I came to you as a scared, vulnerable teenager. I was in pain and tired all the damn time.
“You’re depressed”, you said.
I walked out with a script for antidepressants. I hoped this would fix everything.
No such luck. I am a zombie. I didn’t care about anything. My friends are scared for me.
Months later I return with the same complaint. My joints hurt. I’m still tired. A new symptom arose. Chest pain.
“You’re stressed”, you said.
“I don’t feel stressed”, I responded.
“Subconscious stress,” you said.
I walk out with another script for a different antidepressant and sleeping pills.
This goes on for years.
It’s all in my head, you said. That the “physical symptoms were a manifestation of something psychological”.
Those words made me genuinely depressed. I wasn’t being listened to. The weight piled on, intensifying my depression. I didn’t feel like this body was mine.
You didn’t listen.
I became pregnant and things escalated.
“It’s just the pregnancy”, you said.
I moved clinics to find a doctor who would really listen to me.
Once again, I explain the pain, the fatigue, the stomach issues, the dizziness, my heart racing and pounding in my chest.
I came to you as a scared, vulnerable mother. I was in pain and tired all the damn time.
“You’re depressed”, you said.
I walk out with yet another script for another antidepressant. The fifth medication of its type that I’ve tried.
I am in too much pain and too tired to function. I can’t muster the energy to get dressed. My friends and family don’t understand. Being judged for being in my pajamas all day. I am just lazy.
I think:
“If this is all in my head, and nothing is working, what is the point in living?”
There were days I looked at my pills and thought that if I took them all, that the pain would end, that I would be free and I would no longer be a burden on my family.
I fight the urge and win.
Three years later, while just about managing an internship, I interview a woman with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Her story sticks with me. The doctors didn’t believe her either. Nor were they willing to help.
A year later I speak to this woman again. We get to talking about my issues.
She asks one thing that changed my life forever.
“Are you hypermobile?”, she asks.
“No”, I say.
“I’m stiff as a board!”, I exclaim.
Turns out I am. Very hypermobile. I score 8/9 on the Beighton scale.
The woman gives me the same of a doctor to see. I decided to see what you, my doctors thought.
“Could it be Ehlers Danlos Syndrome?”, I ask.
“Oh God, no! That’s as rare as hen’s teeth,” you say.
I leave, defeated.
One November day, I faint at home. That’s it. I need answers.
I go to see the recommended doctor. My stomach is in knots. That’s normal before I go and see doctors of any type now. I prepare myself to be told the same old thing. That I was depressed, I was anxious, that it was all in my head.
I am examined, I am spoken to with respect, I do not feel like a neurotic child.
“No wonder you have been depressed. Nobody was listening to you”, he says.
For the first time in my life, a doctor really listened, like no other doctors had done before.
Tears stream down my freckled cheeks with relief.
I walk out, cigarette in my hand, shaking with relief and with disbelief.
Finally! I was listened to. Finally, I have my answers.
A letter is sent to you, confirming my suspicions.
Nothing changes though, I suspect you don’t believe the diagnosis.
I never took another antidepressant after that day.
It was all over, or so I thought.
Then I soon realised, the diagnosis meant nothing without someone to help.
And here I am, six years later. I am bouncing from consultant to consultant. Medicated up to my eyeballs. No real investigations are done and some tests are simply not available in my own country.
To England, I go with family in tow. My two children now facing the same life of disbelief and pain.
But things are different here.
I meet you, dear doctor, for the first time.
You are small and sweet. You’re gentle and kind.
I feel safe with you. You are thorough.
I had no choice but to travel and spend money we did not have, but I am glad I did.
You really listened and didn’t brush me or my feelings aside.
So many from my country have been here before. Desperate for help.
A world expert’s diagnosis, that will shut the rest of them up.
And it did. No more questioning on whether this was the real diagnosis.
I had wondered myself if the diagnosis was correct because all the others, these “experts” made me feel that way.
I return home. The rain pours as we land. It matches my mood.
I am coming back to a country that does not care about my well-being or my children’s.
I jump to another doctor after another again. And again, questions the diagnosis. I am so sick of doctors at this point. But, this next one is different.
You really seem to care.
There is no rush, you have taken the time to listen.
You follow my lead, you let me take the reins on my treatment.
I almost jumped for joy leaving the doctor’s office. I could not believe my luck.
You seemed determined to help.
My pain worsens. I am a ball of tears every time I see you now because I am at the end of my tether. Other doctors want to try these expensive treatments that may not work. They haven’t worked before. I just want relief from the pain.
I just wanted you to tell me you’ll help.
Yet I walk out with a script for antidepressants-again.
The memories flood back, of not being believed. I am now a nervous wreck going to any doctor again.
I take the first pill. It begins again.
I can’t get out of bed, I am more tired than ever.
Zombified again.
Sleeping for three days after taking one of those tiny pills so I don’t take anymore.
I return to you, scared because the pain is as bad as it’s ever been.
Feeling like the tin man, I just need some oil to move with ease.
“Anti-inflammatories will help”, you say.
I take the script, skeptical.
It’s still early days but I just know this isn’t going to work.
Something is very wrong with me.
I can’t keep fighting for help, doctor. I am already too tired.
Is it so much to ask to just want to be normal? To be like my friends.
There is only so much I can do on my own.
I am trying, really, I am to be normal.
Distracting myself with things that I can do.
I just want help with the things I can’t manage alone.
I came up with this medication cycle idea after I started some new meds recently. Annoyingly, the amount of meds I need to take to keep my body functioning is rising. You might hear from people who are not chronically ill that you’re taking too many medications. There might be something about big pharma in there too. Cue eye roll* What they fail to realise is that without these medications, you can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can’t get out of bed etc. The list goes on. It is not unusual for a person with a chronic illness to have multiple illnesses or dysfunctions.
This week I decided to do a tongue-in-cheek blog post. I know some of the posts have been heavy of recently. However, these posts are so necessary. But, I promise I will continue to mix things up. I know that the experiences below may not apply to everyone. I have based this cycle on what I and a lot of my spoonie friends experience.
The New Medication
You go to see your GP with some weird symptom. You’ve probably been dealing with this issue for a while but it’s been put on the back burner while you deal with other debilitating symptoms.
You walk out of the doctor’s office with a prescription and you feel relieved that you’ve been taken seriously. It might be weird to healthy people but sometimes the idea of a new medication offering relief from symptoms can actually be exciting.
This is going to the medication that changes my life, you think. This is the one. You’ve probably said this 20 times before but this time, it’s going to work. Your life is going to change for the better. You’ll be able to work again. You’ll have a social life. Basically, you have unrealistic expectations about this medication. You are the kid skipping home from the toy shop, eager to tear open the packaging.
The Waiting Game
It’s not working. That’s it, your hopes and dreams are crushed. Your doctor did warn you that it might take a while for the meds to work but nope, they are just not working at all. You’re frustrated. You throw yourself on the bed in despair, like some Disney Princess who has been locked in a tower.
The Side Effects
You start to notice the original symptoms are not causing you much trouble now but God damn it, you’re starting to experience some new symptoms. Alternatively, your symptoms have become much worse. You take out the perfectly folded leaflet that seems to go on forever. You eventually find the section in your language and the list of side effects is as long as your arm. But, there it is in tiny black writing, the symptoms you’re trying to treat are also side effects of this new medication.
The medication is used to treat dizziness and yet the front warning says “Warning: may cause dizziness”. Like, WTF?
or
You develop a whole new host of symptoms. The medication that was prescribed to treat your overactive bladder is now causing insomnia and constipation. That’s right, first, you can’t stop running to the bathroom and now you’re lying awake thinking about all the times you could poop with ease.
The. Weight. Gain. Don’t even talk to me about the weight gain. As disabled people with chronic illnesses, it’s fair to say we don’t get out much so you won’t exactly find us hitting the gym five days a week. But also, we may not eat a whole pile of food thanks to some other medication you’re on or illness. Yet, you’re bigger than when you were in college eating 16-inch pizzas by yourself after a night of beer.
For once, I would like a medication that says “Warning: may cause extreme awesomeness”. You know, you wake up with the body of an Olympic swimmer, with a voice like Beyoncé and the baking skills of Mary Berry.
Back to the Doctor
That’s it, you got to go to your doctor and sort this all out but, you’re so tired from not being able to sleep and you’re in too much pain from not having pooped for a week that the very idea of getting up, washed and dressed is the equivalent of a “normal” person running a full marathon. “Be graaaaannnnnddd”, you say. I’ll survive another day.
Back to Square One
It has taken you three whole days to work up the strength to get to the doctor’s office. You sit there in the waiting room anxiously. The memories of not being believed or your symptoms dismissed rise to the surface as they do after years of mistreatment (or rather no treatment at all).
