How to Stop Our Fear-Based Stories and Improve Our Life Experiences

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Lake Michigan with my Wisconsin-native hubby

I first learned about metacognition in the early 90’s when I was in graduate school at The University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill. My master’s degree is in Speech-Language Pathology which means that in addition to learning about speech and language, I have studied cognitive (thinking) skills extensively.

Metacognition is the ability to think about what we are thinking about. It is the high-level thinking skill which allows us to be aware our thoughts. Originally this was deemed a human skill but there are some other animals who show signs of metacognition.

My ability to think about what I am thinking about became a large part of my hope and healing last summer/fall. I was quite sick and felt extremely discouraged after nearly 17 years of dealing with crohn’s disease, chronic migraines, leukemia and now immunodeficiency due to chemotherapy.

Because I am allergic to the medical treatment for immunodeficiency, I am left piecing together good hygiene with what has felt to be a very limited amount of immune-boosting agents in an attempt to protect myself from infections, viruses, and even common bacteria.

This is not something I ever imagined would be my life experience. I never anticipated that I would beat cancer only to have a future that can feel bleak and hemmed in by isolation due to immunodeficiency. The chemotherapy I take put leukemia into remission, but I have to stay on it to stay in remission. With leukemia back in remission, I feel great. However, loneliness, repeat infections and a complete upheaval from regular socialization left me grief stricken and fearful from 2015-2017.

It is scary to have a paper thin immune system with nothing sizeable to provide backup support other than my faith in a healing God. I feel like I am falling backward with nobody there to catch me. In addition, my body does not fight incoming germs with typical defense mechanisms such as fevers. This means that I can be getting very sick without the symptoms until I am severely infected.

This is both physically miserable and frankly terrifying.

Last summer I found The Work of Byron Katie. Through her work, I came to understand that much of our life experience is not the actual events that occur in our day but it is how we perceive things to be happening.  According to Katie, our minds create stories based on past experiences and emotions combined with future expectations. And if we are not cognizant of our thought process those stories can be daunting during times of duress.

Katie proposes that we create stories in our mind by marrying the memories and emotions of our past with what we imagine to be our future. These thoughts pull us out of the present moment into an experience that is emotionally charged and filled with images that are not our current reality.

Neuroscientist Dr. Joe Dispenza explains that during stressful times our minds create images of our future in the worst possible outcome as a survival mechanism. This is a subconscious method in which our mind attempts to keep us alive, by preparing for the worst. However in reality most of those worst case scenarios never happen.

Last summer I was too sick to take healing walks through nature so I literally wrapped blankets around myself and shuffled back and forth on our back porch soaking up healing rays of vitamin D. I listened to Byron Katie for hours each day and learned how to stop the scary thoughts that bound me.

Over the past 17 years, I have gone through horrifying experiences because of health crises. These experiences provide me a with a very strong, emotionally charged past. That combined with future images of the worst possible outcome sets me up for my mind to create some profoundly sad and frightening thoughts about my life experience.

I reached a new level of hope and peace when I learned how to stop letting my thoughts race back and forth between the past and possible future events; when I learned how to live in the present moment. This required me to first practice metacognition — to think about what I am thinking about. I then went through exercises to stop the past/future thoughts and stay in the present moment.

Since then my fear and grief levels have largely subsided leaving hope and joy in their place.

You don’t have to have immunodeficiency or even leukemia to experience the scary thoughts. You just have to be human, this is what we tend to do unless we teach our minds to stay in the present moment.

I have learned a lot through illness over the years. This is a lesson I wish I had learned before I ever got sick. You can apply these strategies to finance, work, relationships in addition to health and experience a much more peaceful, positive life experience.

“God designed humans to observe our own thoughts, catch those that are bad, and get rid of them.”  

–Dr. Caroline Leaf

 


Sometimes God Really Does Speak…

 

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I focused on BETTER DAYS when I was sick like our wedding anniversary at the North GA Wineries

 

I woke up early Thanksgiving morning and wrote a blog post giving thanks to God for healing me. Later that day I started to feel chilled and crummy.  Really? Really God?

Friday we were supposed to have my husband’s kids and grand kids over to celebrate Thanksgiving; instead I donned a hospital mask and The Hubs and I headed to urgent care.

My heart was on the floor

During the month of October I consistently wore hospital masks when I went out in public to protect myself against the bugs because I have developed immunodeficiency from chemotherapy.

 

Mask

NOT my favorite look

 

Yet despite the precautions I took, there we sat. If this had been an isolated event my spirit would not have been crushed but I have been in and out of hospitals and ER’s for 16 years.

The past few weeks were a blur of blue lips, inhalers, antibiotics, steroids and sleeping with my Bible in my bed. It was incredibly difficult to breathe and I wondered if this was the end of my journey.

My husband, parents and sister’s family poured life giving words over me. I forced myself to press into gratitude for seemingly small things: the soft blanket my sister gave me 2 years ago, the pretty trees outside our window, our dog, our peaceful home, my family’s unconditional love.

One night I threw a magnificent pity party for myself. I sat in our bed with my journal and Bible in my lap, tears streaming down my face and cried out to God. And this time I heard His voice in reply. It was not an audible voice but it was clear and spoke directly to my heart, not the words I would have picked.

I cried something along the woeful lines of “all these years my friends have grown families and careers and the only thing that has been consistent in my life is that I have been sick for 16 years”...

I heard “And I have been there”.

I got quiet because, well I wanted to wallow in pity and what do you say when you hear that truth bomb?

I was like “well yes, but still…”

I heard “And your family has been there” “And you have had shelter”.

I smiled faintly and said, “OK. You win”.

Then I curled up with my Bible and went to sleep.

It was not smooth sailing after that night. In fact the weeks were riddled with complication and heartbreak as I crawled through mud to regain health.

I often think of those words God gave me that night to calm my broken heart. Immunodeficiency with no end in sight does not seem fair and it can feel frightening. But those words were peaceful, true and gentle in the midst of my distress.

My goal was to be well by Christmas and I am happy to say that I will meet that goal. I am also believing big for miracles in 2018.

*For the record — the past 16 years have actually been filled with incredible experiences. Yes illness has been a part of my story, but not all of it.

“Call upon Me in your day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me.”

