"Time passes quickly the older you get," said my mother.

       I didn't understand her then, but this last year of my life I've come to understand a lot more about myself and life itself. 24 has quickly become 25 and it feels as if I merely went to sleep on one birthday and woke up on the next. Time does slip through our fingers like sand, and I've realized my mother was right about this. However, there is a logical reason behind that saying. As kids, whose entire lives may only consist of a few years, time seems vast. A day could feel like a week or a month to them simply because they've only existed for a few cycles around the sun. For adults, we've done this before. I've lived through 24 years, and they no longer feel super long. I can't imagine how quick they feel to someone in my parents' generation.

       Now, just because I feel like I didn't even have time to put up my 2018 calendar before I was given my 2019 one, doesn't mean I didn't tackle my goals. On my birthday last year, I made a list of the things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 25. I'm happy to report I was successful. Well, mostly.

Lets review:

• Lose Weight 
• Clear up my Acne
• Finish Writing a Full-length Novel

       Right off the bat, I can cross off the first one. Not only did I complete that goal, but I crushed it. I lost 50lbs between February and September last year. Even better, I've maintained that loss for the last five months. If I hadn't opened my eyes to anti-fat bias, this would be  a major celebration. It shouldn't be. Yes, I'm super proud of myself, but mostly for the effort I put into this endeavour rather than the results. Wearing size medium leggings makes me feel accomplished, and the anti-fat bias that inspires this feeling is disappointing. I set this goal to prove a point (that my illness was the same or worse when I was thinner) and I did just that. Unfortunately, I wrecked my metabolism along the way and created new disordered eating habits. So, while I'm pleased to have defeated this goal, I'm also very regretful for having set it in the first place.

       As for the second goal, I didn't think I'd manage to complete that one. I'd been battling acne for over a decade, how would I defeat it in a single year? Welp. Eating some crow on that one. In December 2017, I started taking Spironolactone 50mg for my PCOS symptoms, but specifically for acne. I increased the dosage in February to 100mg. Spring and summer were rough, but by mid-August, my skin cleared up. It was miraculous! It's super rare that I get pimples at all now, big ones almost never appear. I can actually go out in public with a bare face and I couldn't be happier. Thank you, Spiro. I should've tried you sooner.

       Now, the third goal, I must sadly admit I didn't complete. My novel manuscript fell to the wayside as my health and then my weight loss regime became my focus. However, over the summer, I picked up an old project and found my passion for writing again. It's a co-written fanfiction I began years ago and I haven't fallen in love with my work like this in so long... It's a wonderful feeling. I wrote about 100,000 words in the latter half of 2018, so I'd say I sort of completed this goal in a sense. But I won't cross it off for posterity's sake.

       Okay, time for the big question, what about 26? Well, I think 2019 is going to be the year of truly simple goals. I felt pressured by those three goals last time (I called them simple, ha!), and with a wedding coming up, I really can't take on too much else. So, I'm thinking small for this year. I'll make a separate post for that though. For now, I'm grateful to have achieved even two-thirds of my goals from last year. I'm proud but burnt out. A slice of cake and some well-deserved rest is in order!

-Dana.

      There are some days I feel like I'm the luckiest person in the world. And then there are days, like the one I am about to describe, where I feel like my luck ran out. As if I'm dragging the bucket across the bottom of a dry well. The wooden container bounces off the stone floor and I find myself rattled by the emptiness. June 17th, my most recent unlucky day, definitely shook me.

      It was Father's Day so I was rushing around to get ready for a matinee showing of the Han Solo movie. This was a treat for my Dad since we both adore Star Wars.( The man practically raised me on sci-fi movies, George Lucas' epic space opera in particular.) That day also happened to be a busy one in my house for other reasons. I live in a large, shared home with multiple roommates. Such is life in a metropolis with horrendously over-inflated housing costs. Anyways, one of my roommates was moving out that Sunday morning. Two of my other housemates as well as my partner had gone with our former roommate to help him unpack the moving van. The only people around were me and one other housemate in a home that comfortably supported six people at it's most full. I have to admit, we were lucky to get this place. It's located in a great area, close to my partner's work, and is quite modernly finished. It's also the largest house I've ever lived in. While living here, it was very easy for me to close myself off away from my five other housemates without worry. I liked that about my home. Until today.

