It's Official! I Am No Longer Disabled!!!

Well, folks... I've done the impossible: I have left the the disability rolls! According to Social Security, "less than one-half of one percent of Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI & SSI) beneficiaries" become 'non-disabled' —42 USC 1320b-19, Section 2(a)(8). Who da man? I'm da man! But this fact hides a difficult truth: my life is still far from normal.

I am amazingly happy, and I am amazingly grateful, but if I said I didn't mind that I'm still sick, that would be a lie. I do mind sometimes. It's difficult to live in the between. I'm caught between a world where healthy people are expected to be able to fulfill certain obligations. But I'm still not healthy, so I often fall short. Sometimes I feel like I've pulled off exactly what I set out to do, I have made this look awesome... but now people expect me to be awesome as well, and that... I'm not so good at. Heck, I struggle to do "normal people things," like stay on top of the laundry, keep up with my bills, etc. I can do work, and a little bit on the weekends, and that's it. I've learned the hard way that I have to include socializing in there to fulfill my psychological needs, otherwise, I end up feeling like I have no friends, crying on the couch with a blanket and a half-gallon of ice cream!

So I have to keep everything in a fine balance, and I have to obey strict, self-imposed rules, otherwise this whole delicate machinery of my life comes crashing down. I've set things up like a Rube Goldberg machine* in order to achieve what I have. The time I put into the doctors allows me access to the medication I need to control my pain, which allows me to work, which allows me to afford the medication. The medication side-effects require that I get 10-12 hours of sleep a night. Work requires that I be there at a certain time. Which means I have a set bedtime in order to get to work on time. That means I also can't blow my sleep schedule on the weekends, otherwise it's too difficult to get back on track for Monday. That limits what I'm allowed to do, and who I'm able to see, on top of the limitations placed on me by my disease.

My disease means that I don't wake up like normal people. Most people have cortisol kick in around 4am to help them start the waking process. My body doesn't do that because my cortisol comes from a pill. The way I wake up is with adrenalin, because my body has realized that I'm not producing cortisol, which means I better wake up, or I could die! So my fight or flight mechanism is what wakes me in the morning. In a friend of mine who has adrenal insufficiency, she wakes in fight mode. She's even woken up kicking and punching. Me, I wake up in a terrified panic. I can't even use an alarm clock, because that freaks me out so bad I would need a pill to calm down. So I wake up to the gentle sounds of talk radio instead, and skip the chill pill. And my disease also means that I must take my pills at a set time in the morning, so that I'm able to function properly for the rest of the day. It's all very complicated and intertwined.


Rube Goldberg Machine
I was still so proud to make that phone call to Social Security. I was also terrified, because this has been my life for the past decade, and I've gotten accustom to many things, but also very proud. I still shake my head sometimes in disbelief. I've done it. It is possible. I've put my life back together again. I'm walking among the working, and I'm one of them. I pay taxes, instead of being on the government doll. I'm a contributing member of society again! I have made my crippling disease manageable. Wow!

So my message to you is, keep trying. If you have to stop and stand back and re-evaluate some things, that's okay. I've taken a year off from my medical struggles to rest and recuperate. Sometimes that's what we need to then charge back in there with all our might. But keep trying: the impossible is possible. It make take years and a strange, wandering route, but you can get there. I did. I'm living proof (pun intended).

Less than one-half of one percent (<0.5%)... but I did it!


Shiny!!!!

From a fan... #mtla

During WWII, the British had posters to help people deal with the bombing raids from Germany (the blitz). ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ - this poster was to issue it only upon the invasion of Britain by Germany. As this never happened, the poster was never officially seen by the public. Sadly no record remains of the unknown Civil Servant who originally came up with the simple and quintessential Britishness of the Keep Calm and Carry On message. However, since then, this poster has inspired a whole slew of copycats, including this one from my Unicorn Sister! I just had to share...


Thank you!! You definitely make yours look AWESOME!

Prayers for my Unicorn Sister

I've just gotten some terrible news about my Unicorn Sister. She's been given the diagnosis of Dercum's Disease, one of the worst of the worst. And in combination with the pituitary disease we already have, this is a show-stopper. Though she has a reason for all her pain and fatigue (which for a while has been far worse than mine), her weight gain, everything.... it was ALL the disease.... The prognosis is NOT good. No known treatment. A miracle away from a cure. And it can be lethal. Please, please keep her in your prayers to whatever deity you believe in, or even if you don't.... put out a good word to the Universe for her. She needs it.