You are finally called in and you sit there, waiting for the doctor to bring your file up and notice the new meds started the two weeks before. You explain that you’re having pretty crappy side effects from the news medications. This is when one of two things will happen.
You’ll either be given a script for a new medication or
2. You’ll be told that all this type of medication produce these side effects.
If it’s number one? Begin the cycle again. Two? You’re given new medications to treat the side effects and the cycle for those medications begin again. Sometimes, you might be lucky and the new medications might just work.
The Eighth Amendment affects people who have the ability to become pregnant In Ireland.
The Eighth Amendment states that the foetus has the same rights as the person who is pregnant. Ireland and Malta are the last two European countries where abortion hasn’t been made legal. The Eighth Amendment was added to the Irish Constitution in 1983. It means that abortion services are unavailable in Ireland. Even in the case of fatal foetal abnormalities or when a woman becomes pregnant as a result of rape. Approximately 12 Irish people per day are forced to travel to the UK to have an abortion.
Last week we discussed how the Eighth Amendment affected women during pregnancy and birth. This week we are going to explore how the Eighth affects people who are sick and have the ability to become pregnant.
Fellow blogger, Cripple, Baby! has kindly allowed me to share her story. Catherine like me, has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome.
How the Eighth Amendment could have affected Catherine with Cancer:
For me, the Eighth Amendment brings to mind of when I was diagnosed with cancer, back in 2013.
No I was not pregnant, no I was not planning to become pregnant, and no I was not planning on having an abortion. Yet the tone was set for many a discussion around such subjects, the very minute I was diagnosed.
One might assume this conversation would take the form of discussing options for egg preservation, in case of future fertility problems. Although this was never mentioned really, only glossed over. A simple “I’m sure you’ll be ok” was all that was given in this respect.
My period was a good sign
Something I realised was vastly different from the experiences of UK cancer patients, through discussions on support forums. I can only assume such options aren’t granted free by the HSE, and perhaps some doctors just see it all as a bit “icky”? I really have no idea. In fairness, I never pushed the issue. The only guidance I was given with that side of things was the nurse whispering to me during chemotherapy inquiring about my periods, stating that a regular flow was a good sign at least.
No, this was not the route of the pregnancy conversation. The one and only topic was around what would happen if I became pregnant during my treatment. [pullquote]Of course I was advised to use all the contraception possible, to not purposely become pregnant during this time obviously, that would be insane. But as we all know, even with all the contraption in the world shit happens.[/pullquote]
In this scenario the woman has two choices (in other countries) continue the pregnancy, reduce your treatment (or not, but it would be advised) or plan a termination, in order to give yourself the best chance of survival. Neither option is easy. Yet women make these choices for themselves, all around the world, every single day. And we trust they know what is best for them. Neither case in this regard deserves judgement, they are and should be, case-by-case decisions made by the women themselves and fully supported by both medical staff and loved ones.
The hypothetical foetus
So when I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2013, I was quickly informed of what would happen if I became pregnant. They would reduce the treatment in order to give the foetus the best chance of survival. At first this seems like just good advice, a reassurance that if needs be they will do what they can to help me. I am a young woman of child-bearing age, so it’s all relevant. But this mantra was repeated again and again during my treatment, by various medical care professionals. Many a conversation about saving the life of my hypothetical foetus. To get the point across that in this scenario, in this country, I would have no choice.
It’s something I’ve looked back on often. Sometimes with amusement, but mostly with dismay. It just makes me feel very uneasy. My life is more important than a hypothetical, or real, foetus. The life of a fully grown adult is not equal to that of a zygote. Before we even bring choice into it, that’s simply the case.
As heartbreaking as that can seem in situations where a pregnancy is not viable, or comes with a hefty price. This statement excludes cases of late-term “abortions” due to fatal fetal abnormalities, as we all know that late-term “abortions” are simply not done for the craic (in any country) and any further explanation on that would frankly be stupid and I hope unnecessary. When a matured, wanted foetus is dying in its mother’s womb, it’s horrendous for the parents. It’s not something to be mocked, or mislabeled. And it certainly isn’t something Irish parents should have to deal with, alone, in a different country. A financial burden on top of saying goodbye to their child in peace.
Shit happens
Luckily I finished my treatments without any accidents. But shit does happen. It happens to Irish women each and every day. So I have to put myself in their shoes. What would I have done? Could I have been able to access medical support after coming home from England? Would I financially be able to even afford a termination? Is it possible that I would I be held by the state if I informed my doctors of my wishes? Would I even feel comfortable telling loved ones? Looking at such a broad issue, simply in my own terms, my own real experiences, just does not cut it. And it shouldn’t cut it for anyone.
To truly look at this Eighth amendment and the restrictions it poses on Irish women rationally, we must not only look at it from how our own lives have gone to date. We must ask ourselves, “what if…?”. This is only one, small scenario that I can place myself in, even though it did not happen to me. Even though (under normal circumstances) I really don’t think I would ever choose an abortion in my life time. There are so many scenarios; so many stories that are not our own.
Abortion isn’t always an easy option but many have no regrets and know it’s the right choice for them; for all sorts of reasons that are none of our business. Many also have no choice.
No one can 100%, truly say “I will never terminate a pregnancy”, even when it seems completely unthinkable in our current lives shit happens.
How the Eighth Amendment could affect Laura with Psoriasis:
I have psoriasis. I’ve had it since I was nine, I’m 30 now. It had peaks and troughs but since being an adult it has more or less stayed the same. It’s not just flaky skin that’s itchy. It’s unsightly red blotches all over. The Psoriasis is on my face, breasts and bottom. No where is safe.
It has affected my self-esteem greatly and at times my physical health when it cracks and bleeds. When I was 15 it was so bad on my arms that I couldn’t raise them further than my chest and my mother had to dress me. That was pretty humiliating.
I’ve been called several names because of it ‘scabby’ being the most popular and nothing makes me retreat to being a child who wants their mother, than an adult who stares.
I’ve had several treatments and have tried many diets and none have worked for an extended period of time. The most relief I had with these treatments was three months.
Hope for relief
So, this year I was informed I was a suitable candidate for a series of injections. These are relatively new. The injections work by changing how your immune system produces skin cells. Psoriasis is an overproduction of skin cells.
One of the main side effects is that my immune system will be lower than the average person. I will be more likely to get a cold/flu and it viruses and illnesses will be harder to shift.
The biggest warning I got was not to get pregnant. I probably wouldn’t carry full term and if I did, we both would have lasting damage. I’m a married woman and perform my ‘wifely duties’ as a certain religious organisation calls it. We use two types of protection but nothing is 100% safe.
This is why the Eighth Amendment needs to be repealed. If I were to get pregnant it could be very detrimental to my health and the foetus. I also know, from having relatives with these conditions, that I couldn’t care for a special needs baby, while ill myself. It would be a likely scenario if I were to have a baby.
Potential pregnancy
My injections are life long, so I can’t get pregnant at all. My health is more important than a foetus. I have a husband and family and friends.
If I were to get pregnant, I would be devastated, particularly as I use two methods of contraception. I would have to arrange an abortion and that would be very upsetting. [pullquote]Nobody likes having to get an abortion but I firmly believe my health and well-being are more important.[/pullquote]
I also suffer with my mental health and to be honest, I’d be afraid that pregnancy would make it worse, due to the impact it would have on my life. My physical and mental health would be put on a back burner if I were to get pregnant under the Eighth Amendment.
I know I would be pressured to put the foetus’ health and needs before my own, even before it’s born. Sometimes I struggle to care for myself, never mind a helpless baby.
People have asked me if I can come off my medication to have children. The truth is, I don’t want to. It may be selfish but I want a quality of life for myself and not having children is a side effect of that. I did initially grieve before starting treatment but now I am fine with that decision. A door has closed but a new one has opened and so far, I haven’t looked back.
[bctt tweet=”No woman has an abortion for fun. —Elizabeth Joan Smith” username=”@thezebramom”]
How the Eighth Amendment could affect me:
During my last pregnancy, I was in a wheelchair from the first trimester until my daughter was three-month old. Having EDS, there are some risks involved in pregnancy. You are at risk of pre term labour, miscarriage and of hemorrhaging, to name but a few issues. I lost my son’s twin at about seven weeks into my first pregnancy.
Almost immediately into my second pregnancy my pelvis became an issue. Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (SPD) is a pretty common condition during pregnancy; but not early on in pregnancy. Most women complain of the pain in their groin, back, legs and hips in their last trimester and usually manage with crutches.
The foetus growing inside me was just two inches when my body turned against me. The pain was unreal. I have put up with dislocated joints-even popping them back in myself but this was something else. I could not physically walk without crying. Some days I did try not to use it in order to stay mobile and avoid muscle wastage but even then I had to use special crutches. For days after I attempted walking I would be stuck in bed screaming in pain. Before pregnancy, I was on opiates and they barely took the edge of my chronic pain.
