Flare City – Autoimmune Blister and Staph Infection

It’s no secret that I’ve been stuck in a pretty constant flare that only seems to be getting worse. The only option I have is to wait for my insurance to approve IVIG. We’ve done one steroid dose pack and I’m preparing for a second. To make things even more fun, my rheumatologist is out on maternity leave, and my insurance company was taken over by another company (it’s a contract deal). The transition hasn’t been smooth, to the point where I can’t even call and get a hold of someone at my insurance company…and I’ve even trying for six weeks.

Yes folks, you read that properly, I haven’t been able to speak to a human being at my insurance company for over six weeks.

While this may annoy the average 31-year-old insured individual, it’s definitely not the best when you’re in the middle of complex insurance approval processes. My chair is coming on Monday (if I can work out a payment plan), but IVIG still remains in limbo. My rheumatologist’s replacement suggested I switch to another practice, something that was discussed a year ago but discarded as I prefer my rheumatologist, and the university hospital nearby has a horrid chief of rheumatology (or at least did a year ago). Point is, I like my rheumatologist, she just happened to have a baby the same time period where my insurance company went to shit.

I was dealing with the increased gastroparesis symptoms, the GI bleeding, the fatigue, all of it…and then something new for me happened. I woke up last weekend, with a blister on my hand. It was just a little thing, but over the course of the day it got worse and worse. There was speculation on my part, and my friends’ parts, over what caused this blister. The best we could come up with is that my hot water bottle somehow burned me, but I didn’t wake up, and the bottle doesn’t have a leak. Moreover, I haven’t ever had an issue with it. So this blister just keeps getting worse, and eventually it takes over my entire knuckle and is working down into my hand.

I’m being eaten by a blister of unknown origin.

My friend Mike is a chef, and he informs me that I need to ignore everyone else’s advice and just pop it, throw some antibacterial ointment on it, and go about my life. I call him stupid until the thing begins to get so big I don’t have much of a choice. I was not having that thing pop in my sleep, and realistically I’m too clumsy not to bump it on something and randomly (and disgustingly) pop it unexpectedly.


I pop it, and it’s not really anything special. I throw some bacitracin on it, and call it a day. The next day it’s tender, but not abnormal, and I keep it open so it can heal, but I’m careful to keep it clean, or so I thought. The next few days are a blur because I wasn’t feeling well in general, and I had an allergist appointment. What I do remember is looking at the spot where the blister had been, and being in denial that it was infected…until the day I went to the allergist, when I realized it was scabbing over pus filled portions, and literally creating an abscess.

Double gross.

I went from my allergist to my primary care doctor, who promptly told me I was correct, and it was definitely infected. He also informed me that autoimmune blistering is an actual thing. My body literally attacked the layers of my skin, creating a blister because it just destroyed a section on my hand. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics, but by the next day it was worse. Way worse. The night I’d gotten antibiotics it had worsened to the point where I had a thin layer of skin covering what was undoubtedly my tendon.

You shouldn’t be able to watch your tendons move, and while it was disturbing, I will admit it was kind of cool. Still, I don’t recommend it.

My doctor calls after I take another dose of the antibiotics that were already making me feel like total hell. Apparently I have a multi-drug resistant staph-infection, and while it isn’t MRSA, it doesn’t matter, because I’m allergic to all drugs ending in -cillin. Yay. We’ve established it’s getting rapidly worse, because I’m taking a boatload of immune suppressing drugs, even though they’re not doing a great job at treating my Behcet’s anyhow. Fantastic universe. So I’m sent to the ER.

The ER wasn’t too busy because of the time of day I went in. They ended up wanting an MRI because there was a chance my joint and tendon were infected, but thankfully they weren’t. That would have meant being admitted and going on IV drugs for a few days. I was given an IV push of an antibiotic (but honestly can’t remember the name), and send home on Keflex. I hate Keflex because of the nausea it  causes, but I don’t have much of a choice because of my allergies. Another issue I have with Keflex is kind of weird. It makes me really drowsy, and actually gives me a fever. Not a high fever, but around 100-101, which also makes me feel crappy.

If that weren’t enough, I’ve been dealing with stress over finances, namely insurance funds, and coming up with the money for moving and medical equipment. Life should be easier when I have less rent to pay, but saving up the money to pay insurance installments three months at a time, is going to be really hard. This rough patch also doesn’t help.

Can we address the reality that my body is flaring, and there is a decent chance that the stress made it worse…and my body blistered itself. 