My Secret Triumph

I've read a lot of posts in online communities for people who have chronic health issues. One common complaint I hear is how other people don't understand how hard it is for us to do even the most simple things. In their frustration at their loss of ability, they feel sorry for themselves. I've been there. I've done the moping. I totally understand. Getting a chronic illness sucks! But there's a way to flip that around. There's a way whereby we can look at our struggle over easy daily tasks and we can realize that we are MIGHTY. By the very fact that it is more difficult for us, we can then take pride in doing even the most mundane things. It's all a matter of perspective.

And that's my secret triumph. Most people have to go out and run marathons, or hike a 14,000' mountain to do a great thing. I just have to get the laundry done (now there's a Herculean task!). People don't understand how difficult that can be. Which is fine with me. I can take pride in it myself, knowing that I have been stunningly awesome every time I can get that simple task done. Oh, sure, for them it's easy. But then, they have an easy life without chronic illness. That's no big deal for them. It is for me... and for that reason, I can have an amazing amount of pride in myself, just for getting through my day.

I don't have to write the next great American novel. I don't have to conquer the elements in some great quest. I don't have to discover the cure for the common cold (beer) or find the cure for cancer (cannabinoids). I just have to wake up in the morning and take my pills on time. Right then, I've already saved a life for the day: my own! Everything after that is gravy.

If I am able to achieve some semblance of "normal," then that's incredible. I have to obey a lot of very strict rules, and do some really crazy things in order to reach normal. I have to get 11 hours of sleep on work nights (plus Friday, because I'm usually at my rope's end by then). That means going to bed at 7:30, so I can be up at 6:30 in time for work. It takes me two and a half hours to get ready in the morning, because I first have to get all my medications in my system and get them properly digested before I can do anything else. After they kick in and start working (usually an hour before I notice the effect) then I can get started on my day like a normal person (get dressed, brush my teeth, etc.). By the time I'm driving to work, I've already accomplished a miracle! My day hasn't even started, and already it's amazing.

Then, every day that I'm able to come to work and have people think that I'm normal just like them... that's another miracle. I'm able to manage my symptoms through my day so that they're largely invisible to everyone else. I'm able to complete my work, and no one else is wise to the fact that I'm fighting to keep this up. I'm fighting... and I'm winning. Every day is a struggle, and every day, I work to make it seem like it isn't there at all. My success depends on no one else knowing how hard it is, as though it's no bother at all.

My self esteem comes from my ability to make my problems no problem. It's a lot of work!!! And each and every day I can be proud of myself for my efforts. No one else knows how much I struggle, and I like it that way. The less they know about my disease, the more successful I am. Like the graceful swan who is gliding on the surface and paddling like crazy beneath the water, so too do I make all this struggle look effortlessly beautiful. That's my secret triumph: I make this look awesome.

So, rather than feel sorry for ourselves for all the extra things we have to go through each and every day (not to mention the crazy drama that pops up as a matter of course), my suggestion is take all of that anger and turn it into pride. Yes, it's difficult to the point of tears. But if you can manage it, and do so without the tears, well then, look at how mighty you are! If you can put up with hellfire and brimstone, and do it with a smile and a cheerful attitude, there's no better way to cheat the devil. Be proud of every little thing you can do, because these diseases want to make it so we can't. Hold your head high, just for the fact that you endure. That alone is mighty enough.

But I don't look sick? Thanks! I work very hard to keep it that way. ;)

Everything happens

I have heard the phrase: "Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God's world by mistake." I've long since lost the urge to punch people in the face for things like that. Usually I smile and nod, knowing that they don't know what they're talking about. Additionally, I know the guy who wrote that suffered horribly at the end of his life and felt very much like a mistake had been made... many mistakes, great and small. But I've figured something out in the past couple of days. It's not that everything happens for a reason. It's just that everything happens. Period.

