Today, I found myself irresistibly fascinated by the shapes, colors and textures of the clouds as a storm front made it’s way into our local area.
They were beautiful and strange. Remarkable and wonderous. It led to conversations about the heights that certain clouds sat at and the colors that some had taken on.
It just served as a potent reminder of the wonders all around us in the natural world, in our world, if only we took the time to look.
I hope that at some juncture in your schedule, you take the time out of your day to just stop for one moment…and look. Look up. Look down. Look at all the wonders that can be found in the things that we overlook everyday.
Those things that we see but have become so much the norm that they are easily passed over. Look at the clouds or the rain. Even the soil beneath our feet and how it teems with life. How we would not be able to survive without it. How sick much of it has become…
Without these small, oftentimes considered insignificant things because of their regularity, our world but not be the amazing place that it is today so take a moment to just appreciate it.
My dad is going through radiation treatment for Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma right now. He just started to lose his hair and it’s been a really hard road for him this year. We’re Tennessee natives and it would really mean a lot for our community to show up for the good for him right now. Our family is very close and so my parents don’t have many wants so instead of raising money for them directly, I’d like to do this fundraiser my birthday this year. If you would like to donate to them directly for his treatments or needs, however, Venmo to @CMcRey. Thank you to everyone for your consideration and please be your most well. ♥️
In all of the turmoil, fear, and uncertainty, we are all facing some of our darkest days. Information is rampant and widespread, much of it helpful and some of it, unfortunately, not.
However, that’s actually not what I want to talk about today. Today, I don’t want to talk about what we need to do to keep ourselves safe and healthy no matter what the circumstance comes to. I want to talk about what we can do for each other. Obviously, I’m not saying going door-to-door. What I mean is, what we can do for each other here in this online space.
Something I hadn’t heard of yet was a support group for those not just affected by the COVID/Corona virus but for everyone. Everyone who’s dealing with this fear and uncertainty about what tomorrow might bring. I want to establish a place where anyone and everyone is free to go and talk about what their experience is. What they’re afraid of, what they’re dealing with and also a place that we can go to share this time with others and share support with our fellow human beings.
No matter where you’re from, what borders exist between us, or other lines that we may draw between people and places.
So, here on Little Journeys Everywhere, it’s my mission to create a place where all of this can come together. Where all of us can come together. Because right now, the situation is such that we need each other now more than ever before. We need to support, understand, and share with each other more than ever before, possibly in our history.
It’s my prayer that this sort of support group will help many of us, my own family included, get through the heartache, loneliness, depression, and isolation that can come from illness, distance, and quarantine. So we are going to be launching a social media network support system just for you so that we can all come to the other side of this together.
There is another side to this and we will get there.
Have no doubt about that.
Come join us as we launch the Before The Dawn: A Corona Virus Support Group and leave your stories, testimonials, or words of hope, comfort, and support. It will also be a place where we can put resources and stories of hope for those who need them. Before the Dawn is a community that will be open to all, unmonetized, free of politics, fingerpointing, or bullying. It will be a place that, despite quarantines or borders, everyone can come together no matter your level of affectedness.
I implore those of you who have counseling training or experience to reach out and offer your aid whether it is in Before the Dawn or anywhere else!
Before the Dawn will be on Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram, and will be linked on our Little Journeys pages. Look for those in the next 24 to 48 hours. The Facebook page can already be found here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/539367610029409/ .
Here on the blog main, I will also be posting ways for you and your families (especially our poor kids) to get through times of quarantine as well as other resources to offer all of us hope and just a little bit of security until we can reach that other side.
I had been sinking silently beneath the brilliant blue-green waves of a storybook when I was brought sharply back to reality by a pointed order. Disapproval rained down on me from above and embarrassment swirled inside of me with my speeding pulse.
I felt…hot. Too warm and too enclosed. Like my skin was stretched too thin, too tightly around me. My mind felt like a clogged garbage disposal, everything too bright and too loud all ground up inside of me with nowhere to go. Every fiber and texture scratched and tore at me, driving into my brain with every touch. I couldn’t process it all. Everything was coming in all together leaving me drowning in sensation as my mind and body we’re left incapable of tuning out the slightest thing.
Florescent lights above flickered and hummed. I flickered too, coming in and out of myself in pulsing waves.
Out of myself.
Out of myself.
Out.