I’m still sort of in awe that a body is capable of doing something like that. I think most of us who deal with autoimmune issues, have moments where we’re shocked at the destructive power of our own bodies. I’ve witnessed countless things, including losing the ability to move because of hyperactive reflexes, but somehow this one blister was more intense for me. I think there was something about being able to actually see with my eyes what my body was capable of. It was as though I was in some long cold war, and then someone dropped the first bomb. I was aware I was in a flare, I knew what was going on inside of my body, but seeing it externally was a whole new game. I’ve got an oral ulcer, and a few other external signs I’m flaring, but there was something about a blister that just felt different.

My roommate has reminded me to relax, that he’s handling the movers and the moving fees, but I’ve never had to rely so much on others, and it’s definitely taking it’s toll. For now I guess it’s all I can do. IVIG can’t come fast enough.

Flare City – Autoimmune Blister and Staph Infection

ER Drama

My flare reached new levels, and once I realized I couldn’t eat or drink enough to prevent passing out, I went to the ER. Actually, I went to the ER because of that, and some persistent lower left quadrant pain and bleeding. (I also spiked a fever which was present at my doctor’s office, but ran away in time for ER arrival. Thanks.)

The first ER I went to on Tuesday. They treated me like absolute garbage. I was accused of being a drug addict even though I explained my bad veins were the result of my Behcet’s and repeated sticks and infusions. Despite them having my chart, including an admission to their affiliated hospital a little over a year ago, I was repeatedly asked what drugs I inject.

Thank for making me feel worse about myself, and for avoiding the actual reason I’m in your damn ER.

So I wait, and wait, and they put in an IV but don’t flush it…like ever…which for me means it’s borderline useless. I’m in the waiting room, with at least 40 people, and the room is made for at least half that number. People are crying, coughing, the whole plethora of possibilities. For better or worse, I’m in and out of it because I’m just so dizzy. I want IV fluids more than I’ve ever wanted them before in my life. Then, I realize I’m going to faint. I’d been waiting for over two hours at this point, I’ve asked for zofran, but wasn’t given any. I had a partial seizure, and then another, and I realize I need to tell someone, but the triage nurse keeps disappearing into the back leaving all of us sick folks to fend for ourselves (unless you’re mobile which I wasn’t).

I manage to show him the word “epilepsy” on my emergency application on my phone. (During partial seizures I often know what I want to say, but I lose the ability to say it.) He understands me, but then does nothing.

Yes folks, I tell this man via pointing that I’m going to seize, and he just sort of acknowledges me, then walks away. Thanks.

The partial intensifies and now the whole room looks funky, and I’m overcome with this sense of fear I’ve never experienced. Usually I kind of just let go and let my brain and body do what they have to do, there isn’t a point in fighting the inevitable, but this time I really fought it. Perhaps not the best idea. I wake up in the back, and I can’t get nurses and doctors back on track. I get it, I had a seizure, but I don’t remember any of it. I offer to go wait in the waiting room again. I literally was like, “Hey, I know you’re busy, I’m still woozy, but I’m not here for this, so can we just get me back to waiting for my turn?”

I ended up leaving after six hours, with no fluids, no medications other than seizure drugs, and no answers.

Wednesday rolls around and I’m sent to another ER. This time they were much nicer, but things still got shady. My lab work was normal, but per my PCM’s instructions, I got steroids. Beyond grateful! There were some hiccups, namely they were out of small IV bags so they had to push reglan slow through my IV. Between the steroids and the reglan, I got massive jitters. I was told I was being admitted and that I’d be meeting with the rheumatology team at that hospital the following day. Then things got sketchy.

I was going to be sharing a room. Not the end of the world, but not ideal when you’re immune compromised. We get to the room, and I realize sleeping with the TV on means annoying my bunkmate. I told myself I’d use my phone. As I’m trying to process all of this, I realize that the nurses are confused. The other patient is on precautions! She’s coughing in her sleep, on the other side of a flimsy curtain, and the nurses scan’t sort out why someone on reverse precautions (me) would be in a room with a patient on flu precautions (her).

I am not spending the night in the hospital with normal labs, if it means sharing a room with a flu patient!

This kicks off a debate between me and the nurses. Why am I even taking up bed space? They can’t control my nausea adequately in the hospital because there is a limit on nausea drugs in terms of dosages. I metabolize them fast, and end up constantly nauseas an annoyed by it. I’m going to be sharing a room, while vomiting, with someone who has the flu? No thanks.

