(If you have not read Part One of this article, please do so. Pretty please. You won’t regret it. I mean, probably not.)
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My suffering usually goes unseen by most individuals. But sometimes I’ll look like I’m strung out on some kind of drugs just haphazardly scratching my skin. ‘Hello, I’m Mary-Margaret and I’m on crack. But not really, a leaf just touched my skin, so now I have a monstrous weeping rash all over my body.’
Apparently my cortisol levels or regulation of cortisol is out of whack, which connects to my temperature regulation, sleep/wake cycle, stress levels, blood pressure, weight gain/loss (I’m on the gaining side, I’d say). According to good ol’ WebMd, “Think of cortisol as nature’s built-in alarm system. It’s your body’s main stress hormone. It works with certain parts of your brain to control your mood, motivation, and fear. Your adrenal glands -- triangle-shaped organs at the top of your kidneys -- make cortisol.”
At night, my body tends to be in fight or flight mode, when I shouldn’t be flying, I should be lying. I tend to shake uncontrollably whilst simultaneously being unbearably itchy. My hands become entities of their own and scratch with no abandon, as if there are no consequences, as if they don’t have to go to work the next day and show everyone the pretty red, bloodied marks they’ve made all over my body.
My inflamed eye area has aged me to that of a 72-year-old woman who’s smoked all her life and thinks French Fries are a vegetable.
Speaking of vegetables. Some people think part of what is wrong with me is that I’ve been poisoned by all the chemicals that now reside in our food. Pesticides, glyphosate and all such things.
I definitely think this could be a contributing factor.
Some people think it’s because I’ve been vegan for seven years. Or “plant-based” as I like to say, which sounds even more pretentious than ‘vegan.’ Maybe that has contributed, maybe, BUT my husband has been vegan longer than I, and he’s just flipping fine. And so are a millions of other vegan people (Yes, vegans are people too. I think?). But also (drum roll, please)…….. I’ve tried eating meat again lately. There I said it. Pretentious organic grass-fed beef, to be exact, prescribed by my Alternative Medicine doctor. And some local, organic eggs. [Don’t worry people, I saw regular doctors too.]
Let’s now flip the channel to one of the times I had acupuncture done.
(I’m actually still going to acupuncture some. I’m not sure if it helps at all. But I’m going. #desperate)
I go to a place in East Nashville that is certainly not the fanciest (but everyone is kind and helpful). There’s a whole bunch of humans lying in recliners, often asleep whilst needles protrude from various areas and extremities—all in the same room. It’s pretty odd-looking, really. There’s soft meditation music playing and dimly lit lights that look sort of like ginormous snowman lanterns sitting on the floor staring at you while you lay there like a slug.
During one of my first few sessions of acupuncture, I found myself getting extraordinarily uncomfortable after some long-feeling amount of time. I had to pee like a pregnant lady needs to pee, as in RIGHT NOW. This went on for some time. I shifted around, tried to not pee in this lazy-boy-like chair. I tried to meditate, chastising myself for not being able to reach inner peace, tranquility and self-actualization in what shouldn’t be more than 45 minutes to an hour. (They come get you after that allotted time. Supposedly.)
I had reached my bladders bursting point, and the rest of my body wanted to explode out of this stagnant position. So I finally sat up and someone came to pull the needles out of my bod. They didn’t act like anything was off, and I just walked out in search of a bathroom. Whilst I sat in the stall releasing all the urine one could possibly hold (don’t you hate the word ‘urine’? Ew.), I glanced at my phone to see missed calls and a text from my husband asking if I was okay, worried. And yes, I held my phone while in a stall of a public restroom. Don’t even play, you do it too.
Upon looking at the time, I discovered I was left lying in the chair with needles sticking out of my body for over two hours and fifteen minutes.
I thought this was going to be a much more exciting story, but it wasn’t. But that’s a really stinking long time to have to lie still while needles stick in you, that’s all.
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And now we’re zipping over to some Alternative Medicine stuff.
Have any of you ever heard of muscle testing or had it performed on you? It’s difficult to explain but it’s this way of determining weaknesses in the body, sensitivities and allergies to food, supplements, etc. I’m sure there’s validity to it, there is, but.. it just feels hokey. (But again! There’s legitimacy to it. It’s applied kinesiology. I’m not meaning to demean the method.)
