Category: Personal

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#worldIBDday

Okay, so yesterday was World IBD Day, but I didn’t get a chance to post…

For those who aren’t aware, IBD stands for Inflammatory Bowel Disease, a blanket term used for chronic auto-immune diseases that occur in the digestive tract. There are three forms of IBD: Crohn’s disease, Ulcerative colitis, and Indeterminate colitis. The main differences between the three are where in the tract the disease lives. Crohn’s can be active in the entire tract, colitis in the lower tract, and indeterminate is what happens when they can’t decide which of the first two you fall into.  I am one of 200,000 Canadians living with IBD, and since yesterday was about raising awareness I thought I’d take a minute to share my story.

It starts back in November 2001. I remember sitting in 10th grade English class when I first felt the pain in my stomach. I was 14 years old, and aside from being a little overweight had never had any health issues. The stomach ache continued for weeks, and when my mom took me to the doctor they said it was just nerves.

Over the next year and a half I became progressively sicker. By early 2003 the pain was debilitating. I dropped from 170 lbs to 115 lbs. My hair was falling out in clumps, my teeth were beginning to rot, and my eyesight was deteriorating. I slept nearly 20 hours a day. I had to go to the emergency room every other week to receive IV fluids because my body could no longer retain anything.

Ironically, with the weight loss, I’d frequently hear “Oh you lost weight! You look great!” because of course that’s what happens.

During 2002 the doctor tested me for numerous food intolerance’s. I spent 3 months off of dairy, 3 months off of gluten, 3 months off of sugar, but nothing made a difference. Stumped, my doctor sent me to McMaster to see a specialist.

In early 2003 I sat down with a pediatric gastroenterologist who asked me questions for about an hour. And at the end he said “you have either Crohn’s Disease or Ulcerative Colitis and we’ll do a test to find out which”. Those words meant nothing to me at the time, but he gave me some reading to do and the next week, at age 16, I had my first colonoscopy.

The specialist brought me back in a day or so after the scope to confirm that I did have Ulcerative Colitis and prescribe me Prednisone, explaining it’s long list of side effects. I went home, hopeful that this nightmare was over.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

After a month of taking Prednisode with still worsening symptoms I was back at McMaster where I learned that my digestive system was so damaged that my body was simply unable to absorb anything I ingested. The only option would be to admit me to the hospital and be treated intravenously. I was admitted to the hospital and after about a week the stomach ache I’d had for 18 months eased up. For the first time in over a year I wasn’t rushing to the bathroom every hour. I was even able to look at food without becoming nauseous!

After several days of steady improvement I transitioned from IV to oral Prednisone and was released. There was nowhere to go but up!

Except, maybe… not quite?

Less than a week after being home I awoke in the middle of the night with severe chest pain and was rushed to the hospital. I was in the ICU for a few days, following a “cardiac event”, which I’d learn years later was a side effect of the Prednisone. It would be the first in a decade long struggle I’d have with treatment side effects.

You see, they don’t really know much about IBD. They know that for some unknown reason people’s immune systems rev up and begin to attack the digestive tract, but without knowing why, they don’t have many options to stop it. So the most common treatment is to suppress the immune system down to a level that it’s simply unable to attack. Great for ridding you of the pesky IBD symptoms, but horrible for helping your body fight literally anything else. As a result I caught every virus I came into contact with. And I’d not only catch every virus, I’d get way sicker than whoever I caught it from.

Living in a dorm during my first year of university and being in immunosuppressants was an especially bad combination. In the spring there was a virus going around residence that actually landed me in the hospital. I then caught another virus that was going around the hospital, which resulted in me being in a quarantined ward room of a foreign hospital. Fun times!

In 2013, nearly a decade after starting the immunosuppressants the ongoing cold I’d had all those years morphed into recurrent pneumonia. This ended up being a sign that the medication I was on had caused blood poisoning, and eventual septicemia, landing me once again in the hospital, followed by four months of bed rest. Because the only way to resolve the blood poisoning was to go off of the immunosuppressant (which, fun fact, contain classified carcinogens), wait, and hope the colitis didn’t relapse.

And then I got lucky. The toxicity passed and I didn’t relapse, and have not been on any UC meds since 2013. Over the last few months I’ve started having some minor symptoms, and am going for a scope tomorrow to see how things are looking. I don’t think my UC has relapsed, and hopefully I’m correct, but I also know that my string of good luck on that front is due to end sometime. Hopefully that sometime is not now, because I’m not going to lie, I’m terrified of having to go back on the meds…

Updated To Add:

No relapse!

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It’s amazing the difference a year can make.