      Around noon, while waiting for my partner to return from the move, I had a shower. With the water running, I sang my heart out to some Top-40 played on a Bluetooth speaker that sat on the bathroom counter. It was linked to my phone that lay next to it. Normally, I wouldn't bring my phone into the washroom—too easy for it to get wet—but to listen to music I had no choice. Because if the speaker was apart from my phone, it had a habit of jumping and skittering through songs like the device was having a stroke. Thus, I placed both electronics side by side on the counter to enjoy some lovely pop beats while I got clean. So, with music blasting, I danced and swayed while I washed. Wiggling to the beat while I shower is a guilty pleasure I can't help but indulge in.

      See, now you're thinking I slipped in the shower. No, no. I have an anti-slip mat. With my bad legs, it would be really stupid of me not to own one of those.

      No, I finished my shower and climbed out just fine. I toweled off, put on my terrycloth robe and ventured out into the bedroom to get my outfit ready. Whilst I was digging through my sock drawer, I realized that I needed to text my father something. I don't remember whether it was about parking or something else in regards to the movie. That doesn't matter. But the problem was that my phone wasn't in the bedroom. No, it was still next to the speaker in the bathroom because of the shitty connection. So, determined to reach my Dad before he left his house, I turned on my heel and plodded back into the bathroom rather hastily.

      As I shuffled, my foot missed the bathmat by an inch. I was still wet. The skin of my feet was just damp enough to slide across the hard floor like it was made of ice. Further worsening the situation, my knee joint was weak from repeated minor dislocations this spring. Finally, my knee cap decided, it was time to slide complete off kilter. With no way to steady or support myself, both my legs flew out from under me and I collapsed to the floor in a heap. I landed with all my weight on my left elbow which made a sickening crack as it hit the tile. As a writer, I always wondered what the sound of bones snapping was like. It's not pleasant, like the crackling of a summer bonfire. Nor is it enticing, like the snap of a well-made sugar cookie. No, you see, this sound was gut-wrenching. Hearing it sent a terrible quiver through my spine. Such a sickening noise triggered a nauseous response. I hope I never have to hear it again.

      My first thoughts were mostly curse words. I knew while laying there that I messed up. The pain wasn't immediate. It was this deep, hollow soreness. Moving made it sharp and hot. Frustrated, I lay there for a while as I mentally berated myself. So stupid. I went over the admonishments in my head repeatedly while crumpled up on the floor.

I should've wiped my feet more on the bath mat.
I should've brought my phone out of the bathroom with me on the first trip.
I shouldn't have played music in the bathroom in the first place.

And on and on adnauseum... After a solid minute of being angry with myself, I realized that I couldn't actually get up. Several attempts ended in sobbing agony. Then I wasn't angry anymore. I was scared.

      I tried calling out timidly. Admittedly, I was embarrassed about having fallen.

      "Hey... Can someone help me up?"

      Nothing. After four minutes, I started shouting.

      "Help! I fell!"

      Ten minutes of that still produced nothing. Laying on my smashed elbow was only making the pain more intense. I knew someone had to still be home. Someone needed to be there. Desperate, I started screaming.

      "HELP ME! PLEASE!"

      Still no reply. The tears were flowing freely now. Not just from pain, but I was afraid. The pain was getting stronger and I was worried about how much worse I was making the injury by laying on it. The fear set in hard. I cried, heaving deep sobs over the fact that I did this to myself and that there was no one around to help me. As I wept pathetically, I caught a glimpse of the bright blue of my phone case. It stuck out just a little bit over the edge of the sink counter above my head. Salvation. It took several swings of my free arm, teetering back on my injured elbow, to knock the phone to the floor.

      Two texts messages and one phone call later, over the span of about thirty seconds, my other roommate was bounding up the staircase to my aid. He had been in the kitchen on the other side of our massive house, four doors and a whole floor between us. Everyone else was still out helping clean up after the move. I actually scared my poor partner with the phone call, he dropped everything to get back in his car and race home. But, because of a rare circumstance, in that moment I was totally alone and completely incapable of saving myself. Without my phone, I might've laid there for over an hour or two until my partner returned. My other roommate was planning on heading out after his lunch in the kitchen.