I wanted out. Out of it all. Out of this room with too many eyes and too much everything. With the scratchy chairs and the incessant flickering. I wanted to run away, screaming for the outside that was quiet, warmth, and open spaces. Open skies and maybe, just maybe, one day I could fly away from the mess of me that it all had made inside.
All I wanted to do was pretend I was somewhere else. To spend as much time as I could pretending to be in this magical, wonderful place where the world was just…different.
A world that was all my own.
Free of all of the noise, complexities, and the constant crush of people all around. My sister at my side gave me a nudge. A silent frown asked, ‘are you okay?’.
A shake of my head.
No. No, I was not at all okay.
My hands were shaking, eyes burning, stomach churning and mind reeling. But most of all? I was…scared. Scared of fucking everything because everything was too much. Everything was too close, too rough on my skin, too bright, and too painful. People’s brushes against me in a crowd were like electric shocks. Sound poured into my ears with all of the gentleness of a tsunami.
There was a tight, hard knot in the back of my throat that was unmoving and defiant.
On the outside, though… On the outside, I had to be…Absolutely. Fucking. Still.
It was as if no one around me could possibly see the storm on my insides if I stayed as still and silent as a statue.
If I didn’t move, they wouldn’t notice I was here.
During moments like this, you know that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. But its as if your brain only knows fight or flight in that moment. All you can think about is how to escape, whether it’s lashing out at someone to get them to leave you alone or literally bolting from the trigger.
You just want to get out of the public eye as quickly as you can before someone sees the last cognitive functions you possess crumble to nothing. Before they see you break into girl-sized pieces.
You’re a sheer, wet piece of silk wrapped tightly around a mass of brambles and thorns, trying desperately to hold it all in before your skin tears apart.
Meltdowns are terror and confusion and pain and exhaustion all in one. Worst of all, though, is the shame that comes afterward.
The horrified embarrassment.
All of the ‘you’re a grown ass woman, you should be able to handle this!’ or ‘you’re not a child anymore! Act like a fucking adult and calm down!‘. Sometimes even, ‘Why is she even here if she can’t handle a simple interaction?’ or ‘And she wants to be around kids? Should she even be allowed?’
That one always gets me. As if, just because I have different sensitivities or wiring, that I’m somehow incapable of caring for a child. That I have no right to possibly pass on my Autism. That I need someone there to oversee me so I don’t accidentally put the kid in the oven instead of the bassinet or something. Ridiculous.
Children are simple. Understanding. Accepting.
It’s the adults that are the problem.
God forbid we have to leave a place or stop an activity because of a meltdown. The shame is nigh unbearable then. All I want to do after is hide under my blankets alone and cry. Sometimes I would.
The older I get, the easier it is to manage. I suppose that is, in large part, due to the three years of Occupational Therapy, two different anti-depressants (even though they are actually prescribed for nerve pain and gastroparesis), and two different rounds in therapy to help me learn the coping skills I have today.
I don’t work anymore, which I’ve found to be an indescribable blessing that many women aren’t able to claim. I can stay home and sink into my special interests, spend time with my favorite small person, and hide away from the worst of my triggers. Working directly with the public had destroyed my ability to “pass” or to pretend to be neurotypical. It took me the entirety of my pregnancy and then some to get to a point where I was going more than a week without meltdowns or panic attacks.
If you are neurodiverse, retail is not for you. Stay very, very far away.
But, despite it all, I got there. I got there thanks to my amazing medical team. I got there thanks to my phenomenal family and support system.
Now, I’ve finished all of those years in OT, with my wonderful therapist, as well as three stints in physical therapy. I’m as healthy as I can be given my rather poor health and I like to think that I’m thriving.
Yes. I’m thriving.
However, not everyone is. There are so many of us out there.
Women with Autism like me.
Most don’t have the blessings of a partner who’s income allows them to stay home. Many don’t even understand why they’re so different, why doing and being is sometimes so, so hard. It’s getting better, slowly year by year, but it isn’t enough.
For every girl who goes through their lives unaware and so hurt and confused by her own self, that’s a failure. It’s a wrong committed that yearns to be righted. Obviously, we can’t identify and diagnose people. That’s for the doctors. What we can do is to be understanding. If you see someone struggling in a situation, even if you can’t understand why their upset or reacting the way they are, be a friend. Step in if you can.
Choose kindness over reproach.
Helping over commenting.
Affirmation over annoyance.
Acceptance over Awareness.