–Psalm 50:15

 


Autoimmune Awareness Month 2017

Before MRI

Before an MRI – jgb

MARCH Is #AutoimmuneAwarenessMonth.
I also turn 45 this March. This picture was taken before one of the numerous MRI’s I have undergone since my Autoimmune journey began in 2001. I have had so many MRIs & CT scans that I lost count years ago.
I’ve had 7 Bone Marrow Biopsies/Aspirations, 1 PET Scan and countless other procedures in the cold, sterile parts of hospitals that most people don’t know exist.
For me, Autoimmune Disease means that when I was 28 I got terribly sick and when I was 29 I landed in the hospital for a prolonged period of time with the diagnosis of Profound Crohn’s Disease and C-Diff.
Autoimmune Disease means getting sick and eventually learning that it does not go away: no matter how strictly you live, nor how strong your faith. There is a hiccup in your immune system.
It means that most people have no clue how many steps I go through daily to live what looks like a normal life and that I will always miss the woman I was who lived without these restrictions.
But it also means the small victories become HUGE Celebrations.
It means that you quickly learn who loves you enough to be there for you when you are rather gross (it’s embarrassing to be gross but sickness does that). However it’s temporary and there are people out there who will still love you on the gross days.
Autoimmune disease means finding a way to live your best life even with scary diagnoses.
It has taken me 16 years. I have a history of Crohn’s, Leukemia, Migraines & Immunodeficiency.
There are days that I run fevers, hurt all over and feel trapped.
But those days have become FEW.
After 16 years of putting together a jigsaw puzzle including pieces God has given me from: Modern Medicine, Epigenetics, Functional Medicine, Real Foods, and a Healing Lifestyle I am finally thriving again.
If you are just beginning your Autoimmune journey it is hard but I encourage you to knock on all the doors because you will slowly find your healing path.

Healing

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An old Family Photo–We are Currently Healing

When I wrote my last blog post I was crushed in spirit. I received so many kind messages and I have been too worn down to reply to most of them but I want you to know that your prayers and messages carry me. Thank you.

It has been one month since I wrote that post. I can barely remember the days between then and now, though they were long and seemed to stretch eternal.

After the serum sickness, I recoiled and became very small, absent, empty. I grieved in a way that is required of us after life deals too much hurt.

The past 15 years have been harsh, at times brutal. And life has been intense since late November/early December 2014 when my case of leukemia relapsed.

In March my oncologist gave me an IVIG treatment to boost my immune system because it is wiped out from chemotherapy.

When I got the treatment, I was actually in a getting better stage. I had returned to work in January; our dog and I were walking an hour a day. I was joining other women for yoga and even barre workout classes. It seemed like we were finally getting back to life.

I had a wicked reaction to the IVIG called serum sickness which you can read about here. It was a horrific set-back.

I felt like someone pummeled me right when I was coming up for air sending me back under the water, wiped out, weary and having to fight the current again in order to survive.

The physical pain of the serum sickness and chemical meningitis was devastating; the night at the ER which went so wrong left me feeling stripped of dignity.

When my oncologist called me the morning after my ER trip, she explained serum sickness and that I won’t be having IVIG again. I slept feverishly and fitfully for a couple of days; when I woke up her words became clear to me and my heart cracked wide open in sadness.

That time period is now blurry and void of details other than the sting I felt in my heart and the shallow breaths that accompany severe sadness. I remember PBS was running an Anne of Green Gables marathon that Sunday and I watched it, recalling younger years spent with my sister and my college girlfriends during what was an uncomplicated stage of life.

I returned to work and focused on survival. I worked and I slept. I had become severely iron deficient and was scheduled for an iron infusion. The anemia made everything that was already so hard, extremely complicated.

It felt as though I had a blindfold around my eyes and was being shoved through a thorn-filled maze.

It hurt, I was exhausted and I knew that the only way through it was to go through it. I put one foot in front of the other and did not think past the moment.

The Sunday before my iron infusion fatigue draped heavily over me; I simply could not stay awake. It was a sunny day and my husband was working in the yard, I wanted to join him because I longed to spend time with him. I also knew it would be good for me to be in the sun.  He found me in the house with defeat stamped across my face. Tears pooled in my eyes while I told him how badly I wanted to be outside with him.

He chose compassion.

He took my hand and guided me to our bedroom where he wrapped me up in my favorite blanket. He told me to rest, to nap, that I would feel better when I woke up and that he would be right outside.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched him through the window until I fell asleep.

This man, who has never been “sick” who does not understand by experience what it feels like to have your body stop working correctly; this man who is not naturally inclined to extreme patience has been immensely generous and patient and loving towards me. His dreams have also been dashed by my health crisis because it impacts everything from our finances to our ability to socialize to what he has had to witness. He has chosen to love me and to stay committed to me. He breathes words of life into me and treats me gently when he could easily allow resentment to build up toward me. But every day he makes the conscious decision to choose love over resentment. I am amazed. 

When I awoke from my nap that Sunday afternoon, I did not feel better, I felt hopeless. I remember standing in our kitchen wondering if all of my good years are over. Then I shook my head and told myself to “stop”. I reminded myself that God has always provided for me. I literally stood in our kitchen and talked to myself “yes, there have been times when I have been in pain and at times it has been profound, but God has always supplied hospitals and medications for me. There have been horrific moments but there has always been an end to those moments”. “There are places in the world where that type of pain relief and medical rescue does not exist. I am grateful that I live in a place where I have been able to have those rescues”.

I expressed gratitude for my husband and his choice to stay faithful to, and supportive of, me during this time which has seemed ruthless.

In my experience, there are stages that are part of healing and I wish I could skip steps and rush through the painful ones but it does not work that way. We have to go through each stage. It is the only way we heal.

I am not crying or grieving anymore. We are laughing again. I am still working full time and my dog and I are taking our daily, one hour walks. I am stretching it out in yoga.

My heart is not yet light again but we are adding play into our lives now that I am medically stable. I know that the light-heartedness will come in time.

I have been through these stages before; it has just been a while since I had to do it. This is not easy.

I recently heard a song that reminded me of the way that God has been with me over the past 15 years. As hard as they have been, He has peppered them with joyful moments too.

The song is really beautiful. I hope it encourages you too, whatever you may be facing.

 


Complications

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March 9, 2016 IVIG (hopeful)

If you follow me on Instagram or if you are a personal friend then you know that 10 days ago my world imploded. And with the collapse of my health, so went the ground from under us. At least that is how it felt.

It was was ugly, profoundly painful, frightening and sad.

Wednesday, March 9th, I had an infusion called an IVIG treatment. Simply, IVIG is an intravenous method of boosting a patient’s immune system with a mixture of plasma from mass donors.

It works for wonders for many people, several of whom I know.

However, when it goes wrong, it can go very wrong. And that is what happened with me.

