Do you ever...?

Do you ever have those days where you just wonder why?

Why is this happening to me? What did I do that is so bad that I deserve this pain and suffering? Why was I chosen to suffer? Why can't they figure out what's wrong with me? Why can't they make the pain go away? Why isn't anything working? Why do they think I'm crazy?

The questions, at least in my life, seem to overpower the answers--especially when it comes to my health and well-being.

Towards the beginning of this journey, I had a lot of pity parties. I remember crying a lot and just asking my mom what I had done that was so terrible to result in such misery. She didn't have an answer, but I think I made her feel bad--no one wants to see their child feel like that. I still have my days where I just don't understand, but I'm just too busy to wonder why. It's a waste of time to have a pity party.

Now, that's not to say that I don't have them. Because I do. I really do wonder why I've been dealt this hand. I wish things were different. I wish I could do whatever I wanted to do, eat whatever I wanted to--all without consequence. Unfortunately, there are always consequences, and in my life, my consequences tend to be worse than those of you who lead "normal" lives.

The one thing that I try to remind myself of, try to take comfort in when I'm asking myself "why," is this: If I'm not suffering, if I'm not the one to endure this--it could be someone that I love. If it's not me enduring the pain, crying out and asking for help, I could be sitting back and watching, helplessly, as someone that I would do anything for goes through it--and I would rather it be me than them. 

I would do anything for my family and friends, and I don't handle it well when they're struggling--especially when they're sick. I go into "doctor" mode (as I've said) and just want to solve everything. I imagine a lot of them feel the same way when I'm sick. Unfortunately, it's just not that easy.

I know that I have the strength to fight whatever(s) it is that's making me sick, and while I know that those in my life are strong, they have different types of strength that may not be the strength to endure long-term illness.

It's been a long couple of weeks. My grandma, who has Alzheimer's, is slipping downhill quickly, work is picking up, I'm bogged down with a migraine and stomach pain most days...and an inability to sleep soundly. Lots on my mind, and I'm left thinking of the injustices of the world.

That being said...

My next post will be on doctor assisted suicide, my stance, and why/how my thoughts have changed. 

 Until then,

“Listen to the people who love you. Believe that they are worth living for even when you don't believe it. Seek out the memories depression takes away and project them into the future. Be brave; be strong; take your pills. Exercise because it's good for you even if every step weighs a thousand pounds. Eat when food itself disgusts you. Reason with yourself when you have lost your reason.”
― Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression

WHAT did you just call me?

Over the course of my struggles, I've been called many things--from disgruntled friends, to frustrated family members--I've been called pretty much everything in the book. I'm pretty sure people have even made up words to yell at me.

However, if you want to light a fire under my butt, there are two things that people accuse me of that frost my cookie more than anything else.

Those two things are...

A hypochondriac and someone with Munchhausen's Syndrome.

Definition time!

Hypochondriac: If you have a preoccupying fear of having a serious illness you most likely suffer from hypochondria or hypochondriasis. A person with hypochondria continues thinking he is seriously ill despite appropriate medical evaluations and reassurances that his health is fine.(Definition courtesy of MedicalNewsToday.com)

Munchhausen's Syndrome: Munchausen (MOON-chow-zun) syndrome is a serious mental disorder in which someone with a deep need for attention pretends to be sick or gets sick or injured on purpose. People with Munchausen syndrome may make up symptoms, push for risky operations, or try to rig laboratory test results to try to win sympathy and concern.(Definition courtesy of MayoClinic.com)

Now, I will be the first person to admit that when I'm really sick, sometimes my anxiety will kick in and that will make things worse. However, in order for things to get worse, things have to be bad in the first place.

My own family has accused me of making up illnesses. In their defense, they haven't done this in a few years (probably because the last time they did this, I blew up in that person's face and told her that she couldn't handle living in my body for a week because I'm not making it up) and it was mostly done at the beginning of my health issues when the symptoms came one right after another, and no one could figure out why.

Please explain to me, anyone who has ever thought about accusing me or who has past accused me of these things, why I would pretend to be sick? I don't like the attention. I don't like the surgeries. I don't like being covered in bruises. I don't like the hours, upon hours, I spend in the bathroom. I don't like being constantly nauseous (actually, nausea is one symptom I cannot stand). I don't like feeling like I'm going to vomit 85% of my life (really, who likes throwing up?).

All of that being said, it's sad to say that people with 'unseen' symptoms get accused of these diseases everyday. If you can't see the nausea, if someone else can't feel your pain or feel how sick you feel--then it can't be real, can it? Wrong.

We're sick. We have no reason to lie to you. We have no reason to lie to anyone. Why would we lie? I promise you, we don't want the attention.

We have the strength to fight our illnesses. We shouldn't have to find the strength to fight everyone else, too.

Support us, or say nothing.

“You don't always get stronger on the days that everything comes easily to you.”
― Nastia Liukin

I would give anything for perfect attendance

My name is Katie. I'm almost 23 years old. I have asthma. I also have endometriosis. Migraines. A wheat/gluten intolerance. Permanent tendonitis in my ankles. I've struggled with depression and anxiety. Some of my doctor's think I have Crohn's Disease...some think I'm just unlucky. Some think I'm just a head case. Most just have no clue what's wrong with me.

By the age of 18, two close friends and another I considered a brother committed suicide.

I was uprooted to another state when I was 12.

For the last seven years, I have endured medical hell. I have been scoped, poked and prodded by more doctors than most people endure in an lifetime. In seven years, I have seen 16 different doctors, 15 of those being specialists. Only a handful of them have come up with answers.

I endured this through the last two and a half years of high school and all four years of college. I graduated college with honors. I have a full-time job now. While in college, I wrote for the school newspaper and during my senior year, I ran that newspaper (with a ridiculous amount of help and support from my mentors, best friends and peers mind you).

Two weeks ago, I had my second upper endoscopy because I'm currently force feeding myself, unable to go one day without being extremely nauseous.

Some days, I wake up hoping it's all been a dream. But when I open my eyes every morning, I realize that I'm facing my medical hell for another day.

I started this blog because in the last few months, people have been reaching out for one question: How do you do it? 

How do I survive? The simple answer is I have to. I love my family, friends and life (most days on that last one) too much to just throw in the towel. My family and friends believe in me, so I have to believe in me, too.

I'm here to provide support, to help you understand that you are not alone.

When you are being pushed to your limit because of your health, especially when it's a disease that cannot visibly be seen, it's the most lonely feeling in the world. People frequently question whether you're faking it, and there's no way to make them understand your pain, frustration, anger and sadness.

I understand. I understand what it's like to wake up in the morning and want to cry because the pain isn't gone. I understand what it's like to hear doctor's say "well, this isn't working...I'm not sure what else we can do for you," and to leave their office empty handed.

You're not alone. Not anymore.