Reason and meaning is what we bring to life. Gravity doesn't exist so my feet can touch the ground. Gravity was there, and I developed in it's effects. When things happen in our life beyond our control, we didn't put those things in to play. They're beyond our control! By their very definition we couldn't have brought those things into play. These larger effects that we live in, like chronic illness, have nothing to do with any reason. It just is. Any reason and meaning is what I bring to it.

Early on in my disease, I figured out that the pain wasn't punishment. Because I could do everything right, and my head would hurt. I could do all the "wrong" things, and my head would hurt. Intensity, manner of onset, aura, sensory sensitivities... all that was completely random. It was a migraine that just didn't quit. So I knew, after about 6 months, that it wasn't anything I was doing wrong. It just was. And if it just was, then it couldn't be my fault, and I didn't have to feel bad about it.

Yeah, this is not the life I wanted, worked for, dreamed of, etc. etc. But it's some person's dream. There's someone out there, who's got it worse than me, who is wishing they could be me. I've been looking at this whole thing all wrong. Yes, things have been taken from me: reasonable expectations have been taken from me. I had the reasonable expectation of being a mom. Nope. I had the reasonable expectation that I could live a narcotic-free lifestyle. Nope. I had the reasonable expectation I could live where ever I could afford to live. Nope. And I could go on...

The point is, the bar has be raised. I can live nothing short of an extraordinary life. It's impossible at this point. Hell, the fact that I'm alive is a miracle several times over. Most people I know would have to get into to some pretty extreme activities to be able to risk their lives every day. Me? I just have to wake up in the morning. I give death the bird each day that I take my pills like I'm supposed to (barring any sudden accidents, of course).

And somewhere, I heard a voice say, "Good, lord, woman, do you know how stubborn you are? The only way that we could get you to give up on these dreams was if we ripped them from you completely. Otherwise you would have found a way around it! So we had to resort to drastic measures, or otherwise you wouldn't be available for what's coming next..."

"So, if you're frightened of dying and... you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth." -Jacob's Ladder

If I want this life to have the fulfillment that I knew I could get from my reasonable expectations, then it's gonna have to be big, because those were big dreams of mine. It's going to take a lot to fill that void. I don't know what I'm going to be yet, because I'm just learning what this new life is capable of, within my limitations. And that's going to take a lot of time.

To put it another way, right now, I'm only 10 years old. My new body and my new life is only 10 years in the making. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I was ten! I knew what some of my desires were, some of the things I like and don't like. But I hadn't experimented enough, or explored my desires enough to even know what I wanted to do with my life. That took damn near twenty years to figure out!

I remember when it came close to time to graduating from college, I freaked out because I had no idea what to do after that. I had no idea where to go with my life. I even went to a professional counselor, because my panic over my future was starting with my ability to accomplish it in the present. It took years for me to figure out the dreams that have now been taken from me. And I had no limitations at the time!

This time, I'm trying to come up with the same big dreams, only now on "expert level." The only way I'm going to be able to accomplish that is by looking at what was taken from me, and changing my perception of it, so that the loss is in fact an opportunity.

I can't be a mother and know the joys of making a life and raising it in this world. But what opportunities do I gain because I don't have children? My "adopted nieces" are wonderful. But just like my illness, having those girls places limitations on my friend's life. She make take them in stride because it's all worth it...

So what if I looked at the limitations of my sickness and decided "it's all worth it"? What if I did that ahead of time, even though I don't know what that worth is yet? It's easy to see the worth in a child's life and to write off the personal costs and limitations. You know when you have children that the goal is to raise them so that they can then go on to live their own lives. That's even biologically driven. The outcome, hopefully, is your loving adult children. The outcome of my illness that makes all this suffering worth it... that outcome is a mystery.

Right now, I don't know what I want to even start to explore that mystery. But that's okay. This "second-hand life" is only 10. I didn't really start knowing what I wanted until I was around 15, and even that took a lot of experimenting and slogging through experiences I didn't like. I need to go out and find new things, explore, find new loves, new excitements, new spice to my life. I need to give it time.

Everything happens. If I want to bring reason to that, I've got to find a way to make it all worthwhile. My original dream would have made the stings and arrows all worthwhile. But that's the easy answer. What's harder to know is how to make it all worthwhile without that. I have to try...