For my muscle testing… I hold out my arm as the doc presses down on my arm at various times while she simultaneously presses certain areas of my body or holds a food or pill or supplement against my body to see if my arm drops down more while she’s pushing down. If my arm drops down, as in it gets weaker when she pushes, then that means I have a weakness in what ever organ, body part she was also pressing on, or have an allergy, sensitivity, aversion to whatever food, herb, supplement she was testing. Hmmmm, I explained that horribly. Basically what I wanted to say was that often times, it felt like she was pushing my arm down more at certain times and I wasn’t actually the one reacting to certain things. I’m sure that’s not true… it just felt rather not foolproof.
Basically, she determined I have all these toxins in my body, heavy metals, bad things, accumulated over the years, from walking on ground laden with pesticides, chemicals, insecticides (likely on our family farm I grew up beeboppin’ around barefoot on, and also from eating mounds of vegetables and fruit doused in crap, and from absorbing all the synthetic, man-made unnatural, chemical’y things from cosmetics, lotions, soaps, shampoos, plastics and all the like). And from when I took tetracycline in high school for my skin. And when I’ve used oral steroids (not the weight-lifting kind), received steroid shots, used steroid creams (though I kept these to a minimum since I heard they were detrimental to your skin) and all kinds of fun things. This may sound like conspiracy, but THIS I actually believe to be true. I think most of us have been contaminated, we just all react differently and in different ways.
The alternative medicine doc recommended I take a bucketload of supplements that all happen to be sold in the office of this particular practice. (I’m sure they’re legit, it just didn’t sit right with me). But almost literally a bucketload, folks. I did it for a bit, but once my body had fully FULLY turned red from the “detox” and the supplement load jumped to 50 pills a day (consisting of about 16 different supplements), I had to pass. I canceled all future appointments. But before that, in the moment, I purchased all the stinking pills out of desperation, and now they’re sitting in a brown paper bag under my bathroom sink laughing at me. Everyday.
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Allergy Shots
Many people and doctors (not that doctors aren’t people) were certain that allergy shots would majorly help with all my allergic reactions. So I had some allergy patch testing done on my back, and my skin lit up like a Christmas tree strung with only red pulsing bulbs. Beautiful.
So boom. Allergy shots commence once per week. Long story short, I went for many months and my skin and allergies progressively got worse. I kept thinking, ‘This is supposed to happen. My body is acclimating. This is fine. This is fine. I want to burn my skin off, but this is fine.’
The nurse administering the shots started questioning how I was doing since I looked like I had been stung by bees all over my body. I came in one day, they looked at my skin and refused to give me the shot and scheduled me an impromptu appointment with the main doctor right there on the spot.
Multiple staff members looked at my skin and asked me questions, ‘what laundry detergent do you use?’ ‘Have you considered natural alternatives for skin care products?’ (OH MY GOODNESS. Yes I f***ing have.) ‘Are you moisturizing'?’ (Inner screaming and punching. I know they’re just trying to help though). ‘Have you thought about cutting out dairy and gluten?’ (Both of which I do not consume. And my whole life revolves around what I can and can’t eat) ‘Are you sure you haven’t been rubbing poison ivy on your body?’ ‘Have you considered living in a bubble?’
Ok, they didn’t ask the last two questions. But at the end of the appointment, they refused to treat me any further with allergy shots.
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Random things…
I’ve done oatmeal baths, baking soda baths, bleach baths (yes, it’s a thing), epsom salt baths and bentonite clay baths. I’ve tried an infrared sauna (holy cannoli, the sweating made me unbearably itchy itcherooskis). I have HEPA filters in my home, all natural cleaning products, all natural hair and skin products. Like really natural.
I’m removing non-stick pans because I heard chemicals can leech out of them into your food (Go watch the movie Dark Waters, a true story about a lawsuit concerning Teflon/Dupont. The chemical discussed has since been removed as of 2013, but there are other concerning chemicals within. These are things our grandparents didn’t have to deal with.)
