All That Matters Is That I Will Have Gone to More Colleges Than Sarah Palin

My treatments continue. They continue frequently enough that I joke I’m going to move into my rheumatologist’s office during treatment week just to make the commute easier.

All I need is a shower. I mean I’ve got my comfy pillows and blankets. There’s a tv. A fridge. I’m all set!

Day 1 of 3 #ivig

But as my life continues…as this ‘new normal’ continues…I need more.

Right now, I’ve become healthy enough to wake up, get the kids to school, take myself to treatment, come home, maybe cook dinner if treatment didn’t kick my ass too much, and rinse, lather, repeat.

Non-treatment weeks are better. I can handle some very light housework. Like maybe picking up some toys around the house, a load of laundry here and there. Dinner, dishes. You get the idea. But it all depends on the day. We’re trying some physical therapy, but that too depends on what my body is up to that week. Right now it hates the cold and all the pools are too cold for water therapy. I need a HOT TUB in order to exercise. So I walk the dog, but my doctor doesn’t really want me walking on concrete a ton so Nicky and I don’t go too far. We’re also eating rather well around here. I’m even working with a dietician to try to get these steroid side effects under control.

occasionally I go to a store. I say ‘a’ store because that too is about all I can handle. Well, that’s not entirely true. I could probably push myself and go crazy and run around all damn day but who are we kidding- I tried that and it only landed me admitted to the hospital up the road every few weeks. So while I might be capable of more, I’m limiting myself. Make no mistake, I loathe limiting myself. But I’ve learned I must if I want to live.

But part of learning my limits is also knowing when to expand them ever so slightly.

So as I start my next round of treatment, I will also be starting to close a chapter in my life I’ve been trying to close for twenty years.

TWENTY YEARS.

What many people may not know is that I never finished my degree.

I was one of those interns that interned herself right into a full-time gig. I was on-the-air reporting at 20 and anchoring by the time I was 22.

As a matter of just wanting to finish I tried to go back several times, but work always took over. There ended up being a string of universities and community colleges from Michigan to Ireland to Florida to California where I tried to wrap up what I had started.

Now I find myself disabled, IV in my arm every 2.5 weeks, and needing something more in my life than the endless string of lab results. No really, that’s what I get excited about these days. Lab results. Want to know what my last C-reactive protein was? I can tell you…

I can’t handle much. I can’t type for long, as my fingers cramp up. I can’t physically sit in class, so I have to attend only online courses that allow for me to make my own schedule around the days I’m doing well and the days I’m not doing so great…but I can handle a bit. And by ‘a bit’ I really mean a tiny bit. If I can sit here and read while being pumped full of IVIG, there is no reason I shouldn’t be reading a textbook. That’s my theory anyway.

So as of today, I’m officially, and once again, a student. I’m not much of a student, but I’m a student. 6 whole credit hours. Enrolled as ‘disabled’ which, I won’t lie, hurts a bit emotionally to check that box. But I am a student. Which is a step up from being incapable of getting out of bed, incapable of getting the kids to school, incapable of getting myself to the doctor. Slowly…slowly we’re adding things.

The kids are excited…they want me to do homework with them, at the kitchen table just like they do. I think they envision us all using crayons for projects together which makes me grin.

My husband is laughing, knowing that eventually I will have to leave the local community college online learning for a UC online learning system and he’s DYING at the thought I *might* graduate from someplace like USC (which pains me to type) … having been raised an Irish fan through and through.

My Mom is proud of me. This is a big step for her daughter who was losing organs left and right not too long ago and is now, finally, doing something for herself instead of trying to make sure everyone around her is still OK after the ‘crisis.’

She’s right, of course. Moms are like that. I’ve spent so long trying to get healthy but as the doctors worked to figure out HOW to get me healthy, I worked to make sure everyone around me was ok. That was my only concern. Because no one was ok. We’re still not OK. We’re adjusting. And I finally had to take a step back and realize we’re never going to be ok until I learn to make myself whole…to make myself happy…to make myself ME first.