To be honest a large part of it was just steroid induced panic. Had they shown up and medicated me, I’d have been okay(ish), but it just didn’t make any sense to me. Why spend the night, try and talk to a whole new rheumatology team in the morning, and expose myself to the flu amongst other nosocomial infections?

I haven’t talked to my doctor since leaving AMA. Yes, folks, I left against medical advice..only not really. The only reason I was admitted was because my PCM was worried, but the labs confirmed I didn’t have sepsis (his worry) and the doctor who was in charge of actually admitting me agreed I was fine to go home. His superior didn’t want to take the risk, hence I had to sign out AMA.

Why would they put a reverse precautions patient in with a patient who was contagious enough that nursing staff had to wear masks around her? I know the hospitals are overrun with flu cases, but that doesn’t mean that chronically ill folks should have to forgo proper care. I do wish I could have seen a rheumatology team and perhaps pushed for quicker treatment via steroids and IVIG, but they wouldn’t have been able to approve the IVIG quickly. Also, three days of high dose steroids, in hospital, while sharing a room with someone highly contagious? That is such a bad idea.

The lesson is go to your usual hospital for these things. My doctor had hoped one of the two big centers could have placed my port, but that wasn’t going to happen either, not unless it was a prolonged admission with the start of IVIG included.

That’s been the last few days! I have phlebitis in my left arm from all the sticking, and I’m still sore overall. I have been able to eat fries and tots for some reason, but only in small amounts. Carbonated water and Sonic slushes have definitely been saving me, too. I said a lot of stuff this past week that I regret, most of it due to lack of usual medication, and the addition of emergency ones. I also couldn’t think clearly because of the lack of nutrition. Now I’m stuck in this place where I regret so much of what I said, but I can’t easily take any of it back.

I wish people understood that not everyone with chronic illnesses handles emergent situations the same way, and even people who seem strong on the outside, can fall apart in strenuous circumstances.

I suppose time will tell if friends forgive me and support me still. All in all it was a really rough week, and I’m glad that it’s over. I’m hoping I’ll get some good news next week, and that I find the forgiveness of my friends, too.

ER Drama

Wheelchair Waiting

In my brain there is a list of things I have to get done. In my body there is a list of system failures that prevent me from doing the things I need to do. Us sick folks tend to triage our lives, but not all of us are aware that we’re even doing it. I put school, the dogs, and anyone who needs me, first. My social life has died a slow death over the last few years. It started with a bad relationship, then my illnesses slowly but surely made it harder and harder to socialize.

When my falling and fatigue became really bad, and the doctors started discussing mobility assistance beyond my walker, I was angry. I didn’t want to be “the girl in a wheelchair.” I also didn’t want to have to explain to people why I was in a wheelchair when I could walk. I used to take my dog down to the waterfront, and back. It was a 20-30 minute walk each way, and now I can’t go more than a block. Some days a block requires 2-3 breaks to complete.

Did I want mobility or anonymity? I could either be the girl who takes her dog to the waterfront, or someone nobody knows, because I don’t bother to leave the house. 

Today I’ve made peace with it, even with people who may ask why I have it. I know people and places that I used to commute to on foot. Now I’m waiting for the free ride system to come around, or I’m paying for ride sharing apps. I’d much rather explain that I traversed the distance in my chair, so that I could do something like go to a movie, and walk the mall afterwards, or even go putt putt golfing. There will still be days when I simply don’t have the energy to do anything, but at least with the chair I would be saving energy as often as possible.

I keep thinking about my thesis course that starts in a month. I’ll have to be on campus once per week for 2+ months. Once I have the chair, I’m not worried about it. As it stands right now, I am worried. Walking to and from the bus stop, is a challenge. The last time I did it, I started to pass out during class, and had to leave early. The chair, as constraining as it may seem, actually gives me more freedom.

Today that’s all I can think about. I want to go see a movie, but I simply can’t muster up the energy. The plan is to go see it tomorrow after I get my vitamin infusions. (Barring of course, any major allergic reactions!) I still can’t wait for IVIG, either. I hate throwing all of my hope on one treatment option, but it’s really all we have left, so it’s what I would like to start doing as soon as we can.

Head up.

Chin up.


Wheelchair Waiting

Very Hard Day

I am an emotional eater, which would be fine if it weren’t for gastroparesis. Last night there were a few things that frazzled me, on top of it already being a busy night because of New Year’s Eve. NYE is my favorite holiday, and between some random events, and fighting off a cold, I’ve been left paying for it. I took a two hour nap, and I’m legitimately contemplating going to bed right now…it isn’t even 7pm.