When you live that way, all the time trying to pass as “normal”. You get so very good at mirroring. Mimicking and blending in, always being on guard to adjut your behavior and mannerisms so that you seem just like everyone else. You create a mask, you change your colors to the same shade as the crowd. Eventually, you realize that you’ve passed so well and for so long that you don’t remember who you are underneath it all. When you try to stop, you realize that you can’t
It can take years and years to dismantle the mask, to find your own brilliant hues and shades again.
Let’s work towards a world where girls and boys, men and women, anyone and everyone, where no one ever has to feel the need to pass again.
Choose patience and compassion. Help us bring the girls lost beneath the masks back into the light. Help bring the lost girls home.
It’s taken me a long time before I felt ready to talk about this, but I think I’m finally at a point that I can get it down.
About a month ago, maybe a little more, I had an allergy attack. I don’t even know what triggered it.
I was in the bathroom and I started coughing. I didn’t think anything of it. It’s cold and allergy season, you know? But then the coughing wouldn’t stop. My lungs felt…itchy almost. My chest was getting tight, as if I didn’t have enough room to pull in a full breath.
Or even a half breath.
The coughing got worse. My throat hurt with how rough they were coming.
I couldn’t breathe.
There was this sudden thought that it might be a really good idea to sit. I’d been holding on to the side of the shower and just slid down to the floor right there.
I took the fast acting allergy tablets my Allergist instructed. I’d even taken benadryl just in case. The coughs, the shortness of breath, came still, unimpeded.
Daddy Maxwell finally ran to get my EpiPen. It was the first time I would need to use it and I debated if I was just thinking of it too seriously. Maybe…Maybe I was just being dramatic?
Every breath I managed came out wheezing, grasped desperately between hacking coughs. I gagged on it, nothing but spittle falling onto the bath mat.
The sting of the needle piercing my upper thigh rang through the haze. My head spun with dizziness when I turned to look back at him in the doorway.
He thought it was a panic attack but I knew better. I’d had panic attacks before and never like this. Never one that made me afraid like this.
Because I was. I was afraid.
I was f**king terrified.
Reminders of falling oxygen levels and how it can take only a short time of too little air to the brain to cause permanent damage.
My airways began to open again. Breathing came easier and easier. The coughing slowed. It didn’t feel like I had lungs filled with tar anymore. With easier breaths came thought and reasoning back to the fore. The fear began to set in. My Allergist’s instruction to always seek immediate emergency care after an Epi use danced with newfound anxiousness within me.
‘Should I go to the hospital?‘ I wondered.
Maybe Daddy Maxwell was right though. Maybe it was just panic and I would have been totally fine. What if I was just being silly? Making too big a deal out of it. Maybe it would be fine.
Maybe I would be…be fine.
I raised my arms to have him help me up.
‘Bed, please…‘ I just wanted to lay down somewhere dark and quiet. Somewhere safe.
My whole body was shaking. My shoulder twitched with the Epi rush to my muscles.
The tightness in my chest had eased but still remained a pressure on my lungs. The coughing still came every minute or so.
Maybe it was stupid not to go to the hospital. My best friend, Rae, would be furious with me. No doubt my therapist would be angry too. But maybe it was okay! Maybe it would all be fine!
Maybe it wouldn’t be.
I was so tired. So, so bone-deep exhausted. My head throbbed and all I could imagine doing was laying down. Letting myself drift into sleep for a little while.
Stronger than the exhaustion, though…was the fear.
My hands started shaking, but not because of the injection. Tears started to fall before I could even try to control them.
‘What’s wrong?’
A grinding cough before…
‘I don’t want to die this way…’
I began to sob and Daddy Maxwell came back to my side. He stood so awkwardly as if unsure what he should do or where his place should be. My tears did not help the weight on my chest but gently, he helped ease me to lying down before I could start wheezing again.
I remember when Little ran in. I was afraid for her to see me like that, to see me struggling…clawing for breath in a fight against my own body. Yet, in that moment, all I wanted to do was hug her. To kiss her.
What if not going to the hospital was the wrong thing? What if I went to sleep and didn’t wake back up? What if I started coughing again and we didn’t make it to the hospital in time?
I gave her a hug and a kiss, told her I loved her, and Daddy Maxwell sent her from the bedroom in a hushed whisper.
‘You aren’t going to die.’
How could he know? How could he be certain?