I got the treatment because my immune system is severely suppressed. Our immune systems are made up of different types of cells and antibodies. Most people understand that White Blood Cells (WBC) are part of our immune system. In my case, my WBC have not always been reliable because of the leukemia. Now that the leukemia is in remission my WBC count is healthy so that part of my immune system is working well.

Another critical part of our immune system consists of antibodies which fight off infections and viruses. Two of these are Immunoglobulin G (IGG) and Immunoglobulin A (IGA). My IGG level is 386 (normal levels are 694-1618) and my IGA is 36 (normal is 81-463).

That part of my immune system is terribly low and it is why I was unable to fight off the respiratory infection from November through January.

The chemotherapy I take is doing it’s job by keeping leukemia in remission. Unfortunately, it has wiped out my immune system and left me wide open to viruses and infections. For this reason, even though I am back in remission, I usually have to stay at home to avoid germs.

I have been home for the majority of the past 1-1/2 years and I am lonely. You would be too.

One way that people with suppressed IGG levels thrive is by boosting their immune systems through IVIG treatments.

My oncologist was reluctant to try IVIG with me because she was concerned that I would have a severe reaction. However, now that I am in remission from leukemia, I have started to re-enter the community. With my re-entry, I have occasionally had the initial symptoms of respiratory illness again. Recently, when I became symptomatic, my oncologist decided that we needed to try the IVIG.

Going into the procedure I knew that I was at risk for complications because I have a history of migraines.

According to the site nufactor.com, “serious side effects can include acute renal failure, thrombosis, Stevens-Johnson syndrome, serum sickness, aseptic meningitis and anaphylaxis. ***The most severe form of IG-related headache comes from aseptic meningitis, and in fact, patients with a history of migraines appear to be more susceptible to aseptic meningitis. Symptoms, which are severe and similar to meningitis, usually begin a few hours after treatment but can occur up to two days later. They can include severe headache, photo sensitivity, chills, nausea, vomiting, fever and painful eye movement***.”

I hoped and prayed that I would not have adverse effects. However, over the past 15+ years I have learned that God’s answers to my prayers are not always the responses I wish for; nor do they typically play out on my timeline.

Frankly, I don’t understand (fade to me crying)…

The morning of my infusion, my oncologist gave me a prescription for pain medication just in case I started to feel poorly. 24 hours later, not only did I feel poorly, I became wicked sick with the severe side effects of serum sickness.

I was working via telepractice and my headache escalated into a pulsating migraine. The pain was so intense that I was unable to formulate thoughts, words or sentences.

I cancelled my last client. I took Imitrex, pain medication, antihistamine, nausea medication. I lay on our bed with my head on ice packs. My lips began to swell, my eyes turned a glassy shade of shade of pink. Light felt like sharp glass causing me to squint and ultimately close my eyes altogether. My body shook with a low grade fever. My were neck and back were immobilized by pain. By the time I realized that this was more than a migraine, the office of my oncologist was closed.

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March 10th (Serum Sickness)

 

When I called the cancer center, the paging operator put me through to the oncologist on call. Gratefully he knew exactly what was happening to me. With a calm and compassionate tone, he directed me to go to the ER where he was working that night. I was to tell the ER staff to page him and he would give them instructions on how to treat me; he would tell them how to make the horrific reaction stop.

My husband drove me to the ER where we stood in a long registration line and were told that there would be a 3-1/2 to 5 hour wait. I was in a 9/10 level of pain.

When you are in that much pain, you don’t care what you look or sound like. Due to my medical history, I have been at that pain level more than once; the response is primal.

I held my head in my hands and sobbed, I rocked back and forth, I prayed nonsensically, I begged for help, I clawed at my hair and at my husband.

Since my chief complaint was severe headache, a nurse did look at me while we were in the registration line; he checked my facial symmetry to rule out signs of a stroke. I begged him to page the oncologist as I had been instructed. He brought me a wheelchair and reminded us that there was a 3-1/2 to 5 hour wait. There was no acknowledgment of my plea for him to page the oncologist.

When we checked in, tears streaming down my face, I asked the woman at the registration desk to please page the oncologist. With no response to my mention of the oncologist, she told us that there was a 3-1/2 to 5 hour wait. My husband wheeled me to a remote corner where I continued to claw and sob and pray and rock. The pain was horrific.

This was not my worst ER experience. I have been through so much worse, specifically with Crohn’s disease. But the fact that I have been through worse does not diminish that what I went through 10 days ago was almost too much to bear and I feel defeated.

Because I have been both a healthcare provider and a patient for the majority of my adult life I am a forgiving patient. The past 20 years have taught me that even under the best circumstances things can go wrong in the hospital; I have been on both sides of that coin. There are things that went very wrong 15 years ago when I got Crohn’s disease, 9 years ago when I got leukemia and last Thursday night when I had a serum sickness reaction to an infusion that could have sent me into shock or death.

From the moment we got to the ER, I followed directions and told all staff we encountered to page the oncologist on call. After telling 5 people, one nurse finally heard me. She was not even my nurse. She was the nurse who had been sent to me after my first nurse could not get my veins to thread around an IV needle. For various reasons veins will blow out, roll and refuse to thread. This is frustrating for nurses as they need to get IV’s into their patients so they can get labs, fluids and medications started. Thursday night, I was dehydrated and my already small veins, which have been scarred from years of IV’s, refused to cooperate for the first nurse.

I have been through all of this so many times over the past 15 years. During some hospitalizations, my veins have been so worn out that I have been reserved for the IV team; their job is to find veins in the most complicated patients. I know what it is like to have a line inserted into my heart because all the other veins just won’t behave adequately anymore.  And I know what it is like to have a nurse in an ER dig through bleeding skin in a search of veins that refuse to thread despite my desperate pleas to stop.

Understandably, my nurse was stressed; it was a long and  hectic night in the ER. But in her pursuit of my veins, I felt like she forgot that there was an actual person attached to the bleeding arms in her hands. Her level of annoyance with my veins with palpable. She finally left the room in what was later described by another staff member as a mess: needles on the counters, blood on my arms and the sheets. I felt stripped of dignity.

Something that is very hard about being a patient is that when your body is not working correctly, when you are the source of frustration, you feel guilty. Regardless of how much pain you are in, you still feel responsible for the stress of everyone around you.

That nurse did however send a more experienced nurse to my bedside who sat calmly with me. The second nurse spoke in a soothing voice. My veins relaxed for her and she threaded one without pointlessly shredding skin. She cleaned the blood that the other nurse had left behind. I told her about the oncologist on call and she expressed anger when she learned that nobody had paged him. She stepped outside the curtain of my ER room and we heard her page the oncologist. Within minutes, he returned her page and she came back to my room with a plan.