I’m eating all organic, I’ve taken out most grains, obviously I’m gluten-free and dairy-free, I completely took fruit out for a while and now have it minimally (because I read that any type of sugar can cause little bits of inflammation). I don’t consume soy, corn, gluten or peanuts. I have a filtered shower head….
I’m getting bored listing all of these things, so I’m going to stop.
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Journal entry from January 24th, 2021:
“The other night I was sitting on the couch with Dave whilst white towels wrapped around the middle of my legs, strapped down with duct tape. Yes, I know. I’ll explain.
I often have to wrap gauze and bandages and, in this case, towels around my legs and arms and wrists because my skin is so violently inflamed, cracked, burned, bleeding, oozing, aching that I have to slather ointment and antibiotic cream all over them, and wrap stuff around them just so I can bearably move throughout my home and so I don’t get stuff on my clothes and furniture. (Is this too much info?)
My skin is taut like a leather drum’s skin, but not in a bounce-back, youth-like way, but in a way that any bit of bend or fold will surely rip it open. Which is exactly what my skin often does when I bend my legs, arms, wrists, when I turn or crane my neck, the skin slits and rips, tears, bleeds, oozes.
Sometimes I look like I’m going to play volleyball or go rollerblading in the park, since the wraps look a bit like knee pads, etc. Sometimes it’s difficult to bend my arm to drink some water because of the bandages. Sometimes it’s difficult just because it hurts too much to bend body parts in general. Sometimes it’s difficult to bend down and pick something up off the floor because I know bending my legs will feel like thousands of tiny paper-cuts suddenly and savagely slitting slices all over my legs.
Anyway, back to the couch, Dave was looking at his phone, kind of subtly covering up what he was looking at, appearing mischievous.
He turns to me and says, “I found a picture of you on the internet!” And then proceeds to shove a photo toward me of a ginormous professional basketball player with enormous white knee pads on, and then he zooms in on the legs and knee pads, just to make sure I understood that this was supposed to be me. He, of course, is making fun of the fact that I’m waddling around our apartment with towels tamped down with duct tape on my legs.”
This is supposed to be funny. I guess if you have to tell people something is funny, that’s not such a great sign, eh? It’s funny because I just have to laugh at what’s happening. Maybe it’s a laugh until you cry kind of deal, but laughing nonetheless.
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I try to convince myself that if I just don’t acknowledge these issues, then they won’t be real.
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I recently went to another doctor to have a smattering of bloodwork done. At the end of my visit with this doc, I asked, “Do you think any of this could be happening because of environmental reasons, because of what we’re spraying on our crops, absorbing weird chemicals and such?”
Immediately she said, “Yes, definitely, I think you’re at the forefront of what’s going to happen to a lot of people,” that is, diseases caused or exacerbated by our environment, from what we’re putting in the soil, on the crops, and because chemicals and other toxic substances we’re putting into products, because of what we’ve leeched from the soil and because of what we’re adding to products, etc.
“I’m only saying this because you asked,” she laughed after explaining what we do in the healthcare, agriculture, food and pharmaceutical industries is sometimes nonsensical.
Last night, I ate blueberries and oats, and all through the night I was itching and scratching like a mad woman, and after a fitful two hours of sleep gathered over a ten hour period, I awoke with my eyes nearly swollen shut and expansive purply red circles hugging my eyes. Something is wrong with my body, and maybe something is also very wrong with the blueberries and oats. Or the soil they’re grown in, perhaps.
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I meant to write about how this whole experience has changed my life, and how I view everything so differently now.
And I do. It has changed me, and I hope that even if I eventually heal from this, I’ll maintain the new perspective, that I will still be unbelievably grateful for the day I can have a cup of coffee without worry of my body’s reaction, that I will still appreciate my legs and how they carry me through life even if it sometimes hurts to move them, that I’ll understand and fully realize that how we look and what we can do with our body DOES NOT DEFINE US. I still have to tell myself this over and over again, after being someone who ran, biked and hiked all the time. Someone who used to jump off bridges, rock quarries and waterfalls into a wrap-around blankets of water. Someone who ran up and down steep underpasses just for the fun of it. Someone who solo-camped all over the states in the middle of deserts and atop mountains.