On a late night, one year ago, I decided that I was in too much pain to keep on living and that my existence was too burdensome on everyone around me. I had been dealing with ongoing suicidal thoughts for years, but in the months leading up to that night they’d become more and more intense.

I awoke the next morning in a psychiatric Form 3 hold at the hospital, with my parents sitting by my side. I remember feeling little more than numb through much of my two week stay in Unit 1M. And when I returned home I felt more discontented with life than ever before. I dropped out of my anxiety treatment program, stopped going to counselling, and tried to fade out of people’s lives.

Fortunately for me, I had a few amazing people in my life who wouldn’t stand for the latter. With their help I spent the summer slowly learning to live again and remembering so many of life’s little joys.

In late summer I set off for adventure, hoping that a bit of solo travel and space would help me regain some lost confidence. I spent three weeks driving under the Northern Lights in Iceland, boating through the Fjords in Norway, wandering the cobblestone streets in Denmark, and lounging with old friends in England. The trip gave me some much needed time for reflection and appreciation. For the first time I truly allowed myself to look at my life and the reasons for my unhappiness. The main one, I realized, was that I was scared.

In the autumn I came home determined to open myself up and conquer my fears. I took risks, faced new challenges, and found myself entering winter feeling something I had never truly felt before: Contentment.

And now, one year on, my life is virtually unrecognizable. I found a job that encompasses everything that I’ve ever wanted in a job. I fell in love with someone who makes me happier than I ever thought it was possible to be. I’ve started reaching out and attempting to mend broken relationships. And I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I’m not such a human disaster after all.

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#BellLetsTalk day has rolled around once again.

I’ve always tried to be open and honest about my struggles with mental illness, as I know how important open conversations are to ending the stigma. I used to write about my experiences regularly, but have found myself doing so less and less over the last couple of years. At first I simply wasn’t finding the exercise of writing as helpful as I had in the past. But last spring it became much more than that.
Late one night in June, after 10 years of inner turmoil, I became so overwhelmed with my anxiety and depression that I attempted to take my own life.
I then spent the next two weeks as an inpatient in the Mental Health unit of the new St. Catharines Hospital and can truly say that that was the worst week of my life. But probably not for the reasons you’re thinking…
Each day I was in there I would meet with my assigned psychiatrist, and each day he would make the same comment: “You’re a highly educated and well-travelled young woman. You’re not the type of person I should be seeing in here.”
I never knew how to respond to this. He used words like “typical” and “should” and I just didn’t understand. Educated people can and do have depressive disorders, and well-travlled people can and do have anxiety disorders. Who was he to tell me I shouldn’t be there, when the fact was, I WAS there. I was there, and in pain, and instead of being helped, I was made to feel like my thoughts and emotions were invalid. I was made to feel like I should have somehow been above mental illness.
In the end, I didn’t receive anything in the way of “treatment”. My medication was switched to something I’d been on previously, and I slept a lot, played cards with my dad, and then after a week was discharged.
I left the hospital feeling completely discouraged. Following my discharge I dropped out of the outpatient anxiety treatment program that I’d been taking part in for a year previously, stopped going to counselling, and never spoke to anyone about how the experience effected me.
(Until now.)
I spent the summer wallowing in self-pity and feeling like a complete failure, followed by an autumn spent travelling and learning to trust my own abilities again. Thankfully the latter worked, and I returned home feeling like maybe, just maybe, I could be okay eventually. I built up the nerve to take some big chances, as well as rid myself of a few bad habits.
For a long time I didn’t think I’d live to see my 30th birthday.
But I did make it to 30. I made it, and now when I think of the future it’s not a blank question mark, but filled with possibilities. And for the first time I in as long as I can remember, I want to be alive to see what happens.
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The Anxious Wanderer Returns, Take Two

In three short days I’ll be in a rental car driving the Golden Circle in Iceland. I’ll be flying there from Toronto tomorrow, and meeting one of my dearest friends in the world in Reykjavik. Following a few days in the land of ice we’ll be flying back to her home in London, and later I will continue my adventures solo around England, Denmark, and Norway.

While this certainly isn’t my first time heading off on a grand adventure, it will be the first time since my anxiety has become so severe. And that, for me, makes this one of the most important trips I’ll ever take.

To say that the past two years have been hell is an understatement. In that time I’ve been diagnosed with panic disorder, panic psychosis, and severe chronic depression. I’ve been through periods where I was unable to leave the house. I’ve experienced emotions so severe than I didn’t know how to cope with them. I’ve had difficulty maintaining friendships, employment, and my own physical health. And just a few months ago I had bout of depression and anxiety so severe that I tried to take my own life.