That night, I watched my heart-rate escalate from the 60’s through the 70’s, 80’s, into the 90’s and occasionally drop down to the 40’s. While I was not the most complicated patient in the ER, I was in distress. Even though the staff knew that I was having a serious reaction to an infusion and they followed the protocol provided by the oncologist, they continued to speak to me as a migraine patient because I have a history of migraines.

My husband found sheets for me, he stroked my head. He gave me ice chips. He rubbed my neck.

Some relief came late that night when the oncologist’s protocol was put into practice: IV steroids and pain medication. Even with the protocol, I left the ER in a 5/9 level of pain but that was certainly better than a 9/10. More than anything, I was terrified that the medication would wear off and the the 9/10 pain level would return.

The doctor sent me home with a prescription for oral prednisone which I took with antihistamine and pain medication for a few days.

I slept hard the first 2 days after my ER visit. My face was white and swollen. My sleep was fitful and I was drenched in sweat. It was the type of sleep that accompanies the breaking of fever. I remember my phone ringing, texts coming through; everything sounded so far away and I was too exhausted to respond.

When I finally did begin to wake up, my heart cracked wide open in sadness. My oncologist had called me and explained that I had Serum Sickness.

“Serum sickness is a reaction that is similar to an allergy. The immune system reacts to medications that contain proteins used to treat immune conditions. Or it can react to antiserum, the liquid part of blood that contains antibodies given to a person to help protect them against germs or poisonous substances.” –Medline Plus

Serum sickness can cause a person to go into anaphylactic shock, it can cause death. It is a serious complication and I will not be able to have this treatment again.

Everyone has really hard times and I know that my personal tragedy just that: my personal tragedy. I also know that I have got to move forward however I am having a very hard time doing it this time.

Five days after my ER trip I turned 44. This has been a difficult birthday for me. I am trying to make peace with the reality that despite my efforts to be healthy, I have been sick for many of my adult years.

15 years ago I had a profound onset of Crohn’s disease. I remember the hospitalizations and pain and procedures. I remember mustering courage and praying and sleeping with a Bible in my bed.

I was told that I was fortunate because I was getting my “thing” out of the way early; people told me that everyone has a “thing” (crisis) and I was getting mine as a young adult which would leave me with a long and healthy life. I took hope in that. I held onto the idea that there would be years of health ahead of me.

And there have been short bouts of normalcy but for the most part, I have been in a battle for health ever since I got Crohn’s 15 years ago.

And I am tired.

Writing usually helps me sort through my emotions and I typically end my blog posts in gratitude or even with an inspirational thought. But I can’t seem to find it this time. Instead, all I can think to do is to ask you to please pray for me. I am so tired.  Thank you.

 


Breathing Easy

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2 weeks ago, flanked by my husband and father, I went to the Pulmonologist. We had an early morning appointment to get the results from my bronchoscopy.

I was braced to hear hard words from the doctor. I had prepared myself to get a sad report and then muster strength, look for the silver lining and find a way to turn it into good news.

The reason I was in that frame of mind is because that is what Crohn’s Disease, Chronic Migraines and Leukemia have forced me to do for the majority of my adult life.

Looking back over the years, I have been courageous.

Tuesday morning, I was granted a pass. The lung specialist came into our room and did what he probably enjoys doing most: he told me that all 11 biopsies revealed healthy lung tissue. Healthy.

I am writing this blog post early on a Saturday morning. Tears spilled over my cheeks as I typed the word: Healthy.

To be fair, part of the reason for the tears is because I am listening to Adele and it is a confirmed fact that Adele makes people cry.

But Come ON:

…after 15+ years of repeatedly being thrown into hospital beds, excruciating pain, Emergency Rooms, scary diagnoses, frightening procedures…

…after cheering friends’ childbirths while trying to make sense of my childless life riddled by words such as “profoundly ill, hemorrhage, too young for this, blood transfusions, stat, cancer, potential complications, no other options”…

…to hear the word: “Healthy”…

Cue Adele, dammit and let your heart explode!

Cry the kind of tears you cry when All that Was Wrong is Suddenly Right, and it may not make sense, but it Just IS.

I have been breathing easily ever since we left the office of the Pulmonologist 2 weeks ago: off all antibiotics, steroids, inhalers.

It is if as the respiratory complications that crushed me from November-January never  happened.

God still works miracles. Most often they don’t seem to match our timeline and in so many ways they don’t even seem fair in this world where too many people suffer horrifically.

However, occasionally, He pulls back the veil and allows us to witness something truly magnificent which goes without explanation. I thank Him for choosing me this time.


Trying to Breathe

 

 

bronchoscopy january 2015

Bronchoscopy January 18, 2016

 

Tears were shed last week. At times, I sounded like a wounded animal and while that is not glamorous, it is real.

I also had moments of brevity and strength and I am proud of myself for those moments; many people would simply not be able to discuss bone marrow transplants and the potential collapse of life as we know it.

I have been extremely sick since early November with antibiotic-resistant bronchitis/pneumonia. In November, I required 4 antibiotics, a breathing treatment and an inhaler to get well. December granted me a brief reprieve from the respiratory infection but I was still fighting for health through the holidays.

On January 2, the respiratory infection came back with a vengeance. It was much worse this time; the antibiotics which worked in November did nothing to clear the January infection. After multiple medication fails, I was placed on a very strong antibiotic, one that clears infections in most people. Even that very strong antibiotic did not do much for me until a steroid pack as well as an inhaler (which also has a steroid) were added.

My past success with immune boosters such as zinc, vitamin C, Oil of Oregano, super-foods, etcetera did not help me.

Last Monday my Oncologist gave me the choice to go to the ER or to her office where she would see me as an emergency work-in.

I have an Awesome Oncologist. She offers a sense of calm even in the worst of situations thus I chose her office, I wanted to see her and hear her peaceful voice. My father drove me to the hospital.

Many vials of blood were drawn so that she could run a myriad of tests. My initial blood-work that was available to her that day perplexed her because other than anemia, my CBC revealed a healthy white blood cell count, red blood cell count, healthy platelets. If the leukemia was back, most likely there would be an abnormality on my CBC. Of course there are much deeper tests to look for leukemia, but from the initial blood-work, it looks like I am still in remission; my chemotherapy is doing it’s job.

My Oncologist decided to send me to a Pulmonologist. She said that she could continue to prescribe antibiotics and chest x-rays but she wanted a lung specialist to look at me.

My father and I went to the waiting room and listened to her receptionist try to make an appointment with one of the lung specialists from the pulmonary group. We learned that their first available appointment was 2 weeks out; my oncologist said something and suddenly I was on their schedule for 8:00 AM the following morning.