I don’t want to feel sorry for myself or seek a pity party. Which some of this may seem as such. But I still feel these things, whether I should feel them or not.
This phase of my life has been the most difficult period in my thirty years on earth. But, I feel like it’s been the most revealing period of my tenure. I’m learning a grand amount about myself, about what matters, what I can endure. I’ve experienced extraordinary kindnesses from friends, family, coworkers and sometimes strangers. I am more grateful for the moments and hours that I feel good in my body. I’m thankful for all that my body can still do.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s some piece of me that is perpetuating this suffering… because as horrible as it is, in some ways it makes me feel more alive than ever, more connected to my body and the rest of the world. It forces me to understand and acknowledge what is truly important. But I also feel like it has stripped the life from me. I feel like a large piece of me has been locked away in some underground dungeon, and I can’t see my way out. I feel like a failure. I feel like I’m failing the people who are closest to me. I feel guilty being the sick wife who can’t do much of anything right now. Feelings, feelings, feelings. Bleh.
But I was told not to think or say such things—by a couple of people, by one of the persons I most feel guilty toward. In the past, whenever grappling with something difficult, I’ve always just run away from others.
Like a sick dog who runs away, hides under a house, to die. Not to be dramatic or anything. But I’m not really in a phase of life where it’s acceptable to just run away from everyone. (Not that it’s ever exactly acceptable or recommended.)
From my journal: January 26th, 2021, being dramatic and stuff:
“I feel soft today. Softened. I’m moving softly and feeling things softly. Whenever I am in great pain, I must move through the world this way. But it’s not all terrible, I tell you, it’s not. It slows me down, helps me to notice things, to appreciate, to care only about what one should care about.”
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As I said, sometimes I relish being in this state. It’s like being in a state of hypersensitivity every minute, every second, everyday. I’m on. I’m alert. It hurts. But it makes everything magnificent that before was just mundane.
Pain has a way of doing that to us—making us feel more alive, like we’re really in this, everything is more acute, every detail and delicate piece is laced and etched into our being. Without the pain and heartache, chaos, brokenness, what would life really be? This is the stuff of life.
Humans were built for this. We have endured unimaginable pains and grief and wars. I don’t think we learn too much when things are going all happy, go-lucky all the time. Yes, we sure need those bright yellowy phases, but the shadowed, excruciating parts carve a way to unimaginable joy and awe. We just have to go looking for that grandeur sometimes.
(Man, I sure am sounding a touch dramatic.)
I’m not saying it doesn’t totally stink in the moments and years of tribulation. Because it does. And it doesn’t feel all poetic and lovely when you’re awake, alone, in pain, in the middle of the quiet night, the whole night, for the 246th night in a row.
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This past year, enduring the repercussions of the pandemic, all of us—you and I—have been stretched beyond our capabilities, beyond our breaking point, or rather, the breaking point we thought we had. But we’re still going. We’re still showing up. Maybe it’s not the prettiest, maybe it’s chaotic and messy and terrible and uncomfortable and we just want it to end. But we’re still here. Maybe we’ve lost some loved ones, lost pieces of our lives and replaced those pieces with another one. But if you’re reading this, you’re still here.
Tony Robbins (ol’ T-Rob) once asked Nelson Mandela, who had been unjustly imprisoned for 27 years, how he survived during all of that time. Mandela said, “I didn’t survive. I was preparing.” I’m certainly not comparing my situation or yours to the apartheid revolutionary, philanthropist, political leader Nelson Mandela’s. But I think that’s what suffering is for all of us. It’s building armor—the good kind, it’s preparing us for whatever we are to encounter and grapple with next, it’s strengthening us. We sure as heck have been preparing this past year—all of us collectively, around the world. And you’ve probably been on your own specific arduous expedition. We aren’t just surviving though. We are learning and growing and discovering and realizing we have more to give and more to do and be. We can push more, even if it hurts like hell.
So I’m here to keep on pushing and to keep on showing up. Are you?
If you’ve made it this far in my writing, you deserve a medal for this arduous reading expedition.
Cheers, and thank you for showing up.