide a reason. Then I remember—I don’t want to shake from exhaustion and pain any more. I want a reason, or an answer.

Here’s something to know—the holidays are difficult. I think about limitations as I drive to visit friends and family, yet end up distracted and in pain during the visits from these drives. Yet I spoke up recently. My parents drove, and I slept under a blanket with the heat in the car blasting. Small steps.

Some books that explore trauma in different ways which I was thinking about while writing this:

  • The Nickel Boys, Colson Whitehead
  • Music for Wartime, Rebecca Makkai
  • Felon, Reginald Dwayne Betts
  • Queenie, Candice Carty-Williams

Stay sweaty and glittery.

Feeling Athletic & Chronically Ill: Not Polarized Feelings

Setting the scene: I’m propped up on the chaise section of the couch with a heating pad on my back, a cat snuggled on my shins, while I think about the Baltimore Running Festival 5k. I set a personal record by 30 seconds yesterday, running the 5k in 21:23. This post will recap the race, then I’ll explain what I did to prepare while managing endometriosis. I share my endometriosis journey not so you feel sympathy, but to share information and break down the isolation that comes with the alienating condition. I run for the endowarriors that can’t because their kidneys or diaphragm are compromised from the disease, or because a doctor has not referred them to excision surgery.

First, the easy part: the race recap. The weather was PERFECT. The course was mostly shaded by buildings in the 7:30am morning sun while the temperature was around 50 degrees. I wore a Team Baltimore Flowtank top and shorts because I know I overheat. 

Mile 1: 6:49 pace

The first mile felt easy. I started close to a 6 minute mile, so I pulled back. My virtual coach from Charm City Run sent positive affirmations throughout training to help me feel confident in controlling the first mile. I also saw Frugal Nutrition a bunch of times on her bike. Seeing her brought me so much joy!

Mile 2: 6:58 pace

            I worked on staying controlled and strong, repeating lines from “Polarize” in my head. It’s deciding where to die and deciding where to fight, deny, deny, denial. I find those lines comforting, anyway. The course layout also helped with staying strong. The turn-around was at the halfway point, which helped me chunk each half mile as a small goal to reach. 

Mile 3: 7:00 pace

            The race is billed as “completely flat”—not true!! Maybe compared to the traumatic hills in the half marathon and marathon, but NO. Most of the race is like running at a 1-3 elevation on the treadmill. The course is a common route for my training runs, so I paid careful attention to these changes in order to mentally prepare, and you know, not have unrealistic expectations. The stretch of Key Highway next to Rash Field tends to mess with me. To push through these soft elevation changes, I thought about all my 6:30-6:40 paced repeats in sprint runs workouts.

Last .1: 6:15 pace

            I turned the corner of Charles and Pratt to face my partner and his family screaming, seeing them gave me strength to push it with everything I had left. I had more speed than I expected. I feel more confident that mile 2 can be more aggressive, setting me up to also push harder on mile 3. My heart rate never crested 150. After multiple 5k bonks with a final mile slower than 8 minutes, I can finally see I’m capable of a consistent race pace. My coach planned quite a few runs at tempo pace for 30-40 minutes. They are physically and mentally challenging, but that made the 5k speed seem less daunting.

Will I ever have cute race photos?

I was in my ovulation phase the week before the race, which brings escalating pelvic pain and fatigue as I get closer to my menstrual cycle (yes, despite having excision surgery 16 months ago). I acknowledged my fear that it would be detrimental on race day, then did my best to let the feeling go. Wouldn’t it be great to one day run a race on the most energetic day of my cycle! Rest, despite three evening events at work, was a priority all week. Also: water, gentle stretching, and easy work at physical therapy for an unhappy hamstring. My partner and I partially prepped dinner to remove the dinner decision making after long work days.

How did I prepare in general? In addition to working with a virtual running coach, I have an incredible care team that includes pelvic floor physical therapy, acupuncture, and a gynecologist. I also take extra care to preserve my health by reading about the latest endometriosis research and hormonal cycles in training. If you are looking for a start in your endometriosis journey, join Nancy’s Nook on Facebook. The group has the latest research resources and doctor recommendations. The admins work tirelessly to remove misinformation.