The easiest way for me to forgive all that's happened to me, the way that I let go of the bitterness of not having the reasonable life I wanted, is by assuming I have been "called" to a more difficult life, but one that will ultimately be filled with glory that surpasses anything I could have hoped for. I have to assume that I don't get reasonable because, beyond my understanding, my talents would have been wasted if I had gone that route. And the voice was right... if there had been even the slimmest chance of me getting the life I wanted, it would have been mine.

So maybe a little faith in the Universe is a good idea... We'll see, right?

"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others." ~Pericles

WEGO Health Awards Nomination!

Holy carp, I never expected to get this email: "Congratulations! You’ve been nominated for the Health Activist Hero Award in this year’s WEGO Health Activist Awards!" Wow... I'm humbled! I'm sure I'm up against so heady competition, so I'm just happy to be nominated! (I see MyNewNormals.com in there, so I'm among giants.) I'm so honored!!! Squeee!!!!

If you seek a teacher, one will appear

I have recently made the discovery of a true gem in Denver, and that is, a minister I can believe in. He's highly intelligent, has been deeply wounded in the past and has recovered from it. He has amazing spiritual strength paired with a wisdom and humility rarely seen. I am in awe.

He answered my question: "How to you deal with being cast out of paradise?" His answer was: "How can you bring paradise to other places except by leaving it?" I was dumbfounded. And I'm rarely caught speechless.

So I put to him my question of how to get out of bitterness. His answer was, "How do we know our good is supposed to reach this generation? How many people were never recognized until centuries after their death? Do you think Harriet Tubman would believe there are statues of her all over the place? Not on your life. The point isn't what happens now. The point is what happens in a scope we may never have the ability to comprehend, it's so grand. But why should that stop you from trying? How else is it going to get out there if you don't put it there?

I challenged back that, sure, I kept trying. But I didn't do it with hope in my heart or any sort of grace. It was raw stubbornness that kept me going and now that I've reached success it's come too late. It's like the scene from The Last Unicorn:

MOLLY GRUE: (gasps) No. Can it truly be? Where have you been? Where have you been? (yells) Damn you, where have you been!?

UNICORN: I am here now.

MOLLY GRUE: (laughs bitterly) Oh? And where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this? (She begins crying. The unicorn puts her head in Molly's lap, and she caresses it.)

SCHMENDRICK: Can you really see her? Do you really know what she is?

MOLLY GRUE: If you had been waiting to see a unicorn as long as I have...

SCHMENDRICK: She's the last unicorn in the world.

MOLLY GRUE: It would be the last unicorn in the world that came to Molly Grue. (She sniffs.) It's all right. I forgive you.

Why did success come now, when it's too late to fulfill any dreams I had? And he said, "Where are my limitless resources to fulfill the dreams I have? It's not about fulfilling our dreams the way we want to, it's trying to figure out how to fulfill them in a world that's based on limited supply---what good can we still accomplish anyway?"

And I knew he was right. I was robbed. There's no doubting that. I was sorely treated and greviously wounded in a way that will haunt me the rest of my life. But my capacity to love and to show love has in no way been diminished. My ability to teach and to help others and spread goodness in the world has not been diminished. And I may never know the true extent of my impact on the world, but no one really gets to know that.

"So given the choice of living in regret of the death of your dreams, and making the best of what's left to the greatest possible good, wouldn't you want to try for the latter?"

Yes... Yes I do.

Alright 2013... My loins are girded; my head's held high. Bring it!

Fighting Bitterness

As I began to look back on 2012 and what I've achieved, I have to admit, it's been a pretty phenomenal year. But suddenly, I was thrown into cognitive dissonance. It's been an amazing year!! So why don't I feel amazing? I struggled for weeks wondering why. I realized that I'm full of bitterness. Full-to-the-brim angst that would put the Grinch and pre-reformed Scrooge to shame. I had to ask myself, what gives? It's all been progress. Why am I still miserable?

It took a while, but when an old friend contacted me, it all came rushing back. Yes, this life is VERY successful, given what I have to deal with. But it's a second-hand life. It's not my primary life. I had that life. I was amazingly happy before this all came crashing to a head, changing my world forever. I had to leave the one place I called home, because the climate there was triggering epic levels of pain, both for my migraines and my neuropathy. That, and all but two pain clinics were pressured to go out of business, and the last to were being pressured to not use narcotics at all. And I need narcotics. My home cast me out. It broke my heart. I still haven't recovered from that.