I’m headed down that road now. And I couldn’t start down that path until the doctors figured out how to stabilize me. To make sure my organs were safe. To convince me I wasn’t going anywhere, that this was under control, relatively speaking, and life could move forward.

Life can move forward now.

For me. It’s going to move slowly, but it’s going to move. It’s going to move differently than it did before. I have to feed my mind. I have to do more than fret and hand-wring. There are going to be ups and downs with this and I am learning to build those ups and downs into my life plan. From my long-term life plan to my daily life plan. I’ve done all I can to try to take care of the kids, of my husband, of my family. I have done very little to take care of me.

That seems strange to write when all of this ‘crisis’ has been about me. Me. Me. Always about me. But trust me, in my head it’s been nothing but what it’s done to everyone else. What I have done to everyone else. What I continue to do.

So the next chapter starts as the others come to a close. With doctors having found a plan…finally. Finally after years we have a plan that appears to be working. Slowly. Very slowly. But working. With those I love doing what they need to do as life goes on. And with my stubborn self having learned limits, a bit of patience, a ton of self-control, and a new way of operating as a woman, wife, and mother with a chronic illness.

Scratch that…as a woman, wife, mother, and student with a chronic illness. Hopefully we’ll add graduate to that list this time around.

The Auto-Immune Menu of Love: Vasculitis

I get asked A LOT what it is like to live with Lupus.

How does it feel? What does it mean when I can’t fly or I can’t walk an amusement park or a mall (why not?) – or why it hurts so much more in the morning or why some drugs seem to work and others don’t. Why some weeks seem great and you are near remission and then suddenly you are back in the hospital…you get the idea.

So I thought every so often I would do my best to walk you through one little special something* I am dealing with physically.  Teach you, show you, do what I can to share my own unique experience in the hopes it might help someone else. Or, at the very least, help others know they are not the only ones out there suffering and dealing with this crap.

Today I thought I’d tackle the reason we couldn’t have Christmas in North Carolina as planned. It’s a well-known ‘thing’ that auto-immune diseases tend to flare up at the worst possible moments. No really. It’s some odd, scientific, auto-immune fact. As you can imagine, our Christmas party was a bit ruined. Cousins were let down and everyone had to just shrug and say things like ‘well, that’s just how it goes.’

So how DID it go THIS time around (because trust me, this is just one of a thousand scenarios)?

Vasculitis.

One of the many reasons I couldn’t (and still can not) get on a plane is because both of my legs are suffering from this ailment along with a host of a million other things Vasculitis brings.

So what happens? With me my feet and legs basically swell up so badly I get bruises, red stretch marks, and my skin actually breaks and I bleed. Yes, it’s THAT bad. Here, let me show you:

Vasculitus

Keep in mind I took this photo this week, well after the really nasty part had subsided around Christmas Day.

My particular auto-immune issues cause inflammation ALL OVER my body. It’s been in my gut, on my brain, my spine, that whole reproductive area that is now gone…anywhere and everywhere. Kidneys, liver, and of course the biggest organ of all… my skin.

My doctor has never told me I ‘couldn’t’ go anywhere due to my disability because he firmly believes the emotional and mental lift from being able to occasionally see family or friends helps me more than any drug and outweighs the risk. That is until now.

He said if I were to get on a plane with these issues, he would be basically writing me a prescription for a blood clot.

Those are bad.

I was told to put my feet up, stay off my feet, and to basically ‘rest’ as best I could (I’m sorry but I really hate that…I mean ALL I DO IS REST DAMMIT) while making sure Santa and his elves had fun.

We’re now into January and my ankles and legs are better, but not entirely recovered. Ok so they look like tree stumps with bruises and red splotches. I’m such a sexy beast.

But hey, I can walk on them now…where as before it HURT to go up and down stairs, make myself  a cup of tea, shower, you know…move. Yes, things are much better. But I would recommend you steer clear of Vasculitis if you can.

That being said, it just sort of comes along with the auto-immune menu of love…and now you know a bit more about my daily life.

 

*that special something could be ANYTHING related to auto-immune information. I am not a doctor, I do not claim to know a damn thing about any of this other than WHAT I AM EXPERIENCING – so please, do not take anything I say as health advice, or even slightly competent advice…talk to YOUR doctor, talk to a licensed medical professional…this is just ME and if there is one thing I have learned with my illness, it’s that I am not normal. 