My waters broke weeks before I was due to give birth. I went into the maternity hospital and told them I felt a pop and a trickle. So they examined me and came to the conclusion that my waters hadn’t broken. I went for an appointment in the high risk clinic a couple of weeks later and mentioned baby had been a bit quiet. So they scanned me and lo and behold, half of my waters were gone. So I was induced that night.
Traumatic birth
I was put on IV antibiotics to prevent infection. We were both pretty lucky we hadn’t picked up an infection with my waters leaking.
Several hours later I gave birth but then I started to feel very unwell. I was vomiting and passing out. I was having a massive bleed and the midwives were calling for blood. Luckily, they stopped the bleeding on time and I lost half my blood volume. It took a year and high doses of iron for me to feel “normal” again. The whole experience traumatised me.
Three months and a lot of hard work and I got myself out of the wheelchair for the most part. I still have to use it if I am out of the house for an extended period of time. My pelvis is almost always dislocated and affects my back and legs as well.
Pregnancy could leave me permanently immobile
Progesterone plays a massive role with my condition as it causes my joints to become even more lax. If I were to get pregnant again, it is very, very likely that I will not be so lucky (not so much luck as I put in a tonne of work) to get out of the wheelchair. I have been warned not to get pregnant again. The contraception I am on at the moment but it will have to come out as it is affecting my health. I can not have any “unnecessary” surgery like a tube ligation or hysterectomy. A C Section can not be performed without it being an emergency because I am susceptible to infection, stitches don’t hold well and I would suffer with chronic regional pain on top of the wide-spread chronic pain I suffer with now.
I have two children. I have a husband who is my carer. He does almost all the cooking and the cleaning while looking after our two children and a budding business. There are days where he must help me get out of the shower and even dress me.
If I were to have another baby, I would never have a “good day”. I would be in even more pain than I am in now. An American doctor who used to be an Oncologist has stated that EDS would be one of the top three most painful conditions to live with.
Abortion would be the best decision for our family
[pullquote]I can not put myself in more pain. It is not possible to put my family through more than what they already experience. I have to be a mother to the children I have now[/pullquote]. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome is an inherited condition. My children have a 50/50 chance of having this condition. Both our son and daughter have EDS. Our two-year old daughter is more affected than my son-suffering three dislocations already. I can’t subject another child to this life of pain. I will not. Accidents happen and if I were to get pregnant accidentally, I would have to have an abortion no ifs or buts.
Travelling for any amount of time leaves me bed/couch bound for days. Stress causes my symptoms to flare. If I should need to have an abortion, I should be able to go to my local hospital, have the procedure and go home that night to my own bed, to be surrounded by my family. I should be able to be open about what had just happened and not hide it in shame. I would be making the right decision for my family. The family that is living and breathing.
Up until pretty recently, I was anti choice. It was when I had to travel to the UK for treatment not available in Ireland that my mind was truly changed. I empathised with all the Irish women who had to travel. I cried at the thought of these women being alone because their partners couldn’t get the day off work or because they were raped and didn’t want to tell anyone.
The Eighth Amendment needs to go.
I’m fighting for repeal of the Eighth Amendment not just for me, but for my daughter. EDS gets worse when a girl hits puberty and most of the time, during pregnancy. If she’s already this affected now, it does not bear thinking of how the condition will manifest later on in life. She needs to have bodily autonomy. This condition takes away so many freedoms over our bodies, we do not need anything else taken away from us.
I have started a Facebook page, Disabled People for Choice in Ireland to show the world that despite what the anti-choice might think, there are those with disabilities who believe in choice, no matter the situation.
[bctt tweet=”You cannot have maternal health without reproductive health. And reproductive health includes contraception and family planning and access to legal, safe abortion. —Hillary Clinton” username=”@thezebramom”]
Some facts from the Abortion Rights Campaign in Ireland:
The Eighth Amendment equates the life of a woman to that of an embryo.
The vast majority of women who want and need abortions are unable to access them in Ireland under interpretations of this law.
Women have already died in Ireland having been denied life-saving abortion procedures.
At least 150,000 women have travelled to other countries to procure abortions since 1980.
Thousands of women are unable to travel for abortion services due to family, legal status, financial situation, or health.
People who procure abortion within the country risk a 14 year jail term. Doctors can be jailed too.
The majority of people in Ireland support much wider access to abortion than is permitted under the 8th Amendment.
The life and health of a pregnant woman has a much greater value than our constitution places on it.
Thank You to Laura and Catherine for sharing their stories with me.
If you would like to tell your story, email hello@thezebramom.com
When you’re child is seriously hurt you can feel so helpless. You might feel guilty for not having a sharp eye on your little one when they injure themselves. If you have a faulty genes and a genetic condition that you’ve passed on to your child, there’s an added guilt.
Last Saturday two year old Ollie Pops N’ Clicks was playing happily with her Dad. We had a lovely day up till then, hubby and I were celebrating our five-year wedding anniversary. My Dad cooked us a beautiful lamb dinner and after we retired into the sitting room in front of the stove. Despite having a pain flare, I was content. That is until Ollie started screaming.
She was pulling on her Daddy’s clothes and then all of a sudden her arm was hurting. Nobody could touch it and if we tried to move it she cried. Hubby knew immediately that we were faced with something that happened in 2015. Ollie was just seven months old then. Her elbow was dislocated. She was behaving the same way she did that cold night in November of 2015.
Ollie the morning after she dislocated her elbow the first time
So, we had to leave Bendy Boy with his Granddad for the night as we sped up to the Accident and Emergency Department (A&E) of the University Hospital. She fell asleep before we even made it out of town. I thought maybe she was OK now but when I touched her arm she woke up screaming.
What is a 45-minute journey felt like hours. We arrived into A&E and we were surprised to see how quiet it was for a Saturday evening. Then again, it was still pretty early. The drunks and those involved in fights wouldn’t be in for another few hours yet.
At the hospital
After we checked in, we sat in the waiting area. Looking around I saw a teenager with their arms in a sling, an old man with bandages around his head and another man with a black eye. I was worried that this scene would upset my already frightened two year old. You could tell exactly what was wrong with these people. All you could see when you looked at Ollie was a little girl with a sourpuss face protecting her little arm.
Just like before, the Triage nurse saw us fairly quickly, when we explained what we think had happened and that I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. This is a result of my faulty collagen genes. We were taken into the ward.
The last time Ollie was seen in A&E at just seven months old, she had to have an X-Ray. It was torture for us both. I had to move her tiny little arm around in different positions. She cried, I cried. This time however, there was no need to X-Ray because of her history.
When I told the on call doctor that I had EDS, he asked could he have a look at my hands. He bent my fingers back and pulled on my skin. He nodded and turned to little Ollie who was finishing off her second ever dose of painkillers. In two years she’s never been ill enough to need any type of medication. The only time she’s had Calpol is the first time she dislocated her elbow.
Like a punch to the stomach
You do what you can to protect them
Anyway, he attempted to take Ollie’s hand but she was petrified. He did eventually manage to get it and within seconds. He confirmed it was dislocated and he said it’s pretty safe to say that my beautiful daughter has EDS. She has inherited my faulty genes. It was like a punch to the stomach.
We knew this since pregnancy but every time I hear a doctor say it again, the guilt gets to me. Ollie is not officially diagnosed with EDS. We hope to rectify that soon just in case social services do get involved during a future trip to A&E.
Like nothing ever happened
Within forty minutes of arriving at A&E we were out the door. Ollie was back to her old self again and I’m pretty sure she was on a sugar buzz after that medicine. She kept talking about how the doctor fixed her and that she was all better now. We arrived home and the three of us sat on the couch to unwind after a stressful couple of hours.
Ollie climbed on me and fed until she was ready for sleep. She then sat up and threw herself on to the couch. I watched her sleep for awhile. She looked so peaceful and you’d have never had known she was in agony just an hour before. We carried her into her new room and didn’t see her till morning. It really is amazing how resilient kids are and that does make it a lot easier to live with a condition like EDS.
Like nothing happened
I know I cannot control my genetics and that I shouldn’t blame myself for Bendy Boy’s diagnosis and Ollie’s inevitable diagnosis. But, I can’t help it; this illness comes from me. If Ollie is dislocating this early on in life it doesn’t bare thinking what will happen, as she gets older.
What does the future hold?
When she starts playschool, when she’s old enough to play outside with friends, when she climbs a tree for the first time. Then there’s puberty. The majority of girls with EDS experience an increase in symptoms when they reach puberty. This is because the hormone, progesterone wreaks havoc on our bodies. Progesterone makes us lax. It’s why girls and women suffer more during their periods and in pregnancy.