      Anyways, I did have my phone. Even in an unlucky situation, I was still lucky. My roommate came running into the room and helped me up off my elbow. I was a damp, crying, half-naked mess. Once he was sure I was fine and able to move around a little on my own, he left me resting on the bed while I waited for my partner to return. When my partner walked in, breathless and concerned, I had gotten to the point that I was denying my pain and my injury.

      "I'm fine. Really. It's Father's Day! I have to go see Dad."

      My partner didn't really want me to go. He was pretty sure I messed my elbow up bad. Sure, it was swollen. But no cuts, no bleeding. I thought I could survive a two hour movie like that. Who needed to fully straighten their elbow anyway?

      Putting on my t-shirt sure changed my tune. That was some unexpectedly blinding pain. To my partner's delight, I reluctantly went to the hospital and rescheduled the movie with my father.

      Turns out, I managed to break a bone for my first time ever in the fall. My radial head. The doctors told me it was good I came in, because my arm needed to be properly set and placed in a cast to heal. I was really mad at myself the whole time. I still felt super dumb for falling in the first place. My partner would have none of that. He was too kind about it, but I appreciated his support very much.

      That evening, I returned from the hospital with my left arm in a cast and secured to my chest in a tight sling. Stubborn as ever, I still went to an evening showing of the movie with Dad. Surprised him with the cast too. His reaction was almost worth it. After he was done chastising me for not telling him how bad it was, we enjoyed the film. However, I was still sore the whole time. It wasn't the great evening I had planned.




      It's been a couple months now. I'm free of the cast and my elbow is mostly healed. It still aches at night when I roll on my left side. I'm sure it's going to continue to be a pain through Autumn and into Winter. Still, it was an interesting lesson. Sometimes things just happen that are out of your control. Sometimes there's nobody around to save you. And sometimes, when you feel most unlucky, you can still find a little ray of hope. I'm so glad I was able to knock my phone down during that ordeal. I can't imagine how bad it would've been if I laid there for the whole two hours. So while I'm not pleased by all the things that came together for me to break my arm and be trapped on top of it, I don't look back at the memory negatively. When the pain fades, I'm sure it'll be a funny story to tell.

      Though what's really funny is that, ever since I fell, my bluetooth speaker's connection magically improved. No static, no interruption. Just crystal clear, wireless streaming. The whole time we owned the speaker the signal to it had never strong. But then, right after my fall, it suddenly fixes itself. My phone now sits out in the bedroom while I play my shower tunes. Isn't that just freaking perfect?


-Dana.


"Have you ever fallen and hurt yourself as an adult? Did you ever break a bone for the first time later in life? Did you luck run out at an inopportune time? Sound off in the comments below!"

Today, I turn 24 years-old. Today, I made some choices about my future.

For a long time now, I've been coasting. I'm not really pushing myself. I'm not striving to achieve anything. My chronic pain condition (see: Fibromyalgia) has really been holding me back. I can't work, I can barely sleep and I've really let myself go while trying desperately to maintain my pain levels. This stops today.

I've set myself some goals for the following year. These are targets that I've wanted to make progress towards for a long time. Things I've put off for years. I hope to achieve some or even all of these by my 25th birthday.

Before Age 25 I Want To:

• Lose Weight 
• Clear up my Acne
• Finish Writing a Full-length Novel

I thought receiving a diagnosis was an achievement in and of itself. I thought everything that came next couldn't be as bad. The logic was, "If I know what's wrong with me, I know what I can do to help fix it." I never counted on my illness begin incurable. Modern medicine is so advanced that we've made AIDS treatable to the point that it's very unlikely to die from it anymore; so in my mind there shouldn't be many incurable illnesses left. Turns out, not only was I wrong, but I was being very naive.

Fibromyalgia is what I was diagnosed with recently after decade of searching for answers. It is a chronic pain condition that causes widespread pain throughout my body as well as sleep problems, sensitivity to high/low temperatures, muscle spasms, overactive nerves, bad joints, fatigue and many other issues. Basically, I can't walk very far or stand for very long and using my joints for prolonged periods of time can cause serious problems. On my bad days, I end up confined to bed rest. Even on my good days, I can really only tackle a couple short tasks or run one errand without causing a painful flare for the rest of the week.