The Chicken Came Before the Egg

I’ve been spending many days and nights around here researching ways to get this body of mine back into tip-top shape…and I’ve come to only one answer in defeating Lupus:

Chickens. 

Somewhere in Santa Monica, at a nice desk near the ocean, my husband just laid his sweet head down on his keyboard and is wondering when the sweet relief of death will come save him from this life of marriage to this crazy lady.

Now hear me out just a minute or three here. Or go read something else, I don’t really care.

I want the best possible food to go into the bodies of the people who live in this house. Heck, even those of you that just visit. Eggs are a great source of protein- which the doctor says I need A LOT of. The doctor also wants to see almost NO processed food, no chemicals, no dyes, no … well, nothing.

Now, shopping organic and finding recipes and all that fun grocery love is all well and good. But it sure is missing that certain…JAZZ HANDS quality. The one that makes me want to leap out of bed (and mark these words- I WILL LEAP OUT OF BED SOMEDAY) and get a great and healthy breakfast going for the family and myself. You know, after I have already worked out during sunrise and walked the dog and packed lunches and sat quietly with my tea and book, awaiting the husband and children to come downstairs from their slumber.

Yes, THAT Is how I plan on starting my life over once my body cooperates. Early morning exercise! Nothing but fresh, home cooked food! Total organization!

And where does it all start? The chicken, or the egg?

THE CHICKEN OF COURSE!

Which means I want a chicken coop and chickens. But I’d like the magical kind that get along with my dog as though they are best friends and have zero nasty stink …oh, and clean up after themselves.

See…I already have the cute ranch hand:

Howdy

So really I would just like cute, fluffy, egg producers in my yard that cause zero issues and require zero care. OH…and the home owner’s association won’t mind or notice.

My daughter would be so so so happy if we got chickens. My son will freak out initially but only for about two minutes. Then he will freak out about all the other animals around who might hurt the chickens and then we’ll have to fortify the chicken coop with military grade fencing. But THEN it will be ok.

The point is. I want fresh eggs. I want fresh air. I want clean water. I want food that does not come out of a box. I want the chemicals OUT of the systems of my family (and your family’s systems too) and I want us all to live like we were meant to live: naturally.

Well, naturally within reason. I still need some take-out here and there and a good mani/pedi.

I’m not saying let’s start a commune in my very tiny backyard or anything (although that’s another idea I have for when this whole chicken thing doesn’t pan out) I’m just saying I think half of the reason my body is not fighting as hard as I want it to fight against this disease is a lifetime of food-flavored food being shoveled into my system. No really…FOOD-FLAVORED FOOD instead of fruits and veggies and meat that has no FAKE ingredients hidden inside.

We’re trying things out over here. It’s not easy. We like our junk food and we like our packaged food – but we are working on buying the cans of veggies with organic stuff inside and totally LESS sodium and with NONE of the things on the label we can’t pronounce. Or that Count Waffles CAN pronounce but he heard it on ‘How the Universe Works.’

Back to the chickens.

Who wants to buy me a chicken coop, chickens, and then come take care of them for me? I just want to pet them and eat their eggs.

Also…if the HOA asks, we got a TENT and that noise is simply our silly dog Nicky doing his new IMPRESSION of a chicken. We’re training him to be a Hollywood dog.

Totally plausible. We live in LA.

…And Some of You Just Eat Chicken Soup

I just want to get a cold like a normal person.

They call me...LUPUS QUEEN!!! Able to save organs with asshole steroids & love my family while drugged!

I want my husband to be annoyed I whined and whined until he said ‘FINE’ and picked up yet more tissues AND more chicken noodle soup, even though clearly all I have is a COLD and I can go get them my own damn self.

All I do have is a cold. I CAN go get things my own damn self.

But then again, I can’t.

My doctors did not even want me in urgent care- too many germs. The ER? Hell no…WAAAAAAY too many germs.