How many more times is she going to be in hospital with an injury? Is she ever going to work or have a normal life? These questions whiz around my head. I try to say to myself what I would say to anybody in this situation; cross that bridge when you come to it.
Overcoming the guilt of faulty genes
But, I will eventually overcome this guilt. How? Because I know I am the best person to get my children through what they will face later down the line. I know what they need, who they need to see and where I can take them to make all this happen. The fight for access for appropriate medical care of which there is none in this country will be my biggest challenge. I will take them to the doctor or hospital as many times as they need and I will do it with empathy.
They will be believed when they tell me they are in pain, because I know what it’s like not to be believed. Not being believed by my parents, by friends and by doctors affected me greatly and I still carry that pain around with me. That pain can be just as great as the physical pain my genes have caused me. An old friend once said that she would rather face a pack of rabid Rottweiler than a parent who wants to protect and fight for their children. If you mess with my kids and their health, I’ll go through you for a shortcut.
Be your child’s champion
Having EDS myself makes me the best advocate for my children. Any patient with a rare disease becomes his or her own expert. I will now be the expert for my children too. From how their genes work to the treatment they need, I will be their champion.
It is a great comfort knowing that they will always have each other to lean on for support. Even when I am not there anymore to fight for them, they can fight together.
So, for anyone out there who is feeling guilty for passing on their crappy genes, know this; it is not your fault. I know more than anybody that it’s hard not to. Take a leaf out of my book; take that guilt and turn it into something positive. Raise awareness of the condition, fight for proper treatment, do everything in your power to make your child’s experience with their condition better than what you experienced.
Being a mom is hard. Really freakin’ hard. You have sleepless nights that go on for years. Then there are snots, wee, poo, endless requests, and endless questions. Stresses of school, work, childminding, and meal prep grind you down. I could go on and on. Now, imagine being a mom with all of these stresses and then add a chronic illness into the mix. For the most part, it makes no difference to your kids if it’s all they know. You can be the mom who spends all day resting on the couch or in bed for hours and your kids will still think you’re awesome. [pullquote]You can be the mom who spends all day resting on the couch or in bed for hours and your kids will still think you’re awesome. [/pullquote]Well, my kids do and I would consider myself a pretty mediocre mother. But I’m often told I’m too hard on myself.
I do cut corners-daily. I’m disorganised. I put things off. I loose my shit regularly. My chronic illnesses are a mix of physical and mental ailments. EDS, POTS, Autonomic Mediated Syncope, anxiety and depression all plague me. Sometimes separately but most of the time they join to create a storm of symptoms.
While most mothers will make a home cooked meal, I depend on my air fryer to cook quick and convenient food. Once a month I do manage something home cooked and special like my Crispy Chinese Pork or my Lemon Chicken Pasta. But for the most part the kids live on chicken or fish goujons or chicken and pesto pasta. Daddy does the majority of the cooking but with a budding business and all the other household chores, he simply doesn’t have the time or the energy to be making food from scratch.
“Why don’t you do meal prep and freeze?” I hear you say. Yep, I get these notions all the time. But then fatigue plagues me or my wrist pops out of place from chopping. In a town of 5,000 people, we have approximately 12 take aways. Wouldn’t it be great if there were a meal on wheels service for those with chronic illness? Or wouldn’t it be great if the village mentality still existed where the whole community helps out those who are struggling? Wouldn’t it be great if we were provided with balanced dishes that tasted just as tasty as a burger and fries from the local chipper? There’s a business idea right there.
In my mind, I’m supermom. I come up with all these Bree Van de Camp type ideas like cooking breakfast muffins or making clothes for the children. In reality, I’m lucky to get dressed and put my make up on once a week. Most people don’t have to decide on whether to wash and dress themselves or feed their children. Most people don’t have to decide whether to cook a decent meal or to stay awake long enough to make sure the children don’t kill themselves.
I’m not a “fed is best” advocate, far from it. I truly believe what we feed our children is of the utmost importance. The science shows that what we feed our children in infancy and childhood directly affects their long-term health and eating habits as they grow into adulthood. I know we could make better choices and soon I hope to collaborate with some foodies to offer some recipes that are suitable for the whole family and that are “spoonie” friendly for parents.
So now I have had that little rant off my chest, it’s time to make things a little lighter. Here are some of the signs of being a mom with a chronic illness.
You spend a good portion of your day in pyjamas
It’s probable that you own more pairs of pyjamas than actual clothes. You figure, I don’t need to go anywhere today so what’s the point in spending spoons on getting washed and dressed. But, when you do get washed, dressed and put make up on your good days, you feel more human. Sure you might be exhausted from prepping yourself for the outside world but it does wonders for your mental health.
You get takeout more than you should
Sometimes when you literally can’t move during a flare up, you can’t get up to pee, never mind having to stand at the kitchen counter and then dealing with the heat of the cooker. But when you manage to make a delicious home cooked meal, you feel like Gordon Ramsay (minus the constant swearing…mostly).
Your kids get full meals while you live on crackers and coffee
You do your best to nourish your kids. You’d rather spend your spoons on making sure they are well fed. You get so nauseous or fatigued that the last thing you want to do is eat. So you when you are feeling peckish you’ll grab the first thing that comes out of the fridge or cupboard. It’s taken me years to figure out how to eat healthier snacks that have some form of nutrients. I do like crackers on days that I’m nauseous so I buy pre hummus for some protein. A pre-made salad or a handful of nuts are a light handy snack that will give you the boost to look after your munchkins.
You say yes to your kids even when you shouldn’t just to have some peace and quiet
Saying yes when you should to all sorts of things that you know you shouldn’t. You just want them to be quiet for five minutes. We simply don’t have the energy to argue when we are in pain or fatigued. Don’t beat yourself up when you say yes to that extra packet of crisps or chocolate.
You say “not today” frequently
We say yes to the things we shouldn’t and no to the things we should. You would love nothing more than to take the kids out or let them have a play date in your house. The guilt is real. You want to give your kids all that they desire but sometimes it’s better to save your spoons for a day you feel better. Then you can all enjoy yourselves. There will be a day you can yes to that playdate or day trip. Rest up today for what you want to do tomorrow.
You manage to wash and dress the kids while you look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards
Your kids are dressed beautifully with shiny teeth and brushed hair almost every day. They could pose on the cover of a shopping catalogue. You on the other hand, you look so dishevelled that you could easily pass for someone who’s just found her way to civilisation after being lost in the woods somewhere. If I need to look presentable while still feeling comfortable I put on my sports bra (cause under wired bras are the devil) and a jersey cotton jumpsuit like this one from Boohoo. I feel super comfy but I look super chic. Plus jumpsuits are a great time saver-no need to pair up tops and bottoms. Jersey cotton is a chronic illness sufferer’s best friend.
The disheveled look is so in right now Credit: Adobe Stock
TV is your best friend
You’ve probably watched everything there is to watch on Netflix. When the kids are at school and you’ve managed to one productive thing that morning, you find yourself in need of a rest. If you’re anything like me; reading a book during the day will simply not do. Two pages and I’m out like a light. TV is always there for you-no matter what. You can be transported to another place and forget, just for 30 minutes, that you’re on the couch involuntarily. [pullquote]TV is always there for you-no matter what. You can be transported to another place and forget, just for 30 minutes, that you’re on the couch involuntarily. [/pullquote]As soon as you’re diagnosed with a chronic illness you should automatically have a free subscription to Netflix. Netflix and chill and pills for us! Oh my!
The Internet is your social life
Going out for coffee, going for drinks with the girls is a rarity. People used to come by to have a cup of tea and a chat but they’ve stopped coming. Since you’ve been diagnosed with a chronic illness, lots of things have changed. So social media becomes your social life. You can connect with others in the exact same situation with just a couple of clicks. [pullquote]Even though you may have not met these people in real life, you feel super close to them because they know exactly what it’s like for you. [/pullquote]We do have the tendency to get lost in social media though. I noticed this about myself recently so I signed up for a creative writing class. It’s just 2 hours, one night a week. Nothing to heavy and I find writing a good therapy. With so much life experience, I’ll have a lot of inspiration to draw from.
With chronic illness, the housework is a constant stress
You would love nothing more than to move ever piece of furniture out of the way and get cleaning the collection of food, dust and small toys. The pile of laundry is giving Everest a run for it’s money and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t keep up. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll end up on an episode of Hoarders. But, in reality, your house is probably not as bad as you think. In fact, you could probably walk into almost any family home and see the same messes. If you do feel overwhelmed, check out my blog about household products that can help you manage your household with a chronic illness.
When you do manage to get to the bottom of the laundry basket you’re not a domestic Goddess, you’re a domestic badass. Celebrate with cake and a rest. That’s an order!