In this time I’ve been on a dozen different medications, seen countless doctors, counsellors, and nurses, and been admitted to several outpatient and inpatient mental health programs.

In moments of panic it feels like my mind has turned against me, and convinced me that danger lurks around every corner. My attacks, which had always been unpleasant experiences, have become unbearable episodes of sheer terror. The frequent fear and stress have become all consuming, and over the years has slowly chipped away at every aspect of my life.

Even in periods when the attacks, anxiety, and depression are less intense, I’ve discovered that it’s difficult to enjoy things I once loved, like theatre and travel. In the past few years these things have provided me with little more than fear and nausea. At one point I even thought that perhaps I’d just stop partaking, because what was the point?

But, at the end of day, I just couldn’t bring myself to give up my last semblance of hope. So in the spirit of ‘go big, or go home’, I’ve decided to get over my fears by visiting three countries I’ve never stepped foot into before (two of them on my own). I’m also giving myself London, because it’s the love of my life.

And I refuse to let my anxieties take it, or anything, away from me.

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Locked Up

Exactly one month ago I was released from the hospital after spending 7 days on a mandatory hold inside of the psychiatric unit. It was undoubtedly the worst week of my life, and the lowest point I’ve reached during my decade long struggle with mental illness.

During and following my hold I didn’t tell many people about what was happening. Partly because I was embarrassed and ashamed, and partly because I simply didn’t know how to talk about it. I still don’t, to be completely honest. But despite that, I’m writing now because I feel it’s important to say something. It may not be the correct thing, or what people want to hear, but the one thing I know is that keeping quiet out of shame only perpetuates stigma.

The ‘How?’ and the ‘Why?’ are likely what people most want to know, but are in my opinion the least important aspects of the story. While it was one rash and desperate decision that landed me in the hospital, the path leading up to it was a long and complicated one. My incarceration was 10 years of poor decisions in the making. Poor decision that I, for the first time, realize come from the fact that I simply don’t value my own life.

That revelation is in and of itself heavily complex. And along with it I also have my crippling anxiety, chronic depression, and unstable emotional responses to stress and upset. But I’ve come to learn that identifying and accepting issues is half the battle.

And as of tonight, that battle is not yet lost.

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30 x 30

T-minus 6 months (and 2 days) until I turn 30. And as such, I’ve decided to make a list of 30 things I wish to do / 30 goals I’d like to achieve, by age 30:

  1. Visit 30 new cities
  2. Do 30 minutes of meditation or mindfulness each day
  3. Learn to be kind to myself
  4. Walk 30 km each week
  5. Eat fruits & veggies 30 times each week
  6. Take time out to recharge and refocus
  7. Lose 30 lbs
  8. Work avg 30 hours each week
  9. Don’t be afraid to say ‘no’
  10. Spend only $30 each week on non-essentials (movies, clothes, eating out)
  11. Put $30 in savings account each week
  12. Learn self-forgiveness
  13. Watch / Listen / Read 30 new arts / entertainment things
  14. Give Jacob 30 memorable experiences
  15. Be a more attentive friend
  16. Write and send 30 letters / postcards to loved ones
  17. Set aside 30 minutes each week to get organized
  18. Be more open and honest about my feelings
  19. Rid myself of 30 toxic habits / relationships / things
  20. Volunteer 30 hours each month
  21. Ask for help when I need it
  22. Take 30 photographs each month
  23. Try 30 new foods
  24. Take the time to reflect and appreciate
  25. Write 30 new posts / articles / essays
  26. Try 30 things that scare me
  27. Learn to be more flexible / “go with the flow”
  28. Apply to 30 new jobs
  29. Try my very best to do the 30 things on this list
  30. But don’t beat myself up should I not accomplish them all

Special thanks to Jenny for helping me brainstorm in the middle of the night ;)

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Hit The Floor

Over the past few months I’ve quit several jobs, but still can’t seem to get over this chronic fatigue. I’m at the point of sleeping 10 hours a night, and taking 3 hour naps during the day. On top of that my overly intense panic attacks recently returned, and I’ve started having fainting spells due to a new health issue that is still in the process of being diagnosed.

Oh, the joys of chronic illness!

I wish more people understood chronic illness. I feel like in the past year so many friends have drifted away, frustrated, and I just haven’t had the emotional, mental, or physical energy to pull them back in and explain. But perhaps that’s for the best, because the fact remains that I can’t keep up.

I don’t even have the energy to write more of this post. Please see The Spoon Theory.

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2016: Same Old, Same Old

How is it almost February?