Despite me feeling strong and despite my overall health improving greatly- my immune system needs to be destroyed every so often so they can rebuild it stronger, better, bigger, more advanced….we have the technology! (Did I mention it’s 3:23am and I haven’t slept in days thanks to steroids and new drugs to take care of this cold/virus/thingy?)

Anyway, this time around our timing was off and that miscalculation has cost me dearly. Imagine being the ONLY ONE in the house – where elementary school children live – who gets PINK EYE.

In other words, if it’s going around you can BET I will be catching it. Leaving me in this horrible position of feeling strong enough to maybe help out around the house a bit….throw in a load of laundry, pick up some toys, disinfect that tea-cup I touched. However, every time I use energy I sacrifice precious healing power.

My cold, of course, caused a nice ear, nose, and throat infection which got into my chest and caused a nice upper respiratory infection which they either like to call ‘walking pneumonia’ to scare you or I now have walking pneumonia. But I’ve had that shot (flu and the pneumonia one) and at the first sign of any issues I get a nice bed at Henry Mayo Newhall Memorial up the road.

But you see how all of this just started with me having a cold? One normal, stupid, booger filled, run-of-the-mill cold?

Kids are on edge worried I’ll land up that road in that bed. Husband is taking it well, knowing we’re only at ‘Defcon 1’ as it was dubbed tonight.

I’m on oodles of antibiotics and for the first time in two years I feel like I JUST HAVE  A COLD.

STAND DOWN PEOPLE.

But Lupus is a cruel bitch that way. Auto-immune disorders are all sneaky sirens. They have you believe you just have a typical runny nose and cough and !BAM! suddenly you are occupying that bed up the road as they work to get the infection out of your lungs instead sitting on the couch in your pj’s playing new video games Santa brought.

So I will keep taking these antibiotics and resting on my couch. I have a date with a nine-year old to play some video games this morning.

Then later today this seven-year old and I have a rematch:

Whatever Mom, I'm going to kick your chess butt #allhailhala

And if the stars align, this hot stud and I will do some quality napping just to make sure EVERYONE stays healthy…

#2013 @aaronvest kicked in the new year napping all day. I made dinner & did laundry happily. About time #suckitlupus

It beats that bed up the road by far. That stuffy place doesn’t even let my youngest come in…

Yes I did this to @nickythepup

All for a cold.

2013: The Year of NOW

Cue the confetti…

Happy New Year!!! Welcome 2013!

2013 is the year I reclaim my life. It is time to become a better ME, with Lupus and with everything I have.

I know New Year’s resolution can be lame…but this one is different. I’m actually on the brink of a breakthrough. Stop me if you’ve heard THAT before…

You see, there are people who live with this disease (and the many other diseases that decided to come along with it) and spend their life in and out of the hospital (been there) and undergo surgery after surgery (been there) losing organ after organ (been there).

But I’ve decided I’m done.

Yes, just decided.

It helps we seem to have found the right drug cocktail, even if we haven’t found the right schedule. It helps that I have been pumping good plasma into my veins for a year. It helps that when I physically feel better, I can actually sense the change in my body, in my mind, and even in my rest.

When you live with pain for so, so long you certainly notice when it is gone. But you notice EVEN MORE when it comes back.

I spent 2012 doing some very important things…learning my limits. Learning how to balance all the things I need to get done, all the things I want to get done, all the things I just can not do.

That may sound so simple to you, but it’s really hard for me.

Now I need to learn how to make the most of my new normal and make sure I am being the best wife and mother I can be to those who have sacrificed more than they should to make sure my life is comfortable and to make sure I had the space I needed to figure all this out.

Appropriately the my family we spent New Years’ Eve putting together a puzzle. Most of New Year’s Day too. It’s still not done. It may never be done. But every so often now we walk by and add another piece to the finished product. Slowly. Adding to the new normal of DONE.

Starting #nye with a candy puzzle because we know how to party HARD

Because eventually this puzzle will be done. It may always be a puzzle. It may always be in our home, in my body..but it doesn’t always have to take up the whole kitchen table. It doesn’t always have to be the major factor is EVERY DECISION.