You are a domestic bad ass Credit: Abobe Stock
When you achieve something you feel like a total rock star
You’ve woken up and it’s one of those rare days you feel semi human. You do a few loads of washing; you get dressed and even put on a bit of make up. Then you prep dinner while the kids are at school. It’s all done from scratch and smells amazing. Even organising your meds is a huge achievement for you. Whatever you managed to do today, it’s an achievement and needs to be celebrated. [pullquote]Simply getting up out of bed and leaving the house for a cup of coffee with friends is something to be proud of. Those days can be few and far between so when it happens, you appreciate so much more.[/pullquote]
Maybe you have a chronic illness but manage to live normally, that doesn’t mean you are not struggling. It is so important not to compare yourself to others. I personally don’t believe in thinking I’m sicker than anyone else. Everyone’s illness is his or her own. We all handle things differently. A lot of the time, fear of pain and fatigue and of course mental illness as a result of the physical illness can hold us back. No two stories are exactly alike.
So celebrate your achievements no matter how small they may be. Try not to dwell on all the things you couldn’t get to do today. Focus on what you did manage to do, even if it was “just” getting dressed.
*The Eighth Amendment affects people who have the ability to become pregnant In Ireland.
The Eighth Amendment states that the foetus has the same rights as the person who is pregnant. Ireland and Malta are the last two European countries where abortion hasn’t been made legal. The Eighth Amendment was added to the Irish Constitution in 1983. It means that abortion services are unavailable in Ireland. Even in the case of fatal foetal abnormalities or when a woman becomes pregnant as a result of rape. Approximately 12 Irish people per day are forced to travel to the UK to have an abortion.
It’s more than just abortion
But the Eighth Amendment also affects pregnant people who choose to stay pregnant. The big issue I personally have with the way the Eighth Amendment is being portrayed in the media and by the “pro life” side. It is that it’s made out to be solely about abortion. The Eighth Amendment is so much more than the issue of abortion. This week, as the first part of this series, we will look at the issue of consent during pregnancy and birth.
According to the Health Service Executive’s (HSE) National Consent Policy
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“because of the Constitutional provisions on the right to life of the unborn [Article 40.3.3] there is significant legal uncertainty regarding a pregnant woman’s right to [consent]”.
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This section of the HSE’s policy allows the HSE to apply for injunctions from the High Court. These injunctions compel pregnant women to receive treatment when they have not consented. Sometimes, what the HSE are seeking injunctions for is not seen as best practice by international standards.
In Ireland pregnant people are frequently induced early without any medical reason. They are cut without consent, medicated without consent and not properly informed of the procedures forced upon them. This issue of consent was highlighted in the 2014 Association of Improvement in Maternity Services (AIMS) Ireland survey of 2,836 women, where less than half of all respondents said they were given the opportunity to refuse consent to tests, procedures and treatments. Less.Than.Half.
Strike 4 Repeal protest Credit Siobhan Venables
My own story:
Looking back at my first birth, I was affected by the Eighth Amendment. Induction was to be scheduled just nine days after my “due date”. It was my wish to go the full fourteen days but my consultant said that was not hospital policy. I was afraid to argue because I had seen stories of women brought to the high court and even threatened with social services because they went against hospital policy. Frustratingly, the midwife who began my induction said by the way I was looking, I would have given birth on my own a couple of days later.
My second birth was quite similar. I wanted so badly to have a home birth but just seeing I had a pre existing condition made me an unsuitable candidate. The midwives knew I wanted to do this so badly. They hadn’t even heard of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome so why was it a straight up no without a consultation with the head of the Home Birth department? Now, having a hospital birth was the best option in the end but I was not given a choice from the get go.
No informed consent, no wishes respected
I specifically told the hospital I did not want an epidural. I was not to be offered an epidural. If I wanted, I would ask for it. Did that happen? Of course not.
[pullquote]The midwives wore me down, they kept insisting and being in pain and exhausted, I gave in. I had no choice in either of my labours. I was not informed that induction would be far more painful than a natural labour or that it would be far more lengthy.[/pullquote]
There was no indication that I would be going through my first birth alone because of the Swine Flu epidemic. I was given my orders and at 22, I just went along with it. I was not one to kick up a fuss (that’s changed now). After all, doctor knew best. Or so I thought.
Long-term effects
For the following six months after my first birth, I had nightmares every night about being induced and being alone for the majority of my labour. My husband was only there for the very last bit of my labour and for the birth. He was with me for the entirety of my second, which made the experience far more positive.
I was told by a midwife recently that if I had been in the UK, that even with my EDS, my choices would have been respected after I had been informed about any risks.
I spoke with other Irish people with chronic illness/disability about how the Eighth Amendment has affected them. This blog has been a long time in the making because I wanted to do justice to their very important stories. Stories that show the Eighth Amendment needs to be repealed.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of people affected by the Eighth Amendment:
Strike 4 Repeal protest Credit Siobhan Venables
The Eighth Amendment affected Jennifer with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome:
Initially I hadn’t wanted to give birth in a hospital. My ideal birth was a water birth in the comfort of my own home. I wanted to share a bed with my partner the night our child was born. I hated the idea of him being sent home on his own after helping me through everything.
Unfortunately, I was told what I wanted wasn’t possible. I was told my BMI was two points higher than they would like. Although I never had any complications associated with high BMI that was that. The water birth was not going to happen in the hospital. The head midwife told us the HSE had padlocked an entire wing with brand new birth pools and my obstetrician admitted it was partly because disinfecting the birth pools had been deemed too expensive. I settled on an active birth, low lighting where possible, two birth partners (which I fought for), quiet voices and positive language. There was to be as little intervention as possible.
Jennifer’s Birth Story
At 41 weeks I was brought in for an induction, we had started sweeps a couple of weeks before, but I had excess amniotic fluid so our baby was essentially bobbing and couldn’t engage for long enough to get labour going by himself.
It was a Thursday I was brought in, I was given the max dose of hormone gel on my cervix between then and Saturday. I had contractions and ironically was allowed to go and have a normal bath in my early stages of labour.
The birth I didn’t want
On Saturday I was told my waters needed to be broken. My mother and partner were there with me. I was brought into a procedure room; the ones that don’t have a full bed but instead something closer to a lounge chair. The air con was on and loud enough that we had to raise our voices to be heard. I was told it couldn’t be switched off. When they broke my waters there was meconium in them. The midwives were starting to panic. We were given an hour to get my labour moving or I would be put on a drip.
I asked if I could send one of my birth partners to get my birthing ball from the car and was told they would give me one instead. So I went to the bathroom that was through the maternity triage ward. When the birthing ball finally arrived it was too short for me and under inflated. It far from ideal as I had a badly misaligned pelvis that went untreated throughout my pregnancy and never fully healed.
I was put on continual monitoring, I tried to ask if there was another way as this would prevent me from moving much and I was told we would see. This was about 1pm and it didn’t come off the monitors until after I gave birth at 5 am.
Emotional and physical scarring
It took 5 people to get an IV line into me. Two midwives and two doctors attempted and failed. Eventually an anaesthetist was successful. All of them tried multiple places. They had no issue finding veins but my skin was too stretchy and tough for them to get the plastic part of the line under my skin. Three years later I still have multiple scars from their attempts.
We were left with a midwife to get my labour going once all of that was done. She was very matter of fact with me and somewhat lacking in bedside manner. She left the room for something and I cried.
I already knew even my most basic wishes weren’t going to be taken into consideration. It was rapidly turning into the labour I was hoping to avoid.
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It was rapidly turning into the labour I was hoping to avoid.
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My tolerance for pain is high. I’ve walked around on a subluxated hip and fractured tailbone for three weeks without pain medication. I cope quietly until I can’t. Because of that, my drip was turned up the max amount at every interval. The midwife who relieved the previous one was amazed I was already in the highest dose when she came in. I ended up having one breath between contractions. I was no longer coping well and kept saying I wanted to go home. They checked my dilation, 3cm. I knew I wouldn’t have the energy to get to 10 at this rate. Determined not to have a C-section, I gave in and asked for an epidural.
Before the epidural was administered and we were waiting for the anaesthetist I asked to go to the bathroom. I was told I wasn’t allowed because of the monitors and she would give me a catheter instead. It felt very unnecessary and it hurt.
Hurt, starved and threatened
I was cathetered three more times. The last two I wasn’t even asked, I didn’t need to go, she had to press hard on my stomach and force urine out of me.
When I did get the epidural it only worked on one side of my body, it took 4 hours to rectify. Apparently because I’m a larger lady (I’m a size 18).
Breakfast was served at 7am. My waters were broken before lunch. I was denied food for my whole labour in case they needed to do a C-section. I went about 23 hours without eating.