Chronic illness takes a lot out of you, so when something happens that would leave a “normal” person tired, it can leave a chronically ill person super exhausted. Today it hurts to even move. I can’t imagine doing anything other than sleeping. I’m hoping my roommate takes my dog out…and I ate too much. The nausea and pain are definitely not enjoyable, but at least some of what I ate had nutrition I needed, namely protein.

This is one of those situations where I want to conquer the world, but I know I have to just relax and allow my body a chance to recover. Despite my seizure medications, I’ve had several moments where I thought I was about to have a seizure today. It’s worrisome. I’m hoping I don’t because I don’t want to deal with it. I know I should be more concerned about how a seizure impacts my body and brain, but I know all of that. My main concern is just not wanting to deal with my roommate being worried, potentially dealing with EMS, and even ending up in the ER.

I keep telling myself it’s okay to take a day to just recover, but I also want to conquer today because I swore I’d be a fighter in 2018, Of course, knowing when to relax is part of being a fighter…

Perhaps a shower will help things. It may just put me to sleep, but that isn’t the worst outcome. I don’t nap, so if I do, it’s usually a sign my body really needs the rest. I didn’t go to bed until around 4:30am, and I’d taken sleeping medication far earlier. That means the drugs wore off and I was left attempting to fend for myself and sleep naturally. I can only sleep in short spurts, hence the naps today.

I am not a quitter if I take a day off from being positive. I know that, and I have to embrace that. I didn’t have a good evening. I mean I did, then I didn’t, and the chaos and emotional aspects flared up the already active flare that i’ve been in. It was the kind of thing that leaves all parts of you raw. Despite the resolution, and the rational thinking I’m so fond of, I need to allow myself the ability to be angry, and sad.

Today is not a good day physically, and it’s a rough day emotionally, so together they’re feeding on one another, creating even more aggravating physical symptoms. Acknowledging that, and sleeping when I need to sleep, is the right thing to do. It may feel like giving up, but it’s really just recharging.

I am not a quitter.

Giving up isn’t an option, but taking a time out is. So today is a time out, a moment to listen to my body, and use heating pads and hot water bottles, to treat the aches and pains. Sleeping at random hours, and for long periods, is giving my brain the chance it needs to relax. (Please note: there was a long pause after the phrase “needs to,” because I literally couldn’t figure out something other than recharge to place afterwards. Clearly I should listen and take another nap!)

Happy New Year. Listen to your body regardless of whether or not it’s a holiday. You are your body’s best advocate, so be the best you can be.

Very Hard Day

Changing Your Expectations and Being Okay with It

I have had to change so many of my expectations over the last few years, and you would think it would get less painful each time…but it doesn’t. When my ex-husband and I separated, it was a relief. It wasn’t a good marriage, despite being a long marriage, and the freedom from the constant verbal and emotional tirades was beyond amazing. My health had momentarily improved, leading me to believe that I would be so much better physically, because I had freed myself emotionally. It was partially true. My C-PTSD symptoms did decrease, to the point where my medications could be removed, but my Behcet’s didn’t get the notice.

Denial was my first mistake. I refused to accept that the symptoms I was having were Behcet’s related. Wasn’t I always uncoordinated? Didn’t I always have stomach issues? Finances were a mess because I’d blown my knee out, so the stress was of course causing me some physical distress. I made so many excuses for so many obvious signs of flaring, that I was eventually sitting in the medical marijuana office, weighing in at 120 pounds, all 5’10” of me. I got my medical license to smoke, and for the first time ever, tried marijuana. At that point I was struggling to keep down water.

My second mistake was over optimism. Let me explain this further. Being optimistic is wonderful. You need to be positive to stay on track and fight your chronic illnesses. Being overly optimistic, though, prevents you from planning realistically. I kept telling myself every treatment change would work. When it didn’t, I just kept pushing forward. I pushed my body to the limit because I was still in denial. I had a boss prior to getting sicker, who was into positive thinking so seriously, that we literally couldn’t express any negative feelings. I clung to the idea even after leaving the job.

The final mistake was combining mistakes one and two, with lying. I lied to my family. I lied to my friends. I told people I was fine, and when they saw me, they were floored by how not fine I was. By the point I was going to NYU, where they would recommend Remicade and if that didn’t work, Cytoxan, I had been hospitalized for over a week, and was barely able to walk with a walker.

Denial, overly optimistic thinking, and lying to yourself and others, is not going to help you.