Something I have learned over the past 15 years: when you are an emergency case, the doctors will find a slot for you. If they can’t, they will send you to the ER where they will see you and often admit you. We were grateful for the 8:00 AM appointment.

Thankfully, Dad drove me to the appointment with the lung specialist because I only “heard” about 50% of what was said; later my father was able to fill in the blank spaces for my family and me.

We are impressed with the Pulmonologist. He is knowledgeable, skilled, and has an excellent demeanor. He also has the gift of compassion.

There have been so many doctors over the past 15 years. The doctors who have the gift of compassion stand out from the others. It is easy to appreciate a person when they are vibrant, when they have on nice (clean) clothes and look their best but it goes against human nature to express appreciation and respect for a person when they are sick, dressed poorly and completely undone. Compassion is a gift, you can’t teach that to a doctor, they either have it or they don’t.

The Pulmonologist looked at my chest x-ray and the CT scan that was taken last March when I got pneumonia (2 months after being on my new chemotherapy).

He then began to explain something that crushed us. The chemotherapy I take is in a class of drugs which can cause pneumonia.

We had known that. However we thought that it was because it suppressed my immune system. We misunderstood…

I know that I will explain this incorrectly because I still don’t completely understand it. Apparently this drug can cause a chemical pneumonia in which there are little pockets of fluid throughout my lungs caused by a response to the chemotherapy.

My doctor said that the pattern on last March’s CT scan are suggestive of that chemical pneumonia and his concern is further supported by the fact that I did not respond to antibiotics, but did respond to steroids.

If this is the case, I will have to come off of the chemical. In my situation that means that I will have to come off of the chemotherapy that keeps my case of leukemia in remission.

At that point in our conversation, tears spilled over my cheeks and I said, “I would have to have a bone marrow transplant”.

He let me cry. He gave me that dignity. He did not belittle my pain or sadness. In fact, when he went to speak, I saw him swallow his own tears as he steered the conversation in a direction that had order, which is what I needed.

I thought of the many times when I used to work in hospitals and had to deliver hard news to patients and families. I used to watch them crumble and it hurt because, as humans, we share the common thread of understanding pain. I remember swallowing back tears knowing that I had to stay strong so that my patients could look to me for leadership.

My doctor did that for me.

He gave me a few minutes to cry and then gently guided the conversation a few steps away from the transplant topic.

He explained that we will take things 1 step at a time: there would be another chest CT. There would be a bronchoscopy with lung biopsies. The biopsies will reveal what is happening in my lungs. The biopsies will confirm whether or not this is an infection or if it is a response to my chemo.

During the moments in which he explained the next steps, I was able me to gather my emotions.

I nodded my head and verbalized my understanding.

My father said that the doctor made a statement that grabbed his attention. I really don’t remember much of what was said. Apparently the doctor said that his suspicion is that “the reason you have not been getting better is because we have been treating an infection that does not exist”.

We then went back to the potential transplant. At which point I understood that this lung specialist has probably worked with other patients on my chemotherapy, who probably faced my situation. He explained that if I was on a 1st tier drug we would have more options but I am on a 2nd tier and that does not leave many choices.

I took a 1st tier chemotherapy, Gleevec, for years. It kept me in remission for 6-1/2 years. In 2014 my case of Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia mutated and I became resistant to Gleevec. I was transitioned to a 2nd tier chemotherapy, Sprycel, in January 2015.

He explained that there is no way to predict which patients will have lung complications with Sprycel and that it can happen at any time; that it happens immediately for some people, it can happen 1 or 2 years after starting the drug for others.

I was half-way present and I had tears in my eyes but I formed cohesive sentences. I am really proud of myself for the way I gathered my thoughts despite the fact that I was hurting so badly. With a quivering lip, I told him the name of the Bone Marrow Transplant Oncologist who worked with me last year. This Pulmonologist has an excellent working relationship with that doctor. I told him that my sister is a 5/6 match which is considered a “Perfect Match” and he lit up with excitement for me.

I know that he was not truly as happy as he portrayed, because in an ideal world a bone marrow transplant would not be part of our discussion. In an ideal world, I would be successful and accomplished, medical bills would not have robbed me of everything I ever worked for, I would have children. In an ideal  world, I would not be sick and I would not know this doctor.

When he left the room, I tried to talk with my father but we were empty and raw and sad.

From my position on the exam table, I looked out the window. It was one of the coldest days we have had this January. I stared at the leafless, lifeless branches on the trees and thought about how I feel like those brittle, lifeless branches. I felt grey.

Last Wednesday my husband and I spent a long night in the ER. My chemo can cause Pulmonary Embolisms in addition to Pleural Effusions and Pneumonia.The doctors spent the night ruling out reasons to explain why my chest pressure and difficulty breathing had switched to chest pain. In the end, we learned that the pain is because my muscles are so sore from all the congestion and coughing I have done since November.

Monday morning I had my bronchoscopy. It was scary; the Pulmonolgist was wonderful. She too has the gift of compassion. They took 11 biopsies from my lungs.

We will get the results next Tuesday the 26th. This week, I have also been getting results from various tests my Oncologist did. I don’t understand some of the results.

Have you ever had pneumonia? Have you ever had bronchitis or even a bad cold? It is a miserable feeling. I have had it for such a long time that I don’t remember the feeling of breathing easily.

I am tired, my family is tired. We are ready for Tuesday’s appointment because we will learn what is happening and then we will learn what our next step is.

Right now, I am savoring each moment that feels good.


A Simple Guide to the Paleo Autoimmune Protocol by Eileen Laird — Giveaway!

A Simple Guide To The AIP

I am thrilled to tell you about Eileen Laird’s book, A Simple Guide to the Paleo Autoimmune Protocol. Last year Eileen became a great source of strength and inspiration for me.

For those of you who do not know my story, I am going to provide a brief introduction so that you will understand why and how Eileen was so instrumental in my healing.

I have a history of Crohn’s Disease and Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, both of which had been quiet and in remission for years until I grew resistant to the chemotherapy which kept my case of leukemia in remission from 2008-2014.

In January 2015, I was placed on a new chemotherapy drug and my GI tract revolted. Even though I was not having a true Crohn’s flare, my body mimicked the symptoms of a flare. I was horrifically sick.

When I started the AIP in January 2015, my intention was not to go on the Autoimmune Protocol and change my life forever; I was simply looking for a way to tolerate the chemotherapy I needed for a leukemia relapse.