I spent January working my ass off and being sick, so I’ve lost all concept of time. I started a 4th and 5th job, so my schedule is ridiculous. Honestly, if I didn’t have a multi-device syncing calendar I’d be completely screwed. And it’s not like I’m working an excessive number of hours (40-50 a week, on average), but being all over the place at all different times of the day is making me scatterbrained. I’ve turned into a complete flake, and it’s really starting to get to me!

(In a spontaneous act of crazy, needing to feel like I had some sort of control, I got a pair of scissors and chopped off all my hair. Thank you to Saira for being my inspiration there! Heh.)

It’s also not helping that my anxiety is getting bad. And the irony is that the source of anxiety is that (1) I’m beyond paranoid that I’m going to have a panic attack at work, and (2) I lose my prescription benefits at the end of this month.

A big issue for me in early 2015 was that I stopped sleeping regularly due to nocturnal panic episodes, caused my dreams (typically the traditional teeth falling out dream). They went away last spring, but returned in the last few weeks. Recently it’s the same dream over and over: I’m at work (my retail job, which I’ve been at since October and quite like) and am constantly getting into trouble because I’m doing everything wrong. As the dream goes on coworkers start coming up to me and telling me how incompetent I am and that management is furious. Eventually in the dream I have a panic attack, am yelled at by a manager, and fired. And then I wake up in a panic attack (hyperventilating, crying, nose bleed, all that fun stuff). I’ve had this same dream, and same panic episode, the last 3 nights in a row. UGH.

As for the benefits, I don’t even know what to do. I can’t afford my auto-immune meds AND my anxiety meds. So I weighed the option of taking one vs the other. If I stop the anxiety meds I’ll probably relapse into my anxiety-ridden self, but if I stop my auto-immune meds I could potentially die, so… I voted for anxiety meds! But I went to my doctor this morning and asked about weening off the meds to which I received the most incredulous look of all time. “You have an incredibly severe anxiety disorder. You can not go off medication.” OKAY, OKAY.

So, I now need to figure out how to pay the $500/month for meds. I keep getting denied for private insurance, so I might try Trillium again. I’ve been denied twice, but maybe third time’s the charm. Everyone please cross all fingers and toes. Thx.

Hmm, what else? I was supposed to start the 3rd semester of my out-patient anxiety program yesterday, but being a sleep deprived flake, I missed the first session. So I need to make sure that I sort that out and don’t get myself kicked out of the program. And today I finally made appointments with my counsellor and occupational therapist. They’re both going to shout at me for taking more jobs…

The last time I saw either of them I had just taken on a second one, and neither were impressed. But I think I needed to do it, and I’m happy I did. I realized the only reason I wasn’t was because I had convinced myself I couldn’t. But it turns out I could! I’m not completely incompetent!

Well, not outside of my anxiety dreams, at least.

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Resolutions

I’m the absolute worst when it comes to new years resolutions, but I still continue to make them. With my birthday being the same time I consider them more to be year resolutions. So, I suppose this is my list of Year 29 Resolutions:

1. Save

2016* will be the year of fiscal responsibility. I want to work on lessening unnecessary spending, as well as make and keep a personal budget. My goal is to pay off my credit card by the end of the year, and have a significant amount in savings.

*We’ll turn a blind eye to any extravagant purchases made in 2015 for things taking place in 2016… Heh.

HOW: Create a budget and keep track of where my money goes. Identify unnecessary spending and make a reasonable course of action to reduce it. (For example, spending $30 a week at Subway can be removed, and replaced with the lower cost of packing a lunch from home.) Put the credit card in a drawer and only remove in cases of emergency! And do no convince oneself that a weekly deal on Amazon constitutes an emergency.

2. Relax

I’m making it a point to insert relaxation into my schedule in 2016. I’ve already registered for a yoga class that begins in just a few days time, and would also like to look into some meditation sessions. In my outpatient program I’ve also learned several relaxation exercises that I have yet to try at home. So, I should start incorporating them.

HOW: Weekly yoga, meditation, and relaxation exercises.

3. Explore

As you know, I love to travel. Unfortunately I spent the majority of 2015 unemployed and dealing with crippling anxiety. As a result I didn’t do much jet setting. However, I did meet my set goal of visiting one place I’d never been before when I went on a road trip to Savannah over the summer. And this year I’d like to increase that number to three new places, with an added specification that these places be in three different countries. I know this sounds counterproductive to #1, but the intention is for the some of the savings to go towards the travel.

HOW: Just do it.

4. Create

I have such a desire to write and photograph, but I’ve somehow convinced myself that my lack of skill outweighs my passion. Which is unfair, because skill is gained through experience. If I want to become a stronger writer and photographer, then I need to continue to write and photograph! So, in 2016 I want to work on creative and passion projects, and perhaps even take some courses to help build my skills and confidence up.