We agreed that if I started coughing again we would go. He let me lay down in the cool quiet of the bedroom. The anxiety, unfortunately, did not go.
I was petrified to fall asleep. Terrified that my airways would close again and I would choke on my own vomit or something similarly horrifying. I’d never been afraid of death before. To me, it had simply been a transition to a new form rather than a goodbye. A metamorphosis rather than a loss.
When standing down the very real fear of your own, though…it’s a little more difficult to face it with such peace.
‘Embrace it‘ came a voice suddenly from within me, compassionate and silky.
Sweet and smooth like some exotic chocolate.
Why this didn’t alarm me, I couldn’t say, but in that moment, I didn’t think to question it. Even now, sitting here and typing this, the thought just doesn’t feel important.
Strangely, a warm calm spread over my mind in that instant. It reminded me of dipping your head beneath water, how all of the sound smooths out and dims.
I drifted quickly into sleep and woke two hours later, alive if not somewhat pensive about the experience.
As a chronic illness patient, I made my advanced directive ages ago as a preparation for that final event, whenever it should occur. This experience made me rethink the plans that I had made then.
Where would Little Maxwell’s place be in the events of my death? Would she even have a place? What would help her heal the best after I was gone?
Have you ever considered what your final wishes are? What do you picture your ideal, ‘good death’ looking like? What role would you want your loved ones to play?
It’s a difficult thing to think about but in the event that you begin to transition into death, an advanced directive can make a world of difference to your family and friends. Would your spouse or partner be able to access the funds they would need to live on and pay for your funeral? What funeral would you like to have?
The stress of providing and paying for a funeral and burial that they feel is respectful and worthy of you can be a massive, massive weight on your loved ones.
These aren’t easy things to think about let alone talk about with your partner or family but we have to. It is so important to have these things in order when you go. Wouldn’t it be easier to go to your final rest, knowing that your wishes are understood and your family is taken care of? It’s something to think about. After all, you never know when you could get into an accident or even just start choking for seemingly no freaking reason.
I’m not bitter or annoyed at all.
Nope. Not a bit.
That was my terrifying experience with anaphylaxis recently. For more on advanced directives, the Ask A Mortician YouTube channel has a great set of videos on practical death advice such as low cost funeral options, how to talk to your loved ones about death, etc. that I will link below! I hope none of you ever have to experience anything similar to what I did but if you do, the ass-chewing I got afterward can confirm: Go to the f**king hospital.
So as many of you who follow my blog here may know, I am a journeyer within the dark unknown wilds of several lifelong, chronic, and debilitating illnesses. I take more medication than I can even stomach on some days. Most of the time, I’m able to accept it and keep going, just keep on keeping on. Admittedly, I’m a bit too much to handle sometimes with how cheery and active I can be! But I like it that way. It makes up for the days when I’m very much…not.
The last two weeks (as of writing this at least), have been rough for me.
There has been sickness. There have been tears. There has been despair and heartache. This poem started to come to me as a form of self-expressive free writing during this period. Just like that famous quote says, I sat down at my keyboard and opened a vein. Figuratively.
What came forth bled out here on the screen in words and fragments, life and breath, thoughts and prayers. It was originally to be called Digging Your Heels In Deep at its start, but by the beginning, it just didn’t seem to fit right anymore.
A Heart Contested
I know why you’re here. In this somber silence.
I can see you. Here. Here in this quiet place.
You don’t belong here though. You think you do But you’re wrong.
You feel empty. But I can see you Here.
Your nails bite into palms As you claw for breath. You pull your pieces up around you like a cloak Against the world. An armor against it all.
Barbs. They are simple to swat away. Worse than those all, Cutting deeper than despair, Is the lack. The silence.
They…ignore you. You feel like nothing. Just a breath in the maelstrom. A wisp of extinguished self. The ghost seen through the smoke Of a snuffed out candle flame.
You are wrong, you know.
These dark days will soon pass into the West. They wash away. Like you wish you could. Wash it all down the drain Until there’s nothing left but gleaming bone. Nothing left to care.
To care so, so fucking much.
This shadow too will light, Even though this gloom obscures Oppresses from every side And every angle.
You can make it through. You are stronger than you know, Than anyone can realize. The secret power you hold inside Of your tiny, helplessly beating heart, Will outstrip all of the night that Smothers in from all around.
You are the light that carries through the pitch. Tenebrae crushes in on you But it will not overcome.