When I visited Seattle to hook up with my old doctor to see if she could help, it was like all this tension just melted from me. I was relaxed. I was joyful. My spirit was uplifted. Until, of course, towards the end of the trip when the pain started to seep in again. Then it broke my heart all over again. I love everything about Seattle, including the ever-present rain and the terrible traffic. There is a celebration of the individual in Seattle that makes it so no one has the right to judge. To each their own! And glory to it. That was home. I wanna go home. And I can never go home.

I've found where I need to be, and I need to find a way I can make peace with it. However, it seems the more I learn about the character of my new home, the more I don't like it. I've met a few spectacular people, but on the whole, I am not a fan. I'm sure that to several thousands of people, this place is their home. Just not me. And I struggle to fit in, in a place I don't wanna be. Do you think Adam & Eve were able to get over getting kicked out of the garden of Eden? Because it feels like I was kicked out of paradise.

I loved my life. LOVED it. It wasn't perfect, but it was wonderful, and filled with wonder. Ten years later, it's as if I'm waking from a crazy nightmare, only to find that everything that was familiar and comfortable is gone. I can't dance. I can't even be around the music to dance. I can't paint. I still have the skill, and my ability has even improved, but I can't hold a paintbrush long enough---my hands, they betray me. My body betrays me. It has taken what gave me joy and perverted it into an exercise of torture. I can't even get too interested or excited about a subject, lest I blow a migraine. I feel like a butterfly in a bell-jar, beating my wings against an invisible force-field, unable to fly.

I knew what made me happy. Now I can't do any of that. And I can't figure out what to do in its stead! I wouldn't feel so robbed, if I could replace it with something else. That, however, is easier said than done. I spend 30 years figuring out myself and what I wanted. Now, most of that information is pretty useless, if not downright hazardous. I have to come up with an entirely new list of things to make me happy, and I don't even have a clue where to start! Thinking about it sure doesn't help, because all it turns into is rumination on those things lost to me.

Certainly, I don't want to live mired in bitterness, unable to enjoy the success of 2012, but I don't know how to fix this!! Halp!

A Diamond in the Coal

By Jove, I GOT IT! Lo-and-behold, I now know the drug and the dosage for the cure*. The bitterness of my situation led me through a tear through the Internet. I scoured medical papers. I checked the cross-links and every little trail I could find. I enhanced the specifics of my web search, and I found not one, but TWO papers that corroborate each other and agree on the dosage! Who needs a neuroendocrinologist now? Not this gal!!! Nor do my Unicorn Sisters!

According to the two different papers out there, the dosage is 100mg azathioprine once a day (150mg was not tolerated in any case, leading to some dangerous complications*). Treatment can last up to 6 months, but it can require as little as 4 weeks in some cases. Other medications (prednisone/levothyroxine/etc.) are continued until no longer necessary. (Azathioprine as an alternative treatment in primary hypophysitis and Lymphocytic Hypophysitis: Differential Diagnosis and Effects of High-Dose Pulse Steroids, Followed by Azathioprine, on the Pituitary Mass and Endocrine Abnormalities — Report of a Case and Literature Review) [*"two-fold elevation of alanin and aspartate aminotransferase, five-fold gamma- glutamyl transferase and transient leucopenia 10 days after therapy initiation, that subsided with dose reduction to 100 mg qd."]

Now to convince one of my local doctors to allow me to try this, since I'm bringing the information to them, and it's not on the suggestion of a doctor, that may increase their liability by... a lot. I honestly don't know. It may not be a big deal at all. We'll see.

But for me and my Unicorn Sisters, this day couldn't have ended better.

*Note: I say cure, but there's no guarantee. There never is in medicine. However, the statistics look *good*... 86% show improvement, and more than 40% go into complete remission.