An awful truth: most of my care is not covered by insurance. On top of endometriosis having a 7-10 year diagnostic window, most of the best care is still difficult to access. There are multiple reasons: dismissal of women’s pain (just read this essay by Tressie MacMillan Cottom), inadequate diagnostic procedures, or insurance companies deeming excision surgery medically unnecessary. When your body is experiencing pain for such a long time, it takes extra care after diagnosis to get close to a baseline of “normal,” which I like to think of as pain-free. I’m still not there. Working to balance my hormones and energy levels with everything listed above has been a start. I cycle syncto nourish my body, including easy activities at certain times, even when I’m working towards big running goals. 

More than the pain, I’m at a point where I can barely control my anger about inadequate care and access to resources. Writing to break the silence is my main advocacy now, though that will change as I meet more people working to create change.

Some books I was thinking about while writing this:

  • The Body Paper, Grace Talusan
  • Music for Wartime, Rebecca Makkai
  • Thick, Tressie MacMillan Cottom

Now, to take a week off from running to stretch, practice yoga, and learn new hamstring strengthening tools at physical therapy. Stay sweaty and glittery.

Curious Potential

Beating Endo: How to Reclaim Your Life from Endometriosis and ROAR: How to Match Your Food and Fitness to Your Unique Female Physiology for Optimum Performance, Great Health, and a Strong, Lean Body for Life arrived earlier this month. As I continue to work toward a sub-20 minute 5k, I’m also working on taking to heart the advice from my acupuncturist and pelvic floor physical therapist: running easy (or not at all) while I have my cycle. I’ll write more about my experience with those books and a virtual running coach after the Baltimore Running Festival 5k. I’m so curious about potential.

Why is not running so hard? I spent a decade being told my pain was normal. I was treated as if I was lying, weak, or hysterical. I needed to take the pill or suck it up. The message was that it was my fault I couldn’t stomach the pain. I was already practicing this kind of self-talk anyway–I swam on a team where the coach said that you’re recovering while sitting in class in between morning practice and evening practice. Unlearning those beliefs will take time. I’ve been repeating the phrase that Sonya Renee Taylor created an organization around: the body is not an apology.

I’m curious to see how radical self-love and athletics interact as I face the unknown. I’d like to think they’re not mutually exclusive if the movement is about exploring the unknown and internalized expectations. Taylor recounts an encounter with a free-diver as description of the journey of radical self-love: “learning the difference between fear and danger.”

As I read Taylor, my thoughts wander to Leslie Heywood and Shari Dworkin’s Built to Win: The Female Athlete as Cultural Icon: “Serious athletic training paradoxically produces a profound (and only partially mistaken) sense of the self-authorship of one’s body. This sense is one of the benefits of sport—you get beyond a culturally mediated sense of your body…And you feel that, through your labor, you’ve made yourself.” Have I used athletics to make myself? As much as I want to PR at 31, I run for the endo warriors who can’t. The ones whose kidneys and diaphragms are compromised by the disease, the ones whose healthcare won’t cover excision surgery. I see your fight and this is where I am in mine.

I’ve run with two Baltimore running groups this month: Faster Bastards and Riot Squad Running. Both groups are open and supportive and use positive self-talk when talking about new races. I love this, and plan to continue running with them while remembering that ultra-marathons may not be for me, though I have the joy of spending a Saturday morning running around the waterfront for 10 miles. It’s not lazy that I prefer 5k and 10k races. As my health changes, I’m going to continue to explore potential. 

Some books I was thinking about while writing this:

  • The Body Is Not an Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love, Sonya Renee Taylor
  • Built to Win: The Female Athlete as Cultural Icon byLeslie Heywood and Shari Dworkin

A Playlist For Every Pain

Legitimate endometriosis specialists and advocates will be on The Today Show next week. It feels like a change in awareness is coming. The air is less salty, even the ground has a spring. 

I am thrilled, especially because earlier this month an endometriosis specialist in the area was on the morning news, sharing outdated knowledge. One of those statements was that it’s common for folks with endometriosis to have another surgery in two years. With true expert excision surgery, that’s incorrect. Let’s consider the monetary cost, without even mentioning the physical and emotion cost of surgery: the doctor expects someone to accept that every two years the patient will 1. take significant time off work and 2. pay for invasive $20,000 surgery? How is this acceptable care for something that has barely been researched?