Nope. It’s time to reclaim our lives for US. We’ll carve out a place for Lupus and all its luggage, but it gets a corner or a closet and we all move on with it in tow.

2013: The Year of NOW

…it’s time.

One Helluva Lesson For Christmas

10:45pm on Christmas Eve and tears were streaming down my face as I helplessly drove around our neighborhood trying to WILL a major store to be open.

Every single emotion leading up to 12/24/2012 at nearly 11pm was pouring out of me. The illness. The pain. The toll on my family. The issues going on in my life unrelated to Lupus, my inability to work, my Aunt being sick, an Aunt I was missing terribly who I lost the year before, other family being too far away…every emotion just exploded and I had to pull over into an empty parking lot to cry.

The lights of the Toys R Us sign in a dark parking lot are depressing as hell when you are the only Mom sitting under them.

Only a few moments before, as my husband and I unpacked the sea of boxes delivered to our door, did I realize the NUMBER ONE gift my daughter asked for was missing. The tracking for said package showed it was ‘in transit’ and ‘should be at your door.’ Yet there was no confirmation it was delivered and no trace of it once it entered the shipping facility on December 12th and was scanned.

The one thing she asked Santa for. The one thing I knew I ordered well in advance and OF COURSE was in one of the gazillion boxes sitting there. Because why would I check? That would be way too smart. This was NOT HAPPENING.

It was also the one thing I totally OVERPAID to get because she wanted a very specific color.

I opened the door to my car and threw up under the Toys R Us sign, which was now turned off. Leading me to believe there was an employee lurking somewhere. And I was entirely prepared to bribe this magic employee with everything in my checking account to let me in to buy a Furby.

A glimmer of hope sprang forth as the puke came out- my brain realizing the lights clicked off means SOMEONE IS THERE but not reaching my stomach in time, which was convinced that after months of shopping online (so as not to setback my recovery) and planning and planning (so as not to overdo it and setback my recovery) I had failed to orchestrate the perfect Christmas for my kids.

Now understand this about my kids and read this with every bit of heart I am going to tell you with: they do not deserve an ounce of whatever God or Goddess I pissed off to turn my life into this series of now comical and always tragic events. The karma or payback or whatever it is that is messing with Aaron and I can not and WILL NOT be bequeathed unto them.

They are too kind. They are too good. They have been through too, too much for small kids.

I would shake hands with the devil himself to ensure they never have to endure another day of the hell chronic illness and hospitals and treatment and surgeries have given me. Sign me up. Send over my soul.

When I realized that toy was missing something in me cracked. And it was not pretty. Life can fuck with me but it will not fuck with my kids. Sure they will have their own experiences that will be successes and failures but it will sure as hell NOT be tied to this life I juggle so they don’t even see the cotton ball and bandage when they walk in the door from school and I have had treatment. I won’t allow it.

Of course there was no employee magically turning on and off lights at the toy store, and I then spent the next 20 minutes driving in a circle around our town crying more but plotting how to GIVE HER that #1 Santa gift without a shred of disappointment.

After a few harebrained ideas I came home, puffy eyed, with a plan where she gets to pick out the color of her toy via her Uncle and Aunt’s gift card – who live on an extremely remote island and can’t possibly find the very rare one she wants – the very moment the stores open. I changed the gift card to read ‘FOR YOUR FURBY’ and shot an email off to my brother and sister-in-law to warn them and then tried like hell to let it go. I had to.

This had to work and it would work because as my son keeps reminding me, ‘Nothing is perfect, ever…and that is a good thing.’

I probably sound insane as you read this. Putting so much stock in a gift from Santa. Wanting everything to be just right when I know it never is. But understand chronic illness is a lifetime of hoping you are doing enough for those you love despite your shortcomings. What I wouldn’t have given to be one of those Moms or Dads who can just go from store to store to store until you find just what you needed on your list and then off you go to another for that other thing.

I’m lucky if I can handle two stores in one day and when I do, don’t expect dinner to be cooked or laundry done or dishes cleaned. There will be take-out and me sniffing shirts before school hoping for a clean pile while nursing swollen ankles and bruises from toes to knee because I dared manage to get groceries and medication on the same day.