Last winter when faced with questions of whether I would be able to continue on the chemotherapy I needed, I decided to apply the lessons I had learned early in my journey with Crohn’s disease about the use of a healing diet to decrease intestinal inflammation. Obviously I would not be able to remove the main gut irritant, the chemotherapy, but I was hoping that my return to a healing diet would counter the inflammation from the chemotherapy.

As I scoured the internet for recipes, a new diet repeatedly came up in my search, the AIP.  I had heard stories of people following the Paleo diet for Crohn’s and frankly, I had dismissed those claims because I did not know enough about the diet. Last January I was desperate; I decided that I had nothing to lose so I tried it. And it worked.

What I did not expect when I went on the AIP is that my other autoimmune symptoms would disappear. In many ways, last year was a series of pinch-me moments as autoimmune symptoms I had grown to live with slipped away: my body temperature was no longer painfully cold, my joints no longer ached, and autoimmune fevers vanished.

2015 granted me time-out to heal after a setback. During my recovery, I read books and blogs about the Autoimmune Protocol; I immersed myself in the AIP online community.

In my search for education and support, I found Eileen’s website, Phoenix Helix. I learned that Eileen follows the AIP and has reversed her symptoms of Rheumatoid Arthritis by 95%. When I read her story, I felt encouraged and hopeful that the AIP would be able to help me.

Then I discovered her podcast and I was inspired exponentially. The podcast interviews allowed me to hear people who had, like me, been through terrifying health crises and regained healthy, full lives by eating real foods and following a healing lifestyle. As I listened to the interviews with patients, scientists and doctors, the support for following the AIP mounted in my mind.

Most people don’t have a year to spend researching books and blogs. Truth be told, finding the time to listen to a podcast once a week can be a luxury given life’s demands. Eileen’s book brings the research together for you. She has taken the rich content and important information available on the Autoimmune Protocol and written it in a way that is easy to understand.

The AIP is a big adjustment which is why this book is an invaluable resource. Through her guidebook, Eileen sets her readers up for success.

Eileen explains which foods are on the healing diet and which are omitted; she also explains the reason behind omissions. She provides steps for when and how to reintroduce foods.

Something else that I really like about this book is that Eileen addresses the AIP lifestyle. It is the natural tendency for us to focus on the diet part of AIP but learning to live a healing lifestyle is equally as important in achieving optimal health.

Eileen covers topics such as circadian rhythms and the importance of sleep, stress reduction, overcoming self sabotage, and gentle detoxification. She teaches the reader how to get support, how to survive a flare, how to troubleshoot if you are not getting results. She provides grocery lists and gives extensive links and resources for recipes, continued education, helpful tips, and connection.

Eileen has generously offered to giveaway a copy of her book! This giveaway is open to both US and International entries. 1 book will be given away: if the winner is in the US, you will receive a paperback copy; if the winner is International, you will receive a PDF copy.

The winner will be selected randomly and announced Sunday January 17. If you enter be sure to check your email inbox next Sunday evening to find out who wins this giveaway.

If you do not want to wait and would like to purchase the book, you may do so by clicking here.

Update: This giveaway is closed. Congratulations to our winner, Laura! 

To enter contest (go through the Rafflecopter link below)

***A Simple Guide to the Paleo Autoimmune Protocol***
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Required:

  1. Check out The Feel Good Days Facebook page (remember to go through the Rafflecopter link located above)

Additional, but not required, ways to enter:

  1. Leave a comment below this blog post about what aspect of Eileen’s guidebook is specifically appealing to you
  2. Follow The Feel Good Days on Twitter (go through the Rafflecopter link located above)
  3. Tweet The Feel Good Days Giveaway of Eileen’s book (go through the Rafflecopter link located above)

A Simple Guide to the Paleo Autoimmune Protocol


Remission from Leukemia

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Every fall, when autumn leaves offer warm shades of gold, red and orange, nostalgia drapes over me.

The fall breeze carries memories from shared moments with friends decades ago, as though they happened yesterday. It is with happiness in my heart, not sadness, that I reminisce and feel gratitude that we got to share that moment in time, those days, those belly laughs.

Today has been one of those perfect fall days. Even better it follows a day of wonderful news: yesterday I found out that I am officially in remission from leukemia.

My good news has sunk in slowly and maybe that is the reason that today has felt so completely fabulous, filled with gratitude for all the love that is in my life, and ever has been in my life.

Ironically, the official news of remission has been sitting on my office desk in front of my face for a week. It came in an envelope from the oncologist. The return address on the envelope was, of course, from the hospital. Being that I had a leukemia relapse last year, we get hospital bills by the dozens these days and I just did not feel like opening this one. We typically look over bills during the weekend so I allowed this one to sit on my desk all week.

Yesterday morning I was sipping on some coffee and decided to bite the bullet and open the bill. Instead of a bill, my labs from the oncologist came out with the words “not detected” and the oncologist had drawn a smiley face beside the absence of the leukemia marker 🙂

I stared at the page and tried to make sense of it all:

  1. I put my coffee down
  2. I re-checked the envelope for a bill
  3. No there was no bill, this was merely a lab
  4. I re-read the lab: It was only the report of the Absense of the leukemia marker
  5. The report did read “not detected”
  6. My oncologist did draw a smiley face
  7. I smiled and sat alone in my office and thought about how last year when I got the page that said “detected” it was written in all bold, all capital letters and this time, the letters were not bold, nor capital—-> and I thought that it is a shame because this news is every bit as important
  8. Then I went back to work

Seriously, a bit underwhelming after such a cruel and challenging year of relapse. I think I was just in shock. I felt very happy but I did not call my husband, I did not contact my family, I did not text anyone, I did not post the news. I just sat in silence with my happiness. I never sit with silence (anyone who knows me, or reads this blog, knows that).

But maybe that is where life’s big moments make us act unlike ourselves? Because yesterday’s news, and that moment, was tremendous for me.

I actually did not even mention my remission news to my husband last night when I saw him. The celebration started when I was responding to a friend on an email. She asked how I am doing and I told her, simple as that, it became real. And then I ended the email and I told my husband and he was so happy 🙂

And then this morning I sent a big text to my family and everyone is so happy ❤

And now I am writing the blog post that we all prayed for last year.

And it has almost been a full year.

Last year was unexpected and cruel. At the same time, it was not as cruel as it could have been and I thank God for that. I don’t understand why “bad things happen to good people” and there is that part of me that is now working through survivor’s guilt because there are so many people going through horrific situations right this second.

Last year wrecked me. My 30’s had been a long decade of illness and hospitalizations. My 40’s are new and I did not anticipate a relapse of leukemia at 42. It was not supposed to happen again in my 40’s.

