I’m always scared of jinxing myself by opening my mouth and saying I’m ‘not physically disabled anymore’ or that ‘my cyclic vomiting is gone’; because there’s no cure and we don’t know why it sometimes just… stops. There’s not even really any medication to manage it you just kind of… try to work through it and manage symptoms and side effects as best you can. Namely, the dehydration due to excessive vomiting being the main concern. (Have had abdominal spasms due to becoming dehydrated from it before. Took me 5-6 minutes to army crawl six feet to the shower, wiggle out of my clothes, and stretch up to turn on the hot water to try and soothe the muscles I was in so much pain. It was also like 4am and I was at a homestay in another country so fuck me I guess lol. Fortunately my homestay actually spoke English; which worked out because I speak Spanish decently well so I was making an active effort to converse with her and practice before I got sick, she was extremely helpful because I mainly needed help with specific vocabulary/phrases and she could help me translate them, and then when I got sick and was so exhausted I could barely communicate in English anymore I was able to drop the Spanish and still be understood and given help. That’s a tangent tho lol sorry)
And that’s true of a lot of physical disabilities, sadly, so I’m sure many of you can understand why I’m scared of it. Because I’m one of the lucky ones, even when my condition was at it’s worst I had more good days than bad. One of the defining characteristics of CVS is that in between episodes you would never know something is wrong with us.
And sometimes people just… ‘grow out of it’, so to speak. It most commonly affects children, even being thought of as a pediatric disease, and then just goes away when they get older. I was a weird case, I had two sporadic episodes in high school and then it hit me hard basically as soon as I got to college; it only ever happened when I was an adolescent/adult.
During the worst of it I would have episodes as little as 3 weeks apart; I’d be in severe agony and vomiting profusely for around 24 hours, take several days for the pain to go away (the episode was over but I was sore after the vomiting), and about a week for the brain fog and lethargy to clear up. I knew my stomach was empty, I knew I had nothing in it, but it felt so swollen and I was convinced it was about to tear open like an overfilled balloon. The condition is believed to be related to migraine headaches and I believe it - my severe migraines are the throbbing kind where it feels like my head is about to explode, and that is the exact same kind of pain I was feeling in my stomach. Those same, unique qualities that differentiate the pain of a migraine from another headache were exactly what I felt in my abdomen. I was also light and sound sensitive, seeking darkness and solitude; although it didn’t cause literal pain to be exposed to light and sound like with a migraine headache, it stressed me out for ‘seemingly no reason’, overwhelming me and increasing my pain as a result of the stress and desire for the stimulus to go away.
My last episode was in 2019. I only even had frequent episodes for a little over 2 years.
And I’m still deathly afraid of every new medication I try because I don’t know why it stopped. Nothing about my lifestyle changed, nothing about my habits. I was never able to identify any triggers like with my headaches, it just sort of ‘happened’ as far as I could tell.
I have no idea why it started and no idea why it stopped.
And I’m constantly fucking terrified that I’ll fuck something up and it’ll come back, that this time of peace and ‘health’ is temporary. I’m so fucking scared because it hurts so fucking much and I don’t want to be in pain again.
I don’t want to be in pain again.
And I don’t know why I’m bringing this up or what I’m trying to say really. I guess I just want to get my fears written down because they’re circling in my head again.
And I guess I also want to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry to everyone who suffers with a ‘hidden’ condition that no one believes you about, I’m sorry for everyone who is barely dragging themselves through it day by day; in pain, exhausted, and with the people around them burnt out on offering help because ‘why can’t you just get better already’.
I’m lucky, I’m so very, very lucky that for whatever reason my episodes just… stopped. They just stopped. And even still I live aware of the sword dangling over my head, never believing that the dragon is actually dead and is only just sleeping, still there to be reawakened if I mess up (when I don’t have the slightest idea what or where that invisible line I must never cross is), and I never dare to say that I’m ‘cured’ because I don’t believe in miracles like that. It’s a miracle that they stopped, and I’m grateful for it, but I will never dare to believe that they couldn’t come roaring right back any day.
Disability can happen to anyone, and I’m vividly aware that my old pain could be stumbled into at any minute, along with any number of other things, and I’m so sorry to everyone who still lives with their pain that is a constant companion. Mine is sleeping, but I remember it well for how it burned like the sun, to the point that I was able to identify sporadic episodes years after the fact that I had thought only stomach bugs because they were so horrible.
Pain is good, but not like this.
Pain is meant to be a teacher, a protector. A warning system of ‘hey! Don’t do that! We could get hurt!’ Your body’s way of keeping you safe and alive; don’t touch the fire because it hurts, don’t touch the fire because it could kill you. Pain is life’s way of steering you away from death, of keeping you safe and alive; letting you know there’s damage so you know to keep that part safe while it heals and use it less. Because when you’re about to walk into the flames your body doesn’t have the time to sit down and explain it to you gently, it has to alert you ‘NOW. PULL BACK NOW!’
Pain is meant to be a good thing; it’s meant to keep you alive and to protect you, to teach you about danger so you know how to be safe, and go let you know when you’ve been damaged so that you can make sure to give the damage time to heal.
But it’s not meant to be there all the time; it’s not meant to be constantly flashing the alarms when there’s nothing to be done, your body trying to help and let you know that something’s wrong when there’s nothing you can do. It’s not meant to linger until it breaks you, to weigh on your shoulders until you struggle to see the good past it. But just like with any good thing, so often does it become ill.
Pain is a constant companion for too many of us, and I’m so, so sorry for that.
You shouldn’t have to be strong.
I’m sorry.
I just wanted to let you all know that.
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Yall wanna hear a kinda funny, kinda sad story about my grandmother and hetero-normativity?
Ok, so... when my grandmother was in her 50s (I was an infant), she met a woman at the Unitarian Church. And, as can happen when you meet your soul mate, this event made it impossible for her to deny parts of herself that she had fiercely hidden her whole life.
All the drama- their affair being found out, the divorce with my grandfather, the court battle over who got the house, happened while I was a baby. Even in my earliest memories, it's just Mama Jo and Oma, and my grandfather lived elsewhere (first his own apartment, then a nursing home, then with us.)
But here's the thing- no one ever explained any of this to me. No one ever sat down and was like "hey, Rosie, so do you know what a lesbian is?" It was the 90s. It was Texas. I think my mom was still kinda processing all this, and just assumed that like... I was gonna figure it out. Don't mention it, let it just be normal. Like I think my mom thought that if she explained the situation, she would be making it weird? I dunno.
But like. In the 90s, in all the movies I had seen and books I had read, do you know how many same sex couples I had seen? Like. 0. Do you know how many "platonic best friend/roommates" I had seen? A lot. I had no context, is what I'm saying.
I literally thought this was a Golden Girls, roommates, besties situation until I was like...I dunno, 11? 12?
It was actually their parrot, an African Grey named Spike, imitating my grandmothers voice saying "Johanna, honey, it's getting late", that triggered the MIND BLOWN moment as I realized that *there's only one master bedroom and it only has 1 waterbed* when all the pieces finally clicked.
Anyway. I think it's a real important thing for kids to know queer people exist, for a lot of reasons, but also because kids can be clueless and it's embarrassing to have your grandmother be outted by a parrot because everyone just thought you'd figure it out on your own.
Anyway, here is my grandma and her wife, my Oma, after they moved to Albuquerque to be artsy gay cowboys and live their best life. They helped run a "Lesbian Dude Ranch" out there (basically just with funding and financial support. As Oma has explained "traditionally, most lesbians don't have a lot of money" so they wrote the checks and let the younger ladies actually run the ranch.)
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