Your hands may be shaking but Your foundation is strong. Neither will you crumble Beneath all of the worlds Cold Crumbling Decaying Wrongs.
I hope all of you were able to take something from this though I don’t pretend to know what it is or should be. I think that’s how art is suppose to be though. It’s a lot like watching your baby grow into a child. One day they are being nestled snuggly into your arms and you’re silently promising them you’ll never let them go. Then the next, you’re watching them climb a tree, jump from the third porch step so proudly, or take off on their bike all alone. You watch them dare to dream and become day by day someone so wonderful, so utterly and completely more than you could ever imagine.
I guess, in that line, if they say that children are an imitation of their parents and that art is the imitation of life, being a mother is the best way that art has imitated in my life. After all, my daughter, my treasure, my gift, is my greatest masterpiece of all.
Seven for breakfast and seven before bed. An EpiPen, rescue inhaler, a cream and always, always are the hospitals, specialists, and side effects. Special diets and surgeries.
But I’m alive. I’m walking. I’m writing. I’m breathing clearly. I’m spending time outside with my beautiful baby girl and I’m coherent and awake enough to watch her grow more everyday. I give thanks everyday for my pharmacy. For my medical team. For my family who is my greatest support, my solid ground.
My body may be sick, but I am so blessed!
‘The bad days may come but let it be known!
That I can find joy above and below.
I can find peace in the midst of disease.
In my skin, in my blood, these pills are not me.
My name is not Sickness, I do declare!
I challenge the shamers, from everywhere!
So what’s it to you if I need these to live?
Your words are like rain falling down through a sieve.
I am so much more than medications and pain,
You may not see it, your loss is my gain.
I have joy, peace and gladness in me!
You see only pills but my heart is a sea!
Hello to all on this rainy, dreary day (as of my writing this at least!)! I have been fighting long and hard on the battlefields of chronic illness for several years now. Even before I knew what it was, I just explained away the pain and bore it as well as I could. Today on this cold wintry day, we’ve had bursts of sun light up our life periodically as if to personally spite the rain itself. Or perhaps in a delicate dance with it instead? Who can speak as to the nature of nature, after all?
But this bipolar weather reminded me of my own struggles with my body. A body that, at times, literally attacks itself, using my own immune system as a weapon against me.
What a bitch.
The title has been something that stuck with me for more than two years now. ‘What do we do when the tears fall?‘ It was a query spoken from the lips of a girl that went through the same battle I have. Another soldier fighting at the front lines who emboldened herself, taking up the fallen banner of our fight even when she didn’t have to. It was a war she fought victoriously, triumphantly.
Until she didn’t.
She lost her life last year. Her loss echoed and slammed hard through the chronic illness community and all of those whose lives she had touched and changed for the better. Our tribe of soldiers rippled and buckled under the weight of her absence but rather than breaking beneath it…we hardened. We steeled ourselves and fought back against our conditions, our diseases, more furious than ever before.
She used her life to lead others in this fight, to spread awareness in any way she could, to help others new to diagnosis or those seeking one. She gave answers and direction when many of us were lost in the wilds and the night. She was a light to so, so many of us and even now, I think of her often.
So, this piece is dedicated to Jaquie Beckwith who lost her battle in this war on the 29th of April, 2019. Her best friend and fellow soldier has taken up Jaquie’s fallen banner and her husband, Judd, has helped to keep her shop up and running so that those who Jaquie touched are still able to help her family and were able to help cover her end of life expenses. Please see the bottom of the page for links to Jaquie’s channel, pages and to The Raw Life, who helps us all to continue on and carry her beautiful legacy on with us.
Jaquie and her service pup, Harlow.
What Do We Do When The Tears Fall?
What do we do when the tears fall? And fall and fall, I ask of you? When hunger pains and heartache reigns Raining over me and you.
Oh what a dream that it would be! If I were to wake up next to you, And smile and stand without helping hand No aid or pills to get me through.
What if it were all just an illusion? Just a dream within a dream? I’d leave this chair and leave these wheels. My body scrubbed to white, to clean.
I would say goodbye to doctors To ERs, to nerve pain. To side effects and all the rest, To memory loss, it’s wax and wane.
I wouldn’t miss another day, Unless I wanted to. There goes the shame, the disappointment Within me and within you.
But I can’t have that life, that’s true, Though I do my very best. To wear a smile to cover the cracks To steel myself for every test.