This article is in response to Stocking Full of Coal

[Update 12/14/12]
I called my old Neuroendocrinologists office (as she has already left practice) and was able to talk to the prescribing nurse (who is filling prescriptions until the end of the year). I told her about my situation, was able to giver her the names of the two papers, the dosage, and put in a request for a recommendation letter to be sent to my GP about how to carry out treatment. I was told to expect a call soon!

So it may be that I was able to get this all in right under the deadline. Whew! I do not like close calls like that!! But I do feel better knowing that this can proceed forward again...

Stocking Full of Coal

Many of you know, I suffer from a rare pituitary disease, for which there are less than 500 people with the disease. This is why I call myself a Medical Unicorn. When I got the diagnosis, I figured that my disease was so rare, there was no possibility that there would be a cure. There just aren't enough of us for it to make a difference to even try to find a cure. There's certainly no money in it. But then, it happened! They stumbled upon a cure, in the process of trying to fix something else in a patient. I've been trying for the last year and a half to get that cure.

My chase for the cure started with me moving to the Denver area. Doctors who study the pituitary gland are called neuroendocrinologists, and there aren't many of them in the country. There was one when I lived in Seattle, and they were the ones who originally confirmed my diagnosis. But Seattle is way too expensive a town to live in, and after my ex-husband suddenly cut off my court-ordered spousal support, I had to move back home to St. Louis. However, I quickly discovered there wasn't a neuroendocrinologist for a 5-state area. I was shocked. I was sure there would be one at Washington University, but no. So after exhausting everything I could do in St. Louis, and with the help of mt father, I moved.

It was a struggle getting an appointment with the neuroendocrinologist in Denver. At first they told me they wouldn't let me in because the University Hospital, with which she was affiliated, wasn't taking any more Medicare patients. I had my old neuroendocrinologist in Seattle fax over my MRI that showed the inflammation of my pituitary gland. That got me in.

But then, the neuroendocrinologist here took one look at me and decided that all my doctors of the past 10 years were quacks, that they had misdiagnosed me, and that all I needed to do was to come off my medication and I would be fine. She said that my thyroid problem was caused by another autoimmune disease, and it would show up on her tests. Well, it didn't. All my test came back proving her wrong. But did she change her stance? No. She still insisted I could come off all my meds and would be fine. She never said what was causing my thyroid to not work, since I came back negative on all other autoimmune disorders.

I tried switching to another neuroendocrinologist, a resident in training. However, since their scores are dependent on the exact person who dismissed me... Yeah, I didn't get any further except to keep having them spin their lies at me. At one point, I got the resident to break down and admit that they weren't going to do anything for me. I was devastated. I had the disease, I had the cure, but I couldn't get access to it.

Then, a miracle occurred. I couldn't have wished for better. My endocrinologist, the woman who had diagnosed me, and had send me to the neuroendocrinologists, was herself promoted to that very same position!! Gods be praised, I was overjoyed. I wouldn't have to prove anything to her, she was there! She was there when my disease went into remission, and I was able to come off all my meds, and she was there when it came back. It was a homecoming.

I couldn't afford the trip on my own. So I held a fundraiser, and my friends and family came out in support. I was able to make the trip to Seattle and reconnect with my old doctor. She hadn't heard of the cure, but she was able to look up who was involved in the study, to try and get the correct dosage and protocol I would need to go through to cure me. We waited for an answer.

And waited.

And waited.

I called her office today to see if we'd had any luck. Only when I get the pre-recorded greeting, it tells me that my doctor is no longer in practice!! I got no letter, no warning. Nothing. Like a stocking full of coal on Christmas morning, I'm beyond grief. I have no idea where to turn now. I can't afford another trip to Seattle. Her replacement will be a stranger who also may not believe me. Doctors don't believe in medical unicorns.

There's a cure, and I* can't get it.

She left her practice, and didn't tell me.

Who do I turn to now? Where do I go? What do I do?

How do I get what I need?

F.M.L.



[Edited to add:]
* I should actually say WE can't get to the cure. I know of two others (Hi Jana & Cathrine!) who share my disease and who's doctors are looking to me and my results before trying it on their patients. I'm leading a charge here, and I feel like the wind has been knocked out of our sails.

Please, if you have any insights... share them. Pass the word along. THIS CANNOT END HERE!!

[Edited to update:]
Never mind!! I found A Diamond in the Coal!!!