While knowledge is power and knowing what caused all these problems helped me, I didn't realize how limited my treatment options were. Exercise is usually the blanket, throw-away advice from doctors and rheumatologists. However, it only seems to help a small portion of fibro patients improve, for some it can make the pain much worse. I, unfortunately, ended up in the latter group. As I continued my research post-diagnosis, I found that there was very little new information on treatment. "Pain management" was a term used most often, talking about how to learn to live with the pain. It also seemed that there was very little research going on about how to cure fibromyalgia patients and most efforts seemed focused on just dealing with the pain. Learning this broke my heart. They weren't trying to make us better, they just wanted us to complain less and do more. (Shut up and be useful.) This kind of thinking is not helpful for the patients who just want to be better, who want to eventually be pain-free. For now, we accept that pain-free may not happen, but we need to hope it is a possibility. Hope is all we have.

Around this time, I heard the phrase, "Fibro won't kill you, but you'll suffer every day until you die of old age." While that isn't the greatest outlook to have, as a person with this disease I feel like it still rings true. Fibromyalgia as it stands is a life sentence of pain, insomnia, and the inability to complete basic daily tasks. Like many fibro sufferers, I can't work. Since my wrists lock up, it makes it hard to drive a car or use a computer for long periods of time. Working retail or any other minimum wage job that would have me on my feet most of the day also wouldn't work as I usually can't walk or stand for longer than five minutes at a time. The only other choice is working as a call center employee, but with the emotional toll that can take on a person's mental health, it's extra dangerous for a fibro patient to take on that kind of work. This is because fibromyalgia patients have a suicide rate 10 times higher than the general population [1][2]. The cause for the high suicide rate is split between the fact that fibromyalgia cause severe depression due to pain levels and the anti-depressants with suicidal side effects often prescribed to fibro patients to treat their pain.

Speaking of treating the pain with prescriptions, there aren't many options in that department either. Anti-depressants are usually prescribed as fibro patients often present as severely depressed and many doctor's believe the pain to be psychological. (It's all in our heads! No.) There are some pills that some patients have had limited success with such as Lyrica and Gabapentin, but, like exercise, they only seem to work for a small portion of sufferers. Many fibromyalgia patients then go on to rely on opioid prescriptions like Tramadol to make it through the day. The problem there is that with the number of overdose and addiction victims rising, doctors have been taking away valid opioid prescriptions from non-addicted chronic pain patients [3][4][5]. This leads to loss of function and increased pain flares for patients who had returned to almost full function. Unfortunately, this problem is not being addressed as the chronic pain community doesn't seem to have a voice loud enough to be heard over the shouting about overdose deaths.

Therefore, fibromyalgia patients find themselves in quite a bind. We can't work, and sometimes even taking care of ourselves is too much. Adding onto the fact that there just isn't enough research being done to cure us and chronic pain patients losing access to their prescriptions, we can easily start to feel like we've been imprisoned in our own bodies. I continue my own research and participating in fibromyalgia communities in the hope that I can find ways to ease the pain and break free of this life sentence.

Dana~


"Do you suffer with chronic pain? What's your biggest hurdle? What treatment have you found to be the most helpful? Let me know in the comments below."

I have always heard that once you hit rock bottom, you can only go upwards. I took that to mean that when everything goes wrong and I have to start over, that I will eventually be able to bring good things back into my life. Effort would be required, as it always is, but I would still find happiness. I clung to this ideal when life got rough this year.

Then, on one of my darkest days, something surprising happened. A positive and optimistic presence entered my life. The tears stopped. The frustration melted away. The hurt faded. In time, all that was wrong finally started to become a memory. This good influence on my life gave me the strength to believe in hope again. I remembered what it was like to be honestly happy, and not wearing the facade of happiness while I juggled emotional hurt and general frustration with life below the surface.

I'm not saying the new presence caused my happiness, I do not need to rely on something or someone outside of myself to be happy. What happened was that positivity reminded me about all that is good in life and all the good I have to look forward to in my future. By coming to terms with whats happened and remembering I have more to do as I move forward, I was able to find peace with myself and ultimately find my own happiness again. Hello, personal joy, I missed you. I won't let negativity steal away my awesome optimism and internal contentment. It's a lot more fun this way.

Dana~