Don’t feel sorry for me though, that’s also not the point of this post. This is my life and I am very happy to be LIVING it…I’m throwing this all down in words because I realized that Lupus or no Lupus I wasn’t the only parent or sibling or partner or what not frantic over something this holiday season, knowing FULL WELL we need not be.

Which I could tell was on the tip of both my husband and my father’s tongues as I left the house Monday night but neither dare speak or try and stop me. I was in that non-rational, can not be talked to or reasoned with, get the hell out of my way I will throw a brick through a window and jump through cut glass and sell my body to come home with this fucking toy mode. Know that mode? Been there? Maybe not over a toy but maybe something else? Yeah…you know what I mean.

Of course they were right. Of course I have the most optimistic, sensitive, and sweetest children on the planet who agonized over what they should give each other as siblings so very much it took my son an hour and 27 minutes to pick out three charms. Three charms that he knew his sister would love and that meant something to both of them. Yes, my son spent that long to make sure his sister would be happy and to show his love in charm form to her. And my sweet daughter? Months ago bought her brother a meteorite from a museum she couldn’t afford and has been giving me $1 per week for months to pay me back. Because ‘Mom he just has to have this, it came from space and I can be the one to give him something from space.’

Both frequently checked on the gifts they bought to make sure everything was still in order and when they finally unveiled…well….

Our children just gave each other the gifts they bought for one another. I'm trying not to sob #mykidsrock

…and here I was agonizing and making myself sick over a gift my daughter would receive, just not on the day she expected. She bought the gift card tale with gusto and can’t wait to get the exact one she wants. Her Uncle and Aunt are now heroes (you are welcome) and I am reminded once again that YES life has changed, but life is NOT over. LIFE is not DONE with me and I’m going to still screw up and kick ass and even learn that no matter how much I plan, SHIT STILL HAPPENS. And MOST of it has NOTHING to do with LUPUS! Imagine the hell out of that?!

I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself to ‘make up’ for these imaginary things I swear my kids and husband go through because I am getting an IV all day or because all the pills on the counter scare them. This is now LIFE. For better or for worse- and the guilt needs to leave as do the constant coddling and freak outs because I can’t make that field trip or I can’t volunteer in class or I can’t have that playdate at our house because I’m just too tired today.

It ends now. Before I take what is wonderful about everything that has happened and the bonds growing tighter and the love growing even stronger and I ruin it with trying to make everything ‘perfect.’

Because nothing is perfect. And that really is a good thing. It means we just need to be us, and I need not try to make things happier or more active or anything other than what we can handle and what we WANT to handle and do.

And you know what? I employed that outlook all day and had the best damn Christmas with my family. It was us. It was casual and laid back and odd and silly and surprising and filled with the one thing I know we get right every single time: love. That part has not changed and that part requires me to only be me. Filled with heart for this little family of mine that teaches me more and more every day about what it means to love and what it means to truly be a family.

Happy Holidays to you all. May you love hard and enjoy the pure magic in every moment of life. It won’t ever, ever be perfect, but it sure as hell will be real.

38

My 38th birthday was this week.

There is something rather peaceful about getting older and not caring as much when birthdays pass. Don’t get me wrong. I love gifts and attention more than anyone, but very honestly this time around I was entirely fine with getting the kids to school, doing laundry, and going to the DMV.

Yup, I spent my birthday at the Department of Motor Vehicles. The land of HAPPY.

But I awoke to homemade cards and homemade movie/date night tickets from my husband and kisses and hugs and I was entirely content.

Look what I got for my birthday! (Ignore the bad spelling) lol

A far cry from my 35th birthday where some of you joined us in Vegas in the Marilyn Monroe suite at Planet Hollywood where we lived it up until an ambulance was called and security *might* have gotten involved.

What a difference a few years and few hundred doctor appointments make.

You know what has been making me even MORE content? Celebrating my husband’s big 4-0 milestone. And continuing to celebrate throughout the week and weekend. It’s ridiculously fun to lavish someone and smother them with everything from big gifts to big parties. Putting a huge grin on his face makes me even more at peace and I get the feeling he’s juuuuuuuuuust fine with that.

