Lookin’ Good at The Upchucky

I haven’t figured out if it is pride, shame, or a combination of both; but I detest being viewed as weak, sick, needy…pitied. It is a double-edged sword to look normal and healthy when my body can be such a deceiver as to how I feel. Usually, I love the pretense of fitting in the “normal” crowd. Sometimes I feel so lousy, hurt, or have no gas left in the tank…not even a whiff of a fume. I just want someone to understand, empathize a little, without coddling.

A week ago, I took my Sunday afternoon nap, waking up feeling decent, and proud of my 125 sugar reading. I was fixing a snack before evening church and bolused for my intended carb intake. I started feeling nauseous, creating an urgent sense of panic for me. Loose insulin stampeding in my system and unarmed with my evening Stiff Person medication…a double whammy of possible 911 scenarios…starring me, looking good.

I tried drinking a small amount of orange juice to head the renegade insulin off at the pass. My blood sugar was starting a dangerous decline. My body ambushed me. Nausea won. I collided at the pass with an upchucky wagon. After the collision, I started to feel better; so I sipped on a regular cola and had some crackers. I was dipping into the 50’s by then. Five o’clock and an hour until church.

My meds were staying down and the crackers were not in imminent projectile mode. I sucked on some hard candy while I got ready for church. My make-up survived the ordeal, so why not? I know most would question, “Why go?”

It is simple. I always hurt or feel sub par; it varies in degrees. If I allowed tolerable (key word) discomfort to deter me, I would never do anything. I had bottomed in the 40’s by the time I got to church, but I was looking well. My facade of rosy health, complete with brilliant smile, was chronic hypocrisy, especially in church. Crunching on some more hard candy, I started curving upwards in the 50 range when church was over.

Church always makes me feel good. My bout at the Not OK corral had subsided and I managed to eat a small meal. After this duel, I felt drained, but victorious. There is something special, empowering for me, in overcoming minor setbacks, while lookin’ good.

“He had a marvelous sense of the absurd. He could see right through pretense and cut right to the heart of the hypocrisy of the human condition. He was a gem.”
~Mike Parker~

Copyright © 2008

The Family

Some members are known as MS; others, diabetes. There are clans with rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, or myasthenia gravis. Impressive names, tongue twisters, spelling bee stumpers, or pretty words on paper…”A rose by any other name is still a rose.” Or thorn? Whatever the diagnostic name, welcome to the inbred Mafia Family of Invisible Chronic Illness, natural crimes against healthy humanity.

The various cousins, siblings, and spouses of this large dysfunctional family share similar traits: pain, invisible disability, financial strain, social misunderstanding, and interrupted lives…to name just a few.

Some inherit chronic status genetically. Others are adopted in perverse random. In a single slow-motion, dare-to-breathe moment, the neuro’s words, “I believe you have Stiffman Syndrome,” forever changed my world. Reality rasped in a throaty Gotti, “gotcha,” “Once you are in the family, Debbie, there is no way out,” as I looked at the written SPS diagnosis on my confirmed chronic adoption. Diabetes is my underboss.

As a member of the Invisible Chronic Illness Family, I am still hoping for Elliot Ness, a cure…untouchable. For now, I deal in drugs…temporary medication deflection (if lucky) for whatever ails my SPS branch of the chronic illness family tree.

I bury my roots deep. I work on nourishing my spirit in the wellsprings of hope, determination, humor, and faith. Daily, I redefine my physical limits, always reaching. I fight back, a rebel with causes. Some of my causes: to always try, achievement is in the effort; to not let my illnesses be my identity; reaching out, giving enriches my life; to dream, laugh, love, and create my own happiness. I pray…a lot. 😉

Even though I am rebellious, “the family” refuses to disown me. I still look onward and live forward…”in spite of.”

“I have built my organization upon fear.” ~Al Capone~

“Courage is one step ahead of fear.” ~Coleman Young~

I think it is important to be involved in invisible illness awareness week. Millions are affected by an invisible illness. Living within physical limitations and the emotional expense required is not only consuming, but overwhelming at times. Not “looking sick” adds to frustration and misunderstanding not just for the “afflicted,” but also for the “affected.”

Copyright © 2008

The Impossible Dream

Man in the Arena

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”

Theodore Roosevelt

“Citizenship in a Republic,”
Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

George Foreman, at the age of 45, defeated heavyweight champion Michael Moorer “against the odds.”