I still believe there will be a day when my illness doesn’t impact me day to day, because I’ll have treatments and tools at my disposal, but I am still coming to terms with that reality. Some days I will need my wheelchair. I will likely need IVIG regularly, for quite some time, if not indefinitely. Remission is out of the question, but given how aggressive my case has been, it isn’t likely.

And that’s okay.

That may sound like over optimism again, but it isn’t. I will adjust my life as needed, and with time, I will be able to find things that I can enjoy and do with whatever my body is capable of. I don’t know if anyone will ever be able to love me enough to live with me and commit to me, and while the thought of never settling down and actually living with someone hurts, I do know that it’s a possibility. I also know that there are people out there with chronic illnesses who have found partners, so it isn’t impossible. The first step, though, is accepting myself, and my body, for what it is.

My schooling changed. My potential career paths changed. It hurts. I wanted to be a clinical laboratory scientist more than anything, and I may not be able to ever pursue that path because of my ataxia. What I have found, though, is clinical study associate positions, and they’re actually really interesting. To be honest, I should have gotten my MPH (Master’s of Public Health), but I wasn’t as sick when I committed to the forensic program. Ultimately I can still get certificates for clinical study administration, and because of my undergraduate and different graduate degree, I could make a case that I would be an excellent advisor. I’ve literally studied the lab piece of things, and the investigative side of forensics, I am the perfect person to put together official studies that pair the work that is seen, with the behind the scenes work.

I have literally discovered a career I never knew existed, and it’s in demand where I live. I can also do it in a wheelchair, and even handle some administrative tasks from home.

Currently I’m not in a position to work, but I want to be working someday, and this career field gives me hope. Regardless I love the idea. I could also look into PhD programs with my undergraduate and graduate school, because they have agreements with certain degree programs, where they pay for your PhD if you give them 5 years of your time as a professor. I would actually enjoy teaching college students, and the flexibility of the potential online classes is amazing. Even if I had to do in person instruction, the ability to do it in a wheelchair also makes it a viable option.

Mostly it’s about recognizing that I even have options.

You may not be doing what you thought you’d be doing, but very few people in their 30’s are where they thought they’d be in their teens or even early 20’s. The friends I think that have it all, don’t really all have it all. I come from a small town and most of my friends have gotten married and had kids, but there are others like myself, who got married young and then got divorced. I’m glad I didn’t have kids with my ex-husband, because we would never have been able to peacefully coparent. I also wouldn’t be able to focus on getting myself well, if I had children to look after.

I am not where I want to be, but I am still here, and I still have the opportunity to move in a variety of directions. I just need to be open to the options that I have.

Changing Your Expectations and Being Okay with It

Happy Holidays, and Gross Poo Talk

So this year I wasn’t able to fly back to see family, which was definitely a bummer because I haven’t been able to the last two years either. With the illnesses going around, and my general poor health, flying just isn’t an option right now. While my seizure drugs are currently doing a good job, flying is a high stress situation for me. That means I don’t sleep well prior to flying, and I also tend to get nauseas so I don’t eat much either. Anyhow, an amazing friend and his family offered to have me up with them on Christmas day. I ended up staying a couple nights before heading back down to San Diego. It was really amazing, minus my body being a pain in the rear.

Currently the GI issues are the biggest thing. I’ve reached a state of low nutrient intake, and low calorie intake. This has amplified the brain fog I was already dealing with courtesy of the neurological issues. My friend and his family were amazing. They had foods on hand that I could eat, including specially mate potato pancakes without onion so I wouldn’t hurt my stomach eating them. I felt kind of bad because I only ate two of them. I also only had 4 pieces of the bread they’d bought for me, too.

The issue is that I have a partial bowel obstruction. I’ve had them before, and sometimes I can clear them on my own, and other times I have to go into the ER for some really horrible assistance. I have no desire to have the doctors give me high strength laxatives, and enemas. I still have 2 months before GI will see me, and I have to have a bunch of testing between now and then that they want me to complete.

It’s like the doctors don’t realize that there is nothing that needs to be tested for. We know I have gastroparesis based on a test done several years a go. Yes the testing was done poorly, and I was barely over the line, but what does redoing the test prove? Also, the only reason they want the abdominal MRI is because I have stenosis of the celiac artery. I get that it’s super rare to have it the way that I have it, but we also know that this kind of thing can happen with Behcet’s patients. While I go through all of the scheduling and testing, we’re wasting time. I’m struggling, losing weight, and losing focus.

I went from super focused in classes, with high marks, to a struggling student who can’t stay focused, and who is barely getting by.