I want to follow the light today. I don’t want to think about the doctor that told me I don’t look sick, when I went to her for help with a list of symptoms. Or the anxiety that comes with each ovulation. Or the depression that comes with a lack of change under a new treatment. I want to talk about music that keeps me going. The Warped-Tour-mixtape-generation has stuck with me through changes in media. I have all sorts of playlists, from running fast as an emo kid to getting to work and writing. Here are some highlights from my chronic pain playlist:

Ace of Base – The Sign
I know what you’re thinking. Ace of Base? Life is demanding without understanding. This is Swedish pop, right? I’m trying to write these without major research, more with gut reaction. The sticky-pop has existential lyrics, like the period of time right before diagnosis.

Janelle Monáe – Tightrope [feat. Big Boi] 
I first heard this song in a spin class with “Crazy Eddie.” I associate this song with sweat on the floor, triumph in my heart. Joy in the face of pain. Belief in my body. I keep on blaming the machine.The fine balance Monáe sings about is just PERFECT. Don’t @ me, I love this song.

Amanda Palmer – Runs In The Family
A friend gave me a collection of Amanda Palmer/Dresden Dolls songs in 2014 and my mind exploded. They blend performance, art, and theatrics beautifully. Runs In The Family captures the anxiety and rage that come with invisible chronic illness, and considers the question of intergenerational trauma. If wellness is this what in hell’s name is sickness. Want to say that I don’t look sick again? 

Migraine – twenty one pilots
I’ve agonized a bit over which twenty one pilots song to include. I was a late adaptor—coming to the band when Stressed Out was released. But of course, they were first signed to one of my favorite pop punk labels, Fueled By Ramen. I mean, they expemplifiy the dancy-pop-punk full of angst that I still can’t get enough of. I think I just like how sad and hopeful this song specifically is.

Panic! At The Disco – Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks 
Speaking of Fueled By Ramen, I have to be honest and include Panic at the Disco (no exclamation point right now, right?). A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out was inspired by Chuck Palahniuk’s books. Though I’m not Team Chuck since finding feminism, I can’t deny the sad-Vegas-pop-punk fusion I spent time with in high school. This song, and many of the early Panic songs, feel like when you’re trying to assert that you are in pain and deserve to be heard.

That’s an excerpt. The playlist will be constantly changing, like my levels of hope. Listen here.

Stay sweaty and glittery.

On Spontaneity

Unfun confession: I am not spontaneous.

I never was—as a kid, the next swim practice was always on my mind. Lists were necessary for everything: swim-meets, vacations, reading, goals, my future house. I was creating vision boards before they were trendy. Every Sunday, I’d cut out my favorite furniture from weekly newspaper circulars for my future house. Could it have been the naming? Or was it having something to look at in the uncertain fog of childhood? Endometriosis has been part of my vocabulary, my identity, for over a year. I have a name for the cloud, but what can I do with it?

I’m still a list-maker and planner. It’s also all about tracking workouts, moods (I am always a mood), self-care, physical therapy, and sleep. Why? I have still been experiencing significant chronic pain and fatigue after excision surgery. Tracking symptoms is a way to see patterns and identify triggers. The scientific collection of statistics is a ritualistic calming. 

As I write this, I still think I should be more spontaneous. Instead, I plan my life around pain. My period is usually regular, so I plan everything—rest, social time, dates, workouts, events—around how I may be feeling. Otherwise, what if I’m caught in public without an arsenal of tampons? What if I’m stuck in a crowded event, in pain and unable to get to a seat? What if I have to cancel on someone because I didn’t anticipate how ghostly my body would feel? What if I’m so overwhelmed by symptoms I’m being a neglectful partner? Some days, I think a cane for high pain days would be a good investment. Yesterday, I barely made it up a flight of stairs before ceding to the elevator the rest of the day. This may be surprising when you look through my Instagram feed. That’s curation. I prefer to celebrate what feeds my soul online, especially when I need something positive to get through the hard days. I’m the master of the lean with the hip-cock. 

I have been turning the phrase by Rio Cortez in my head for what feels like years: “I have learned to define a field as a space between mountains.” Time and space have a different meaning when you’re racing your limits. Energy is collected in an attempt to maintain inertia. That’s not what her incredible chapbook is about, but the title has taken on a meditative role in my life. I will repeat from my Goodreads review: “if we can communicate how history has made us, there may be space to move forward.”

Tracking, naming, and identifying will probably always be part of the process. I’m an amateur adventurer in all of this. At least until there is some sort of cure for endometriosis.

Some books I was thinking about while writing this:

  • Laurel, Tyler Mendelsohn
  • I have learned to define a field as a space between mountains, Rio Cortez

Stay sweaty and glittery.