HOW: Set a goal to blog 10 times a month. Set a goal to get out an take photographs at least twice a month.

5. Be Social

When 2015 began I was dealing with agoraphobia. I was petrified to leave the house, and would break out into waves of panic at the mere thought. Now, at the close of 2015, I’m happy to say that is behind me. But I still have a long way to go. Intensive treatment has helped me re-enter the world, and I am now able to hold down 2 part time jobs (and a 3rd casual job), all of which I am comfortable in. It’s incredible to not spend an entire day at work petrified that I will have an attack. Or better yet, not spend an entire day at work having attack after attack.

So, stage one of re-entering the world has been a success, and stage two is to work on being around people. I don’t have social anxiety, per say. But I occasionally get so worked up over the idea that I’ll have a panic attack around people that it leads to a lot of avoidance behaviour. On a good day I can socialize no problem. So I’d like to work on is learning to work through the anticipatory anxiety I experience on the not-so-good days. I need to stop avoiding, and start enjoying.

HOW: Stop finding excuses not to do something. Stop instigating negativity in order to justify not doing something.

6. Be Healthy

I spent much of 2015 working to improve my mental health, and I’d like to continue that in 2016, while also incorporating the improvement of my physical health. The goal is healthy mind, body, and spirit.

HOW: 1) Physical Health- There’s three main things that I’ve been slacking on that I need to fix: Showing up to doctors appointments; Getting required monthly blood work done; Taking auto-immune medication. 2) Mental Health- Things to continue or improve: Continue going to outpatient anxiety program regularly; Continue reading to help improve my understanding of panic disorder; Practice the lessons taught in program.

And then, of course, healthy eating and exercise. That’s a given on everyone’s list, isn’t it?

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FRIENDS! Wishing you all a happy, healthy, and stress-free 2016!

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Adulthood

Tomorrow I turn 29 and I’m honestly not too sure how I feel about it.

I’ve spent far too much time this past year obsessing over the fact that I’ll be turning 30 at the end of 2016. It’s only now that I’ve finally sat down and tried to figure out why. My best guess is that 30 seems to be the line drawn by society to separate transitioning adulthood from real adulthood. A specified point in time when it’s socially required to have your shit together, so to speak.

This line is completely arbitrary, of course. And generational. And situational.

Legally adulthood begins at 18. Some consider it to begin when they finish post-secondary. Others define it as when they leave their parents house. It could be when careers or families start, or simply when the onslaught of adult responsibility starts. But there’s no all encompassing definition that takes into account legalities, responsibilities, accomplishments, etc. So, what is adulthood? Is there a magic moment when you suddenly feel like an adult?

If there is, it certainly hasn’t happened to me yet. But I don’t feel like a child or young adult. I have credit cards, pay car insurance, and owe an obscene amount in student loans. I buy groceries, book vacations, read self-help books, and have been denied life insurance. All of these typical adult things are a part of my life.

So why don’t I feel like an adult? And why does the idea of it freak me out so much?

There are certainly much scarier things than the unavoidable reality of being an adult. Many things that I myself have done. I moved abroad at 18; I jumped off a cliff; I backpacked through 12 countries alone; and moved solo to Europe in twenties with $50 in my bank account. Twice. I’ve wandered abandoned sanatoriums, spent several nights in foreign hospitals, and driven a rental car through the terrifying country roads of Northern Ireland. All of these are legitimately uncomfortable things, but I never feared them. Yet I do turning 30?

I think what it comes down to is that I fear being a failed adult. If I were imagining my life 10 years ago I would have certainly had grander ideas of where I’d be than the reality of where I am. I didn’t imagine I’d be back living with my mother, suffering from an anxiety disorder so severe that I require an ongoing, intensive treatment program, and still career-less after 7 painstaking years of university and grad school. My imaginings didn’t include crippling debt, long months spent bed-ridden with physical illness, or a million other little things that crept up in the last decade.

When I sit back and think rationally about my situation, I know I’m doing the best I can. And that compared to a year ago I’m doing very well. I can and am working full time hours for the first time since 2014. My health is okay. My relationships are good (for the most part). Overall, things are looking up.

So maybe it’s time to just accept the fact that I’m an adult, but throw out the notion that there exists a necessity to define oneself as a failure or success. That to be alive and content in the moment is enough. That to understand your passions and pursue them without fear is enough.

Appreciate all that you are and all that you’ve done, instead of focusing on who you’re not, and what you haven’t.

I think that if I can learn that, then 30 won’t seem so scary after all.

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