My spirit is indomitable, Through dis-ease and disease. I see the sun on a far horizon, Light reaching through the grim levies.
This too may not ever pass, Vile vials at each blood draw. But my disease does not define me! I am my own marshall law.
My voice is but a whisper, Yet it’s cradled gently on the breeze. ‘I’m still here!‘ My voice cries out, To every shining sea.
Even on the nastiest, muddiest winter days, spent between hospital and doctors offices, there are beautiful treasures to be found if only you open your eyes to see.
Nashville has some truly stunning architecture!Playing and hanging upside down during a visit to ID at Vanderbilt’s Childrens Hospital! Play is the best way to keep kids from getting too anxious during these visits. Laughter keeps the mood light and for Little Maxwell, hanging upside down is a necessary sensory experience and is something she craves during the day. If your kids keep doing silly things like that, let them! It may be that their brains and bodies need that in that moment for crucial developmental growing.
If you are like me, and by me of course I mean someone with the dubious pleasure of a body on the fritz, you may get to the point where you need to see a Dietitian. Now contrary to popular belief, a Dietitian and a Nutritionist are not the same thing. They are very similar but the former has far more regulation and protection under law.
Well, that’s nice and all, but what is a Dietitian?
They are a sort of doctor for your food habits. Especially when it comes to diet as it relates to disease and keeping you healthy during the course of that disease. A Dietitian is someone who meets with a person to help lay out a plan and give advice on how you can get the nutrition that you need to meet your specific needs. For example, I met with my Dietitian for the first time when I was diagnosed with gastroparesis, or partial stomach paralysis. She gave me advice on how I could get the nutrients and hydration that I needed at the time even though my body couldn’t tolerate solid food very well.
Sounds pretty good, right?
A Dietitian can be extremely beneficial for people with a whole host of medical conditions and needs. If you feel like one could benefit you, then here are the first two steps to getting on the books with one of your very own!
First step: Meet with your Primary Care Doctor, Gastroenterologist, or Allergist (did I miss any?) to determine whether a meeting with a Dietitian could be a good addition to your treatment plan. If so, then they will give you a referral.
Second step: Once you have a referral, talk to the Dietitian’s office/hospital/etc and make sure that they accept your insurance. Trust me. I’ve had this be an issue with other doctors before so it’s always better to be sure before your appointment than to get all the way there and end up having to pay out of pocket without notice.
Once your referral is sent through, the Dietitian’s office should call to set up your appointment! So you’re on their books! Now what?
What do you need to do or have to prepare for your appointment?
Okay! This is, again, something I can speak on from experience and wax poetic about the time-saving efficiency and helpfulness of. The most helpful resource you can have to take to your appointment is a medical portfolio. This is something that I am planning on doing a post on very soon but, in the meantime, one of my all-time favorite Youtubers, the late Jaquie Beckwith at her channel ChronicallyJaquie, did a video on how to get answers when chronically ill. In her video, she highlights how to put together your own medical portfolio as well as some other really wonderful advice! Her video can be found here!
Having my medical portfolio on hand during doctors visits, especially new doctors, has saved valuable time over and over again. Even when it comes to being able to have a list of my medications on hand or the contact information for other specialists. It is worth its weight in Starbucks gift cards when it comes to those who may be looking at filing for disability or applying for a mobility aid, etc.
As well as your medical records that would be in your portfolio, take a list of current medications and the obligatory insurance card/photo ID combo that any typical trip to a new doctor requires.
The next thing to keep in mind for your appointment is something that we all struggle with. It’s one of the difficult parts of being a chronic illness warrior.
Be open and be honest. In fact, be frank. I think we tend to try our best not to be an inconvenience or to seem like we’re inflating our conditions when, in truth, the smallest thing could be the piece of information that they need to help you to the fullest! Don’t assume that anything is irrelevant.
The last thing you are going to need for your upcoming appointment is going to be a pen and paper! That’s right, my dears, you’re going to need to take notes like you’re back in high school Trig, okay? It will help you! There’s so much swirling around your brain all at once during appointments like those and being able to write down advice or directions you’re told and even questions you want to ask ahead of time can be so incredibly helpful.
With that note, I’m going to leave you here with a final piece of advice: If you feel like your well-being is doing poorer because of how your medical conditions affect your ability to get the nutrition or hydration that you need, make that appointment! It could make a world of difference in your quality and quantity of life.
Little Journeys Everywhere 