Last year was the 3rd time in the past 14 years that my health has completely crumbled despite my attempts to stay well. And that is a horrible feeling. There is nothing like it, there is no way to describe how it feels to have every “normal” part of life swiped away and it can happen so fast.

When I had leukemia the first time back in 2007, I remember telling my dad “everybody says that thing about how they could walk outside and be hit by a car tomorrow, but they don’t understand what feels like to be so sick that they might actually die”. And I stand by that statement because even now, after being severely ill 3 times in my life, I am starting to forget how fragile all of it felt.

I do know that when I was sick, most of the things that seem important did not matter at all. The things that mattered: Unconditional Love, the ability to be non-judgmental, the ability to be supportive without judgment, the ability to show up, the ability to believe in someone even at their breaking point, the reality that silence hurts more deeply than you can imagine.

I am fiercely proud of the man I married. When we got married 6 years ago, he knew that he was marrying a woman with a history of leukemia and he knew that there was a chance it could relapse. But there is no understanding “potential for relapse” until you are in the middle of it. He loved me through every second and it was ugly, scary, sad, gross. In the movies the producers romanticize illness with music to soften the gross scenes and they show the passage of time in short clips so it is fast; but in real life, there is no romantic music in the background and if anything, the gross moments are so cold and painful that they seem eternal and isolating.

I love him ❤

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I am humbled by the amount of unconditional love and support of my parents give to me and to my husband. I am grateful that God directed our steps to buy a cozy house that is literally around the corner from them a few months before my relapse. My heart is full of love exponential when I think of the meals they brought to us and the prayers they prayed; and for the moments that they showed up here, at our house with strength when they were probably crumbling inside, but they knew I needed to see strength in them. And my heart breaks with love when I think of the many times that they have pleaded with God for their daughter’s life.

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My heart absolutely overflows with love and devotion for my sister and her doe-like eyes. She has always been the one who can sit in silence and listen. I have still-framed memories of us together over the past 14 years during my health battles. Once again, she showed up to listen again with compassion. I also cherish the memory of holding one another’s hands when the nurse drew her blood to find out if she is a match for me should I need a bone marrow transplant (I pray I never do). She is the person I can laugh and cry with, all in one session, the one who totally understands me and loves me. She is my best friend ❤

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I am grateful for my brother-in-law, and with that I pause because he lost his sister to cancer and I often feel a sense of survivor’s guilt that she is not still with us. And I recognized that he has had to work through incredible pain at the loss of her; I am amazed that he has never allowed feelings of jealousy or resentment to accidentally be directed toward me because I think that it would be easy to do that. Instead, he has always reached out in love and joined my sister in supporting me. He is the brother I did not have as a child.

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My heart is filled with love and affection (like a huge heart emoji) for my niece and nephew. They both know that they play a tremendous role in my life. They have had to worry about health crises with people they love entirely too much during their youth. It means so much to me that they know how to show up, hold my hand and give me warm hugs. They know how to pray for me and how to love me and how to trust that I will heal. They know that the very best medicine is to make their Aunt laugh, and they do that ❤

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I am filled with love and gratitude for the way that my aunt, uncle, cousins and grandmother stayed in the fight for me with their prayers, text messages and emails. They have loved me unconditionally through the tough moments, and brought us the gift of laughter and resilience.

I am grateful for the special things that the family I married into did to show support and love for me.

I am grateful for friendships that were rekindled after decades and for new friendships that were formed over the past year.

Thank you so much to every single person who read my story, who prayed for me, who thought of me, who reached out to me. I pray that God pours special blessings out to you for what you did to me.

I once wrote a blog post about the word redemption and how illness has given me a new appreciation for the word because God has repeatedly redeemed what seemed like my world falling apart for something more beautiful.

I like to end my blog posts with songs and I think that the song My Redeemer Lives is appropriate for this post. I am so happy to be in remission.

To New Beginnings ❤

 

 

 


A Crohn’s Disease Pep Talk (for Newbies or for When You Are Flaring)

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When I was diagnosed with crohn’s disease 14 years ago, everything stopped.

Ironically I was 29 years old, so it was figuratively and literally the end of an era for me. My 20’s had been magical. They were filled with laughter, friends, first love, and the early years of a successful career.

I am so glad that I got to have that decade.

I celebrated my 30th birthday quietly, at my parent’s house. I was living with them while trying to get into remission from a profound onset of crohn’s disease because I was too sick to take care of myself. I remember the night of my 30th birthday. The sky was clear and I could see the stars and I felt…I felt lonely and displaced.

Everyone with crohn’s or colitis has a story. There are people who don’t have horrible cases but a lot of us have some significant heartbreak in our history, even if we look totally “ok” on the outside.

Before I got sick, I left North Carolina (the state which holds my heart) for 2 reasons:

1. I had the opportunity to work as a speech therapist on a unique brain injury unit in Atlanta; as a professional I was excited to have the opportunity because working with patients with brain injury was my professional passion.

2. My family lives in Atlanta, so I thought it would be nice to live near them.

In retrospect, I think that God must have known that my world was going to fall apart and that I would need to be near my family.

1-1/2 years after I moved from the Carolinas to Atlanta, I collapsed at work and was rushed to the hospital where a nurse later found me rocking back and forth in excruciating pain with a fever of 104.7 (F).

The next morning, my GI doctor told me that I had either crohn’s disease or ulcerative colitis; he said that he was not sure yet but that I had some form of IBD (Inflammatory Bowel Disease).

I did not understand that with his diagnosis, my life had changed on a dime.

I remember lying in that hospital bed in horrific pain with my family at my side. When he said the words crohns or colitis, I thought “that means I can’t eat corn” because at some point in my life I had known a person who could not eat corn due to one of those conditions. That is how removed I was from the moment. I did not put it together: the reason I was laying in the hospital, in excruciating pain, bleeding form my intestines was because of this new diagnosis.

I was hospitalized for the majority of that summer and into the early fall. I had to be fed through a central line in my heart because I could not eat or drink anything by mouth.

My friends were getting married and having babies and I laid in bed, in a big hospital in Atlanta. I stared out the windows at the magnolia trees which were in bloom.

Social media was not really “a thing” back then; actually cell phones were just starting to be something that everyone had. Thus, there were no blogs for me to read. I did not have Facebook, Instagram or Pinterest to distract me.

My days and nights were filled with: an insane amount of pain, lamaze breathing lessons by the nurses to coach me to get through the pain, naps, books, a TV in the corner of the hospital room that played 12 stations. I journaled. I slept with a Bible in my bed and missed my dog. I tried hard to laugh and not cry.

I was very scared and nothing made sense.