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C-section and episiotomy were threatened against Jennifer.
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I didn’t end up needing either and I didn’t have any tears from giving birth. I did get two minor tears either side of my urethra, where my clitoral hood meets my inner labia.
Strike 4 Repeal Protest Credit: Siobhan Venables
Medical trauma affected my sex life
I discovered about a year later I also had a tear under my clitoral hood where it connects to the clitoris.
[pullquote]The midwife who pushed either side of my vagina as my son was crowning caused this. It affected my ability to climax for about two years.[/pullquote]
These were caused by the midwife who pushed either side of my vagina as my son was crowning. It affected my ability to climax for about two years.
“I did not give consent”
I had wanted to do delayed cord clamping but due to the meconium that wasn’t an option and I’m ok with that. It was my wish to let my placenta to come away naturally. Once my son was delivered they took him to the other side of the room to clear his lungs and check him over. Meanwhile I was given an injection to hurry up my placenta without my permission, which caused a massive bleed, they thought I was haemorrhaging initially. I understand this may have been necessary but there was no discussion, explanation or warning about the injection. I did not give consent.
Thankfully I have a happy healthy child and physically I have more or less recovered. Emotionally and mentally less so. I will not be giving birth in a hospital again unless I have complications during my pregnancy or labour that put my future children or me at risk.
How The Eighth Amendment affected Sarah with Crohn’s Disease:
I have Crohn’s disease, and I had a very rocky end to my pregnancy.
In the third trimester I developed pneumonia, and began having a massive flare. I was given great treatment in the maternity ward and went home.
At home I was spending days on the couch or running to the toilet. I had little energy and each trip to the doctor I was told that once baby arrived they would see what they could do. The main thing was plenty of rest and not losing weight, which I did a good job of- I was huge!
My previous baby was quite small, 5lb 10. I’m pretty petite myself, so I really wasn’t worried when they said this baby was small. I went for weekly scans, and every week baby was there moving away happily growing quite slowly but no signs of anything amiss.
She had an almighty strong kick so I felt pretty confident. I know these things aren’t perfect but one day the consultant called me in. She started tossing around terms like “hospital won’t accept liability” [pullquote]’hospital won’t accept liability’ [/pullquote] and when I asked if there was something wrong, she said she couldn’t guarantee this until baby was here.
Unnecessary induction
Something about the way she spoke made me feel like there was something wrong. Apart from my own illness, my vitals, baby’s heartbeats, scans and everything had been going well. I asked her when did she want to do the induction (I didn’t think I had a choice or was giving consent by the way, this sounded like a life or death matter) she said tomorrow.
Without much warning she told me to lie in the bed and said she was going to do a sweep. I was 36 weeks. The sweep was agony in my already inflamed pelvic area.
Sarah’s Birth Story
The next morning I was hooked up to the drip and ready to go. All was going well for the first while, I had strong contractions but I was up and moving about. After a while nothing still, so they turned up the drip and I had even more intense contractions.
Then my Crohn’s kicked in and I had a lot of tummy trouble, and a massive onset of fatigue. I’ll spare the details but I’m usually one to laugh about this and make toilet humour. Not this time. I began to have spasms, which I get when things are bad.
“Don’t be a Martyr”
That was making me push, except now was no time to push. The nurse decided that to spare my body, because in her words ‘baby doesn’t want to come out’ they would turn the drip up again to full.
After this I was told not to be a martyr and have an epidural. Admittedly I cried because none of this my choice.
[pullquote]Admittedly I cried because none of this my choice.[/pullquote]
I had a natural birth in the past and knew what my body was capable of. This however was my biggest nightmare to be so ill and scared and having things forced upon me.
I very narrowly escaped a forceps delivery by sheer will. The epidural helped some in the end and all the pushing was stage was over and I held my beautiful girl. She was perfect, as I knew she would be. She was content and happy and safe in there, and could have stayed a few weeks longer.
Postnatal trauma
That’s not where it ended for me though, some time after I suffered faecal incontinence. It’s been an ongoing issue since. My specialist reckons I should not have had the procedure. [pullquote]A slow birth wouldn’t have put that strain on me, or a Caesarean if they genuinely felt there was a risk.[/pullquote]
My opinion was I could have been monitored in hospital and given fluids, medicines. I think they knew there was no risk. They were just too cautious- to the point I wasn’t allowed to make informed decisions. It was all decided for me, it wasn’t my body and when it was handed back they had damaged it with unnecessary medical interventions.
Strike 4 Repeal protest Credit Siobhan Venables
No bodily autonomy
Sadly, the stories featured today are not uncommon in Ireland. I have rarely come across a birth story where a mother’s wishes were completely respected. Never has a birth experience 100 per cent positive. In 2017, pregnant people do not have bodily autonomy. People with chronic illnesses and disabilities know exactly what their body is capable of. We are stronger than most people in a number of ways. People with long-term health issues face so many obstacles on a day-to-day basis. We already have so much taken away from us because of our disabilities. When it comes to birth and labour, we feel even more helpless. The control over our own bodies is taken away. The Eighth Amendment is directly responsible. Ireland’s Eighth Amendment will continue to take away our rights until it is repealed.
Change needs to happen now
[pullquote]C-Section birth rates in Ireland are three times the recommended figure[/pullquote]. Rates of episiotomy and induction are also alarmingly high in Ireland. These facts are old news, sure, but it just goes to show how controlling the maternity system is over pregnant and birthing people’s bodies. We have a dictatorship of a Health Service and something needs to change. There needs to be a massive overhaul of our maternity system and that starts with repealing the Eighth Amendment.
Some might say I am being dramatic here but Ireland in 2017 is like living in The Handmaid’s Tale.
Pregnant people are just vessels that need to be controlled and threatened when they disobey.[pullquote] In any other area of medicine, a patient’s consent must be sought. The hospital in question would have a lawsuit on their hands if they didn’t.[/pullquote] But then again, we know Gender Bias in medicine is a very real thing.
*It’s not just women who can find themselves pregnant. Nine-year-old girls can get pregnant. Transgender men can get pregnant. This is a human rights issue and not just a “women’s issue”.
Thank You to Jennifer and Sarah for sharing their stories with me. I know it can’t have been easy to write it all out and living through the memories again. You ladies are rock stars.
If you would like to tell your story, email hello@thezebramom.com
Sorry for the radio silence, I had been in London again for tests and treatments and then I had some pretty bad issues with my neck. After almost two weeks and muscle relaxers, it’s finally under control. Interestingly, the muscle relaxers seemed to help my general widespread pain. I do have chronic tendinitis pretty much all over my body so obviously muscle relaxers would be helpful. Unfortunately my GP won’t allow me to have them long term in case I start sublimating and dislocating more often. Anyway, I’ll update you with London in next week’s post but I really wanted to get something off my chest this week.
How many of you out there have had people accuse you of faking your illness based on things you post on social media? It really can be a lose/lose situation for those of us with disabilities. If you post yourself getting out and having fun, you’re not that sick and if you post yourself lying in bed in pain, you’re attention seeking. If you do both? You’re not being consistent and therefore lying about your illness. It seems people are under the impression to be truly disabled, you have to be miserable, housebound 24/7 and silent. Out of sight, out of mind.
Recently I had the displeasure of being accused of faking my illness by a family member. Why? Because the wide range of photos on Facebook show my life for what it is; inconsistent. Some days I am in my wheelchair and some days I socialise with friends. Anybody with a chronic illness knows that you have your good days and your bad days. When you do have your good days, you take advantage of them. I was told by said family member to get off the internet and “go for a long walk.” I’m sure some of you reading this are scoffing at the very idea. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many of my non spoonie friends stood up for me especially when the conversation got nasty. Funny thing is this person hasn’t seen me in five years, so it’s not like they have seen me at home contorted in pain with heat packs attached to me and medicated up to my eyeballs.
I’m sure a lot of us with invisible conditions face these judgements and questions pretty regularly. Unless you live the spoonie life, you don’t know what it is like to be ridiculed and made to feel insecure simply by sharing your life, the good, the bad and the ugly.
For most, social media is a way to pass the time. It’s entertainment. But for those of us who do not have the luxury of having a vibrant social life, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat etc are what keeps us connected to the world on a personal level. Have you been told you’re “always on Facebook”? Well, I don’t know about anyone else but many of my fellow spoonie friends also use Facebook to connect with loved ones. I scroll through my feed to check in on them and to see how other loved ones are doing since I am not able to get out and visit people as much as I would like to. Of course I do enjoy the entertainment aspect of social media, I like the Buzzfeed quizzes and the odd meme too. I am vocal about all aspects of healthcare and politics too. I’m a pretty opinionated person, I don’t think that should be frowned upon though.