This will be a short post just because I can’t focus, and may need a nap, haha. I’m still putting my hopes into IVIG. I want it to work, and I want to function again.

Happy Holidays, and Gross Poo Talk

Operation Relocation?

**Disclaimer: I made a gastroparesis blunder today and overestimated the capacity of my system. Therefore, due to extreme nausea, this blog is being written under the influence of medicinal marijuana. I doubt I’ll edit it before posting. Hopefully my point is made.**

One of the harder parts about being chronically ill, is the financial strain. Even with good insurance, the medical bills pile up. Maybe your main plan has a low catastrophic cap, but what about vision and dental? In my case there is also the reality that I’m the only one that is capable of bringing money into the home. Yes, I get alimony, but along with the finalization of my divorce, comes the reality that I’ll have to pay to keep insurance, and that excludes vision and dental.


The reality of my current state is this…working isn’t possible. Lately walking the dog around the block has been a victory. That victory is short lived because walking the dog wasn’t the only task for the day, and now I’m exhausted. I’ve been waiting on disability, but could still have to wait over a year for my court date. What is a person supposed to do when they’re disabled, but can’t get disability?

I have a credit card that was maxed out between my knee surgery, and chemo. I’ve reached the very end of the road when it comes to pretending you’ve got everything under control.

People can tell I’m faking.

Relocation has become a hot topic, because where I currently live (San Diego) has a high cost of living. I, personally, don’t feel like I have a ton of other options. I have a large service dog, a small retired service dog, and no income aside from alimony. There is nothing in San Diego I can afford, and not many roommates are willing to tolerate the dogs. Family has implored me to move back east, but for a variety of reasons, including all that snow, I’m not sure that would be a responsible choice.

Recently I was offered the chance to live in my aunt’s condo, rent free, in Florida, from May through November. My first thought surrounded the word “free,” but the following thoughts were full of pros and cons. I have made a list, on my whiteboard, and they are exactly even as of right now. Medically there is the fact I’d have to find all new doctors, comfortable with Behcet’s, and then find new ones again because I’d only be there for six months…

Okay, enough about me.

I’m not the only person who faces financial stress because they’re chronically ill. How many homeless people have you met with severe mental or physical disabilities? They didn’t just decide to live outside one day. Society needs to do a better job of helping those who cannot reliably work. I could get a job tomorrow, but I would lose it by next week. I don’t know what days I can eat and what days I can’t. I don’t know when I’ll have severe pain, or nausea, and be unable to make it into work. This is something most of us “sick” folks deal with.

My friend was lucky, she worked for a grocery chain that let her work when she was well, and accepted her absences when she was gone. She didn’t make much, but it made her feel good to be working. When you’re not working, it can become depressing, You want to be contributing. So why don’t we have something for the chronically ill that allows them to work when they’re able, and receive disability benefits regardless?

The assumption is that tons of people abuse the system, and file for disability or other benefits because they’re lazy. Maybe some do…but the process of being approved for disability is beyond broken. I have friends who have been in the system for 3-4 years, while they have bones literally fusing their spines and ribcages. This friend would still work on good days, because she likes feeling fulfilled. That doesn’t mean she isn’t disabled.

Think about it like this: you have a system designed to provide financial assistance to people who are unable to work do to a disability. The reality is that some of those people would work when they felt physically able, but the amount of work they would be able to do would never be enough to provide for them financially. So, instead of working, they wait for their disability benefits. The limited funds must be carefully regulated, so they wait a long time. What if the government realized that those of us who cannot work enough to financially provide for ourselves or our families, could still work in some capacity? Couldn’t we have the chance to work within the disability system itself?

I am great at office work. I am amazing when it comes to organization and filing. You need a friendly face to greet guest at reception? That person would be me. It just may only be me for 2-4 hours at a time. It also may only be me a day or so per week, with gaps in between. I want to contribute, I want to be part of something bigger and better than sitting at home, or at the doctors office. I think most of us who are chronically ill, want to still have a purpose that we pursue.

Some have been lucky to have family and friends to stay with during their financially challenging times, and I’m not saying this as a slight to my friends or family, it’s just something worth noting. There are people who, for whatever reason, rely on themselves during the challenging times, and it’s definitely an anxious thing.

Social programs need to step it up, because they could be so much more, and they could help so many more people. In the meantime I’ll just be figuring out whether it’s time to relocate. It isn’t an easy decision, sick or not, and it’s something that is really weighing on my mind.

Operation Relocation?