In addition to crohns, I also had C-Difficile. The C-Diff was resistant to several rounds of antibiotics. It finally responded to a third round. After it cleared I was left with what the doctors called a “profound onset” of crohn’s disease.

I did what any person would do if he/she was placed in a hospital room with no real social outlet for a prolonged period of time in horrific pain, bleeding from the gut, requiring blood transfusions and being fed through a line in their heart: I examined my life and wondered if I had done something wrong to cause everything to fall apart.

When I was younger, I had an unhealthy relationship with food and often chose “skinny” eating over “healthy” eating. I asked God to forgive me for not taking care of my body, I worked through the process of forgiving myself.

I envisioned days of health returning and I clung to faith that one day I would be able to eat again, that I would live without that horrible pain.

I worked through the feelings that any 29 year old woman goes through when her body goes from being desirable to not working correctly. I felt like damaged goods and like nobody would ever be able to see me as beautiful or desirable again. I don’t have the numbers in front of me, but I think that at one point my weight was down in the 80’s. I remember rumors flying about eating disorders and I remember feeling so sad and hurt by that judgment because I really wanted to be out of pain, I wanted my intestines to stop bleeding and I wanted to be able to eat again.

It is hard to be judged. I had to learn to let go of what everyone was saying or thinking about me.

I was allergic to most of the medications used to treat crohns which meant that I went through allergic reactions and they were scary. They also left me feeling hopeless and concerned that maybe nothing would work.

I remember one particular moment in an ER when I was so incredibly sick. I was in the hospital bed, throwing up and simultaneously passing blood from my intestines. My GI doctor ordered blood transfusions. I then watched him ask my parents if they were willing to let me to fly out of state to one of the country’s top IBD clinics because the Atlanta doctors could not seem to get my case under control. When he asked that question, the look of grief and hopelessness that washed over my parent’s faces penetrated the ER. After they agreed, he said, “I pledge to take care of your daughter and I will”. I was looking at my parents and my doctor from my bed; they still looked sad and serious, but a bit of the grief was relieved with his pledge and at that moment he became a hero to me for helping them.

After that, I was admitted (again) and given blood transfusions but I did not have to fly out of the state. Something changed that time and my body started to calm. I started to get well and it has been a very long road to wellness.

I have always said that if someone who was living well with crohn’s disease had visited me in the hospital, I would have felt so encouraged. There would have been a real person, who was living a full life, for me to look to for tangible hope.

While I can’t be the person to walk into your hospital room, I can tell you that I have spent hours on the floor crawling and screaming in pain unimaginable; I have rushed to the bathroom every 15 minutes only to pass copious amounts of blood from my gut (it is gross and painful). I have had diarrhea so badly that I learned about using Boudreaux’s Butt Paste (by the way, it is totally appropriate to laugh at the name of that, I do, however it works).

When I was 30 and just starting to heal, I went to the grocery store in a nice area of Atlanta and totally lost control of my bowels, in my favorite pair of jeans. #LowPoint (possibly #LOWESTPoint)

I have also

Healed ❤

Dated ❤

Fallen in love with a man who thinks I am beautiful even though he has seen me at my worst ❤

Had a fairy-tale wedding at a winery ❤

Traveled ❤

Spent nights laughing until the sun came up ❤

and

I rarely have trouble with crohn’s anymore ❤

Everyone with IBD is different but this is what has worked for me

  1. I work at maintaining a great relationship with my GI doctor.
  2. If I feel a flare coming on, I call the doctor. I learned this the hard way when I was younger; I used to refuse to call the doctor because I did not want to admit that I was about to flare nor did I want to have to go to the hospital. Since I refused to acknowledge what was happening, I often waited too long, and I became an emergency admission to the hospital. Now I know that if symptoms start and I call the doctor, they can usually call something in. If I take what they call in and rest, the flare can usually be averted.
  3. I take my medications as prescribed. Years ago, I was on high doses of multiple medications but now I am on a very low dose of 1 maintenance medication.
  4. I follow a healing diet. Gut Health is fundamental in healing any illness but especially an illness that involves the GI tract. For years I followed the Specific Carbohydrate Diet (SCD). Now I follow the Autoimmune Protocol of the Paleo Diet (AIP).
  5. I am involved in support groups so that I don’t feel alone in my walk toward wellness.
  6. I have completely changed my lifestyle over the years to decrease stress. At times, that has meant walking away from relationships and even positions at work that were not healthy for me. Those decisions have not always been easy for me. However, when you find that you are constantly in flare mode or being hospitalized repeatedly, you must evaluate your circumstances and identify sources of stress which can be removed. As much as possible, choose environments that encourage you to feel less stressed, even if that means making choices that other people might not understand.
  7. I have learned to deal with stress in ways that help prevent flares. When I feel overwhelmed, instead of allowing myself to focus on feelings of worry, anxiety, or something I can’t do anything about, I focus on something “fluffy”. When the weight of the world is crashing down on me, I will watch a feel good movie or read a feel good book to help alleviate the stress so that I don’t end up flaring. You must find a way that you can “check-out” of toxic stress.
  8. I take daily walks. See my previous post on exercise and autoimmune disease.
  9. I practice yoga. See my previous post on exercise and autoimmune disease.
  10. I journal: this is a great exercise for getting your emotions outside of yourself (especially those feelings like stress and anxiety which are triggers for flares).
  11. I get good, quality sleep. Sleep is another fundamental key to healing. 
  12. I don’t compare myself to other people.
  13. I practice gratitude: throughout the day, I give thanks for even the smallest blessings.

I also eat amazing foods now, without pain. Here are some pics of what I have been eating lately

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Chicken de Provence

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Filet and sauteed Kale and Grapes

 

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Mexican Hot Chocolate (from Down South Paleo cookbook)

 

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Pancakes from Paleo Down South cookbook

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My Pumpkin Spice Latte

Migraine Friendly, Nightshade-Free Potato Salad

Grilled Chicken Thighs with My Migraine Friendly, Nightshade-Free Potato Salad

Friday Funday milkshake

My Friday Funday milkshake

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Cherry Pie Based on Recipe from Grazed and Enthused Website

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One of my favorite Healing Soup Bowls

 In my experience, the first few years were the hardest because I went from being totally normal to being dreadfully sick. Doctors had to find medications to get my case under control and I had to learn what it meant to live with an autoimmune disease.

It does get better, life does return to “normal” again, and you stop living in constant pain/crisis mode. My best advice: reach out for encouragement and today’s social media world has made that so easy, especially with Instagram and the use of the #.

Just use #Crohns and you will find a community ready to support you ❤