Social media is a fantastic way to raise awareness of the various conditions that fall off the radar. Thanks to selfie campaigns and social media challenges like the ice bucket challenge for ALS (or my beloved REDS4VEDS campaign) the general public know more about diseases that previous generations may not have ever heard of. Even simply sharing a meme or infographic about a condition can educate thousands or possibly millions of people worldwide.
Posting our feelings about our condition or how the health system/Government let us down may come across as moaning or self pitying but for the majority of us, we just want to be heard. It is so frustrating to live in a country where there is an incredible lack of care (both senses of the word) and to witness the poor quality of life those with chronic conditions have. Again, when you’re isolated from the outside world, you don’t get to vent to someone in person, like most people do. We can’t just get up and leave the house to visit a friend for a cup of tea and get things off our chest. Most people ignore these posts, and you know they will but, you also know that your fellow spoonie friends will respond and be empathetic. Sometimes just seeing a comment saying “I hope you feel a bit better tomorrow,” can brighten up your day.
Posting a wheelchair selfie or a “good day” selfie doesn’t have any motive, we post photos without thought, just like everyone else. People post photos of themselves in the gym, or their food. What’s so wrong with us posting photos showing the complexity and inconsistency of our lives? Again, it’s about awareness. I think so many people are under the impression to be truly disabled, you must be missing a limb or in a wheelchair full time. As I’ve said, we do have our good days, they are far and few between and so on those days, we take photos and post. To be honest, most of the time it’s just a way to keep all the photos in one place. I also love when Facebook sends me a memories notification. I often get to see photos of a day I’ve completely forgotten about or a post of how ill I have been. I look back and see I’ve survived so far, and that can sometimes boost my motivation to keep fighting for recovery.
The thing about social media is it has given people the confidence to be cruel and rarely have to deal with the repercussions of their words because they post in the comfort of their own home. In reality, the majority of keyboard warriors wouldn’t say these things to your face. Also, these people forget they have the free will to scroll on by or unfollow someone if they don’t want to see “depressing” posts (yes, my life was too depressing for this lovely family member). There’s a plethora of posts on social media that aren’t to everyone’s liking or taste and most of us choose to either ignore them because it’s not worth loosing a friend or a family member over.
Anyway, I just wanted to get this off my chest because it is something that has been bothering me for awhile.
This week I spoke to Amy from Living with ME. Amy is a university student studying English and Linguistics. Amy suffers from Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.)/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). You can find Amy on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest.
Hello! I’m Amy Saunders and I have a blog called Living with ME which is basically a lifestyle blog, focusing on chronic illness. I have ME/CFS, (chronic fatigue syndrome) and potentially an underactive thyroid as well. I am a student at university, studying English Language and Linguistics, and in my spare time (when I’m not sleeping/resting!) I love reading, singing, and writing!
So now we know a little about Amy, let’s have a read of her Friday Feelings entry
“Dear Diary
For the past few weeks, my Friday night has been spent being in bed by 8pm, with a hot water bottle and a big soaps catch up. Usually after a busy week, I am ready to collapse and I use my Friday nights to rest and unwind from a chaotic week, and I usually love doing that. It’s time that I get to myself to do what I want to do, whether that be watching my favourite TV show, doing some blogging, or just reading a book. Occasionally, if I’ve had a quieter week, I might go out for a few drinks with friends, or a meal, but on the whole, I’m usually in bed, and that’s just the way I like it.
I’m currently recovering from a bit of a flare up from my illness which hit me in March, along with a side of anxiety and a bit of depression, so time to myself is so special to me, and so important for my health.
I am comfortable enough with my illness to know my limits, but whenever a flare up arrives, it is bound to hit you hard, no matter how bad the flare is.
March was a bad month, and that’s never going to change, but what is important is that I persevered and I got through it. It’s now time for me to reflect and look back at it and work out if there was a trigger, something that caused it, so I can learn from it and prepare for the future.
I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. Will I get better? Will I get worse? Or will I just stay the same?
I have all these big life decisions that I have to start making over the next year or so, and to be quite honest, I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do.
It’s hard to try and explain this to people. I’m at university, so naturally people are always asking me what I want to do once I’ve finished. My gut tells me to be honest and say ‘I don’t know’, but my head tells me to lie and say ‘Oh I want to be a teacher’. I mean, that is the truth isn’t it? I do want to be a teacher. I know it’s not realistic and it most likely won’t happen, but it is the truth, right?
I don’t expect anyone to understand what it feels like to live with a chronic illness at 21 years old, but it would be nice from them to try.
But for now, I live for the present moment. I try not to think about the future, and the big decisions that I’m going to have to face soon. I’m very grateful for the life that I have, and for the family and friends, and wonderful boyfriend that I have. That is what is important, and that is enough for me.”
A big thank you to Amy for taking part in our Friday Feelings blog.
I really hope that she will be able to achieve her dream of becoming a teacher. I can totally relate to her story. How about you? Do you relate to Amy’s diary entry? Have you any advice for her about making big decisions while dealing with a chronic illness? Let us know in the comments.
Want to write your own Friday Feeling entry?
Send
A high res photo
A short paragraph about yourself
What illnesses you have
Your diary entry with the following topics in it:
It’s Friday, many people will go out tonight for a few sociable drinks with their friends. What do you do on a typical Friday night?
How are you feeling at this moment about your chronic illness?
How do you feel about the future in regards to your illness?
How do you feel about the way people view your illness?
and links to your blog and social media to evienevin87@yahoo.ie
Be sure to put “Friday Feelings” in the subject bar.
Sunday’s blog will be published tomorrow as we are heading to London for treatment on Sunday.
Soon I’ll be back to London for my next round of tests and physiotherapy. The smallies will also be seeing their paediatric physio in the Hypermobility Unit in London. Going abroad with small children can be so stressful and takes up so many of your spoons. I remember with Alex, everywhere we went, even for a short trip to the city we had a truck load of things to bring with us. This time with Olivia it is so much easier because my parenting technique is so different.
So what is “Attachment Parenting”?
Well, for me I just call it parenting, it’s the biological norm to raise a child so I hate putting a label on it.
According to parenting science.com:
“Attachment parenting” is an approach to child-rearing intended to forge strong, secure attachments between parents and children.”
Attachment Parenting is often referred to as AP.
But how does AP differ from any other type of parenting?
AP is associated with a number of practices, including:
Baby-carrying or “baby-wearing”
Breastfeeding on cue
Nurturing touch (including skin-to-skin “kangaroo care” for infants)
Being responsive to a baby’s cries
Being sensitive and responsive to a child’s emotions (e.g., by helping her cope with nighttime fears)
Co-sleeping
In addition, attachment parenting advocates often promote “positive parenting,” an approach to discipline that attempts to guide children by emotion coaching, reasoning, and constructive problem solving.
However, proponents of AP–like William and Martha Sears, who coined the term “attachment parenting”–note that there is no checklist of rules that parents must follow to qualify as “attachment parents” (Sears and Sears 2001).
Family circumstances may prevent parents from carrying out every AP practice. What’s really important, argues these authors, is sensitive, responsive parenting-— understanding and addressing your child’s needs in an affectionate way.
Similarly, the founders of Attachment Parenting International argue that that attachment parenting is really about adapting a few general principles–like providing kids with a consistent, loving, primary caregiver–to the particular needs of your family.
This is not the same as being overly-protective. By definition, securely-attached kids are not overly clingy or helpless. They are the kids who feel confident to explore the world on their own. They can do this because they trust that their parents will be there for them (Mercer 2006).
So how has AP practices helped me with my chronic illness?
Babywearing
When I was pregnant my Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome wreaked havoc on my body. I was wheelchair bound by 5 weeks into my pregnancy because I developed severe Symphysis Pubis Disorder (SPD) and my Autonomic System was all over the place.
I knew that there was a pretty good chance that I would still be affected with the SPD post partum and I was right. Two years on and I still suffer with it. How was I going to push a buggy while in a wheelchair?
Babywearing was my answer. Even on days where I couldn’t wear Ollie for whatever reason, Daddy wore her. It was a lovely way for them to bond. While I liked my ring sling, he was more into the wrap type slings. My coordination couldn’t handle the wrapping at all.
Three months after her birth, I didn’t need the wheelchair as frequently but I still carried her. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to manage lifting and opening up a heavy buggy so just popping my sling into my bag was the easiest option. After the ring sling I opted for the Rock n Rolla Fidella buckle carrier it was badass. Then I switched to a beautiful pink Fidella Mei Tai before going back to a buckle carrier (Nova) as my shoulder became to sore for wrapping. The Nova hasn’t had much use as Ollie likes to walk but I do use it for when I need walk to collect Alex from school or when we are in London. We brought a stroller on holiday once and it went unused, plus it is a pain having to bring it along with the other luggage.