I spent the rest of my week in treatment, recovering from Disney despite the wheelchair. Trying to keep up with the kids and their final two weeks of school before break. The holiday shows, the final projects. The parties, the teacher gifts. I know I’m forgetting something. I always am.

But with the chaos always comes the calm. Once again our family has been tried in ways I could have never have seen coming. A very ill aunt. A cyclone. A mundane broken kitchen sink. A speeding ticket. Parking ticket. Vasculitis, shoulder surgery, even multiplication tables gave us reasons to cringe and hug. Long story, don’t ask.

But we keep on keeping on. Maybe once again hugging a bit tighter. Snuggling a bit longer before bed. Having a harder time saying goodbye at the school room door. At the front door on the way out. Relieved as everyone walks back in for the day.

So while yes, I turned 38 this week without much craziness or pomp, it was exactly as it should be. I was content to be growing old with, hopefully, some grace. But more importantly, with those I love.

Cooperation.

I haven’t felt much like writing. I haven’t felt much like doing anything, really.

My husband had surgery on his shoulder over the Thanksgiving holiday and it brought back every memory in the world for me when I was down and out after three surgeries and my eventual Lupus diagnosis. Except this time I was able to at least be the caregiver, instead of being the one laying in the hospital bed.

Of course he didn’t need to stay inpatient and he’s already back to work. The differences between us are like night and day. I’m so happy he’s healing well and I’m so happy his recovery is going smoothly. We deserve at least that.

The kids have handled it well and I’m so very proud of them. I think the only one having issues is MOM. Being the over-emotional, idiot I am. PTSD? Who knows.

I want this nightmare put past us so badly I’m having real trouble focusing on taking things slow. I want it all NOW and I want it all OVER WITH. As my body slowly gets better, and fatter from the steroids, I want my old body back IMMEDIATELY and I want life as it was. Exactly as it was.

I’m willing to make a few compromises. I’ll slow down with certain things. I will. I’ve learned to listen to my body. I’ve learned to eat better. I’ve learned to do a lot. But I want these extra 100lbs OFF ME NOW and I want to feel like a human being again.

I do not feel human. At all. Every day is just a waiting day. I wait for my real life to start over again.

Sure I try to live in the now and enjoy moments with the kids and with my husband but mostly I wait and wait and wait for my body to come back and my life to come back. Why I equate the two, I’m not sure. Other than it’s where my comfort zone seems to be. I’m uncomfortable physically. Rolling over. Washing. You name it. I’m uncomfortable in public. I feel like myself on the inside, and then wonder why people treat me differently…and then remember I don’t look the same on the outside.

I see myself in the mirror and I look hideous. I am obese. I am filled with drugs that have puffed me up so awkwardly I can’t even fit into clothes that are MADE for larger women. That’s how this steroid weight comes on…wrong. All wrong.

By January 1st I hope to be off the steroids. If that is the case, I plan on creating a very strict diet with my doctor and I doing what I am allowed physically in order to get this weight off. Sadly, I have not been eating poorly. So I am scared that once off the prednisone not much will change.

I’m scared of many things.

Yes, I’ve learned to love who I am, but it’s a different kind of love. I know I can be better- healthier- because I’ve seen it. I’ve been there. I realize this drug has saved my life and I am thankful, but now I want to move on. I want the side effects gone. According to my doctor the risks have now outweighed the benefits. No pun intended.

So the drug cocktail continues to be tweaked as I continue to make progress. It’s just so slow. And the slowness is killing me worse than the disease. Two years are a long time to wait to get your life back. So I’m taking back the parts of my life I have control over.

I guess I just thought we’d be further along by now. I guess this holiday season I thought I’d be in some slinky dress ready to make my debut to the world again, running 5ks with my husband and having him show me off.

Instead I want to hide. I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed for my family. I want them to be proud of me. I WILL make them proud.

First by beating this disease and second by getting as close back to the normal ‘me’ as possible. And I swear this on my life it will happen. I’ve never been more determined. Ever.

Now to find a way to make my body cooperate.