Febrary 21, 2019
I’m in an airplane somewhere over The Rocky Mountains. I’m in the middle seat, sandwiched between a very polite teenager, a rarity in any state, and a guy who has Wi-Fi when nobody else seems to. Out the window the mountains are blanketed in snow so thick it looks like clouds. My luggage wasn't all that heavy, but I checked it anyway, to avoid the overhear storage situation.
I’m headed to Utah.
My dear friend, Melissa, waits for me at the airport on the other side. Her daughter, Jessica, is getting married in two days. It’s so hard to believe. Cliché I know, but I remember when she was in diapers (Jessica, of course, not Melissa), and Melissa remembers me before I ever had any kids at all.
She called me when I was sitting in the airport. She apologized for the changes the years have brought on; a few wrinkles, maybe a few extra pounds. Funny, I was worrying about the same thing, but I told her I’d given up on looking cute anymore. We both knew I was lying.
It’s the first time I’ve traveled by myself in a long time. This time, I’m packing more than just luggage. Last week I received a diagnosis for Hashimoto’s disease. My immune system has been steadily attacking my thyroid gland for a couple of decades now. But things eventually got bad enough, and I finally got sick enough for someone to pay attention. The evidence was there all along, but now we have the tests to prove it. I've also tested positive on two different Lupus tests, but apparently Lupus is a little trickier to diagnose. More tests next month, then Sjogren's tests after that. Fingers crossed for more answers.
Right on the heals of Shingles, a breast cancer scare, and a lovely knee injury, I have been plunged head first into the world of autoimmune disease. I'm studying, researching, and experimenting with diet protocols to see if there will be relief beyond pharmaceuticals. So far 3 doctors have informed me that changing what I eat will not help (side tangent: that's what they used to say about diabetes, heart disease, and celiacs). I'm not willing to accept that I can't have an impact in this.
So for now, I can't lift my smallish suitcase up to the overhead because my right arm isn't working too well. After the shingles in the fall, it started to hurt all the time, and I can't lift anything heavier than a glass of water if my arm is extended. I fight constant flu symptoms that come and go all day long, and rage at night. And just for chuckles, a rash has shown up around my eyes in the last few weeks.
My dear friend, Melissa, waits for me at the airport on the other side. Her daughter, Jessica, is getting married in two days. It’s so hard to believe. Cliché I know, but I remember when she was in diapers (Jessica, of course, not Melissa), and Melissa remembers me before I ever had any kids at all.
She called me when I was sitting in the airport. She apologized for the changes the years have brought on; a few wrinkles, maybe a few extra pounds. Funny, I was worrying about the same thing, but I told her I’d given up on looking cute anymore. We both knew I was lying.
It’s the first time I’ve traveled by myself in a long time. This time, I’m packing more than just luggage. Last week I received a diagnosis for Hashimoto’s disease. My immune system has been steadily attacking my thyroid gland for a couple of decades now. But things eventually got bad enough, and I finally got sick enough for someone to pay attention. The evidence was there all along, but now we have the tests to prove it. I've also tested positive on two different Lupus tests, but apparently Lupus is a little trickier to diagnose. More tests next month, then Sjogren's tests after that. Fingers crossed for more answers.
Right on the heals of Shingles, a breast cancer scare, and a lovely knee injury, I have been plunged head first into the world of autoimmune disease. I'm studying, researching, and experimenting with diet protocols to see if there will be relief beyond pharmaceuticals. So far 3 doctors have informed me that changing what I eat will not help (side tangent: that's what they used to say about diabetes, heart disease, and celiacs). I'm not willing to accept that I can't have an impact in this.
So for now, I can't lift my smallish suitcase up to the overhead because my right arm isn't working too well. After the shingles in the fall, it started to hurt all the time, and I can't lift anything heavier than a glass of water if my arm is extended. I fight constant flu symptoms that come and go all day long, and rage at night. And just for chuckles, a rash has shown up around my eyes in the last few weeks.
Anyway, I hope I’ll be able to be help to Melissa. I know I won’t quite be the powerhouse I was back when she and I used to have all-day cooking marathons, house cleaning trades, laundry-folding gab sessions, and toddler birthday parties to plan. But I really, really want to be there for her.
Because this is no little birthday party.
Because this is no little birthday party.
This is a big deal.
This is Jessica’s wedding.
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