In retrospect, I wish I had gone along to a babywearing group to try things out before I bought the Mei Tai. It was only after I rented a Nova from the group that I realised it was exactly what I needed, lightweight, breathable and tidy enough to go in my bag. I would absolutely recommend people to try before they buy.
Babywearing allows you to be hands free as well and baby sleeps contently snuggled into their parents chest.
It really is a win/win situation. Baby is happy therefore Mommy is happy.
I can imagine people who are unfamiliar with babywearing wondering how I possibly managed to carry extra weight with weak joints/muscles and pain.
If you’re wearing your baby correctly, you should be well supported and you shouldn’t feel the extra weight bearing down on you.
Interestingly, I was sent a link to a blog called Babywearing with Disabilities recently. Until I began writing this post, I hadn’t opened it. Imagine my surprise to find out the woman who wrote the blog actually has hEDS too! She offers some very good advice about how to babywear when you’re disabled. Really worth a read. Further reading about the general benefits of babywearing for parent and baby can be found here.
Slings come in so many gorgeous prints and designs. Say goodbye to your shoe/handbag addiction and say hello to telling your other half “Oh I won that on a dip.”
Breastfeeding on demand
Sadly due to poor support and advice, Alex was only breastfed for just over two weeks. He had an undiagnosed tongue tie which caused me to be in a lot of pain when feeding him. Yet no healthcare professional said anything bar “it happens”. No. Breastfeeding should not hurt. That’s a different story that you can read about here.
Anyway, I remember being so exhausted when we switched to formula. Having to make up bottles in the middle of the night, dealing with reflux and constipation, the usual drama with formula was just so much hassle. Even with two of us taking turns to get up. I was also pretty annoyed that the weight that had been falling off me for the first two weeks stopped melting off me.
Luckily, armed with evidence based information and a fantastic network of breastfeeding mothers, I was determined that this time it would work out. It’s crazy the amount of misinformation being spread not just by ill informed loved ones but by actual health care professionals too. I actually interviewed one of Ireland’s leading IBCLCs and the world renowned, Dr Jack Newman about breastfeeding myths.
Anyway, unlucky for us, Ollie was also born with a tongue and lip tie. But, this time I was determined to get it sorted as quickly as possible so that we could continue our breastfeeding journey. After exclusively pumping for 3 weeks and then pumping while also learning the skill of breastfeeding, we were on our way. Ollie is just two weeks shy of two and honestly, feeding her has been one of my greatest achievements as a parent. Breastfeeding is the biological norm but in Ireland where just 2% of babies are fed by 1 year, it’s a pretty big deal to even get to two years.
Breastfeeding forced me to relax and properly recover after the birth which in itself was pretty traumatic. I had to give birth early as my waters had broken. I ended up loosing half of my blood but the consultant managed to stop the bleeding just as they were calling for blood bags. I was very weak and ill after the birth so lying on the couch for the first 2 months while Ollie built up my supply was ideal. I didn’t have to get up in the night to make bottles and the lovely hormones released during feeding time helped me feel content and loved up. Plus with the extra hand it meant Alex could join in on the cuddles.
Breastfeeding also meant that I didn’t have to bring a huge bag filled with bottles and powder everywhere we went. You literally just have your breasts and you grab a nappy and off you go. Babywearing while breastfeeding also meant that I could get on with whatever I needed to do while baby was getting everything she desired; being close to mama and her milk. Best part is that my meds are all compatible with breastfeeding as 99% of medications are, again unfortunately that is another piece of information that isn’t well known amongst a lot of healthcare professionals and new mothers.
You can read more about breastfeeding while being chronically ill here.
Cosleeping/Bedsharing
We intended to have Ollie sleep in a cosleep cot that Daddy made following this hack. FYI total cost was 65 Euro in comparison to the phenomenal amount of money you spend on a store bought cosleeper crib! The new mattress was the most expensive part.
Anyway, so we had the cosleeper cot attached to our bed and by the looks of it, Ollie would fit into it until she was at least four! Well, nope, this happened:
You know what? It worked out for the best because having her closer to me meant she could feed as I drifted back to sleep and it became a place to keep all her clothes and cloth nappies! Now she is able to undress me and help herself while I stay asleep! Research shows that parents who bed share and breastfeed get more sleep than those who don’t.
Once you practice the safety guidelines, there is virtually no risk in bed sharing, in fact a lot of research shows that babies who are exclusively breastfed and bed share with their mothers are actually less likely to die from SIDS. You only have to look at every other species of mammal to see that the dyad sleeping together is a natural part of child rearing. Hey, the Gruffalos cosleep too!
You can find some evidence based articles about infant sleep and bed sharing here.
As stated before, AP doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You can formula feed and babywear, you can breastfeed and use a buggy. I just know from my own experience that following my mammalian instincts has helped me to cope with parenting while having a chronic illness a whole lot easier.
Sorry we are late to the party this week. I’ll explain in my post tomorrow why I am late.
Anyway, this week I spoke to Sheryl from A Chronic Voice. Sheryl suffers from antiphospholipid syndrome (a blood clotting disorder), Lupus (SLE), Sjögren’s Syndrome, Epilepsy, PSVT (a heart rhythm disorder), a repaired mitral valve, osteoporosis from long term steroids, and couple more illnesses. You can find Sheryl on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
My name is Sheryl and I’m from Singapore, a sunny island in Southeast Asia. Writing and travelling are my two biggest passions in life (I know, cliché, but it’s true ;)). Other hobbies I’ve been dabbling with of late include flower arrangement and learning French.
I used to work in an ad agency as a frontend web developer, but had to quit as the stress was literally killing me (needed blood transfusions). I am still trying to find ways to balance my health while earning a living. I feel very fortunate to have such supportive loved ones.
I blog over at A Chronic Voice and Journey Jot (albeit much neglected). I am trying to find ways to merge the two 🙂
So now that we know a little about Sheryl, let’s look at her Friday Feelings entry.
“Dear Diary, It’s Friday and most people are out partying the night away. I am perfectly content that I’m at home, having a normal home-cooked meal or pizza with my partner, watching a movie. Sometimes we go for a spontaneous walk or outing. We do make an effort to dress up and go out once a month however, either for a dinner date, or to meet some new people. I feel that this is important even though I’d rather stay in, because I do not want to lose touch with the world. It’s so easy to become trapped in our own without even realising it, which creates tunnel visions and narrow minds. Right now, I’m not in that much pain, so I’m all chummy with it. I think to myself, ‘oh, there’s plenty I can learn from pain.’ I’ll probably change my stance when it comes back with a sadistic grin…which should be soon as I have a surgery scheduled on Monday 😉 There is no future with chronic illness. To clarify, I don’t even know what’s up for tomorrow. I will have a rough idea only when I open my eyes in the morning. There is an underlying worry, for sure. I think to myself, ‘I am already so weak physically and unstable financially now. What more in 20 years time, when we all become naturally less resilient?’ Then again, I don’t feel as miserable as I used to anymore. I have come to realise that it is ridiculous to compare myself to the rest of society. Put it this way – if chronic illness and being in pain was the norm, how would the average person behave? From that perspective, I think I’m doing okay. My loved ones always say to me, ‘take it one day at a time, that’s all you can do’. And I think it’s getting drilled into my head pretty good. Since I’ve become active on Facebook with my blog (I never really posted much before that), I think people have become more sensitive when they are around me. This is both a good and bad thing. While they are more compassionate, there is also a vibe of walking on eggshells, which I don’t like. Strangers on the other hand are quick to judge anything invisible; I do that myself. But surprisingly, there are those with chronic illnesses who judge you harsher than society. Almost as if they have become so bitter and so engrossed with their illness, that they claim ‘ownership’ over it. And that’s risky behaviour which I hope I never sink too deeply into.
Thank you for taking the time to read my diary entry, and wishing you a fabulous week ahead!”
A big thank you to Sheryl for taking part in Friday Feelings despite having to prep for surgery tomorrow!
Can you relate to Sheryl’s entry? Do you find people walk around on eggshells around you or have you noticed competitiveness in chronic illness circles? You can comment below and let us know your thoughts. You can also follow Sheryl on Pinterest and Google+
Want to write your own Friday Feeling entry?
Send
A high res photo
A short paragraph about yourself
What illnesses you have
Your diary entry with the following topics in it:
It’s Friday, many people will go out tonight for a few sociable drinks with their friends. What do you do on a typical Friday night?
How are you feeling at this moment about your chronic illness?
How do you feel about the future in regards to your illness?
How do you feel about the way people view your illness?
and links to your blog and social media to evienevin87@yahoo.ie
Be sure to put “Friday Feelings” in the subject bar.
So until tomorrow,
Z.M
x
One mother's experience of life with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome
The Zebra Mom 