Today is the first day of National Invisible Chronic Illness Awareness Week, and it has me thinking about thinking about both the visible and invisible aspects of my illnesses.   Nearly a year ago now my invisible illnesses became a lot more visible.  The pain from my arthritis became so severe I could no longer walk or even stand.  I was forced to use a wheelchair for my mobility.

Before the wheelchair (and the walker that came before it), my illness was completely invisible.  At the time I found it completely frustrating that no one could see that I was sick.  People assumed that what they couldn’t see couldn’t possibly be serious.  Sometimes people assumed that what they couldn’t see wasn’t even real.  Now I wish I could ditch the wheelchair and still pass myself off as “normal” when I wanted to.  I feel like now my first impression always inevitably includes my wheelchair.

But despite this very visible symbol of my illnesses, I feel more invisible than ever.  It is very hard to go out in a wheelchair, and I am usually too tired and in too much pain to do so.  As a result, I am mostly home-bound.  I am literally invisible to the people in my life I used to see in person.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.

But though I am invisible to most people in the physical world, I am very visible in the virtual world.  Through this blog my illness is not invisible at all.  It is there for people to see plain as day.  Through this blog the invisible becomes visible.  Here I can let you see the things that most people can’t.

Here the joint pain, the numbness in my left side of my body, the severe dryness, the low grade fevers, the debilitating fatigue, the pain when I swallow, the nausea, the stomach pain, the rib pain, the muscle weakness, the tremors, the migraines, the involuntary muscle moments, the memory and concentration problems, the seizures, the sleep apnea, and the obsessive compulsive disorder all become visible.

Here too, the emotional toll is no longer invisible.  The worry, the loneliness, the anxiety for my future, the grief for how things once were, and the sadness for the friends I’ve lost along the way all become visible.

And I especially hope that lessons I’ve learned, the inner strength I’ve found, the faith in myself, and hope for the future are not invisible here either.

National Invisible Chronic Illness Awareness Week is held annually in September and is a worldwide effort to bring together people who live with invisible chronic illness and those who love them.

A virtual conference in held at www.invisibleillnessweek.com and the blog is updated a few times a day during August and September.

Bloggers are welcome to participate anytime, but are encouraged to unite efforts during August and September to increase awareness online and share their experiences as well as encouragement. A badge is available that says you are blogging during the actual awareness week.

Start a blog on Novel Patient Community today and blog about your chronic illness in support of the awareness week!

Sometimes things come crashing down emotionally.  I didn’t realize what an emotional toll being so ill in the hospital with a double kidney infection had until yesterday.  I didn’t let myself feel it in the midst of the crisis.  I guess I was in survival mode.  Literally.

But yesterday gave me a chance to reflect on it.  I was at my regular monthly appointment with my psychiatrist (who I absolutely adore), and he was asking me the normal questions about my physical health as it affects my mental health and everything just sort of hit me.  And I started to cry.  All the stress I had been burrying so I could make it through the hosptial stay and infection and 10 days of at home IV antibiotics came bubbling up to the surface.  I didn’t shed many tears because my illness, Sjogren’s Syndrome, damages my tear production… among other things.  And that made me cry harder.

And then finally dealing with my immediate past made me think about my immediate and not so immediate future.  And I cried because the future is so unknown and that is just plain scary.  This round of IV immunospupressants – Rituxan – doesn’t seem to have worked.  That is enough to make me cry in itself.  It is just so disappointing.  I am unsure what I should do next?  Should I risk suppressing my immune system further and more potentially dangerous infections like the one I’m just recovering from and get another round?  Will it even work?  Should I try something even stronger?  Or should I not take the risk and learn to accept my life as it is.  Is my new “normal” getting around in a wheelchair and being in pain and exhausted all the time with dibilitating and life threatening symptoms?  Is that how I’m going to be forever?  If this is how I am at 25, what will my life be like at 50?  Will I ever be independent again?  Will I need a caregiver forever?  And the scariest of all… how long is forever if I continue to be this sick?  Will I die from my autoimmune diseases and not with it?

But after crying this out of my system I realized I need a “new look” on many levels.  I can’t LIVE my life if I’m thinking this way all the time, so I don’t.  But I did need to get it out of my system once and a while.  The rest of the time I am thankful for what I still do have.  I am usually happy.  I have a wonderful caregiver in whom I’ve found a great friend as well.  I have the most wonderful and supportive community of online friends a girl could ask for.  I have a sister who does everything she’s able to support me.  A dog who loves give me cuddle therapy.  My writing, creativity, faith in myself, and most importantly HOPE!

I also got myself a “new look” in a more literal sense.  A new haircut and a new outfit.

Literally.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, but felt no pain.  Most of the skin on my face, my lips, my tongue are more or less numb.  The strange thing, I realize now, is that it’s been happening so gradually I hadn’t noticed until tonight.  Or maybe I didn’t want to notice.

I just went down on my dose of Prednisone.  Must have made the numbness severe enough for me to finally take notice of what wasn’t there.  Because this has happened before.  When I was last in the hospital the left side of my face was numb for over a month.  Prednisone finally made it go away.  Swelling in my brainstem my doctors suspect.

And now the Prednisone is being tapered and the numbness is back.  If only it would numb the pain from my arthritis or Autoimmune Pancreatitis.  Then maybe I could be on less pain medication.  Or numb the anxiety I feel about this returning symptom or my unknown prognosis.

But alas I am merely tactiley numb.  And that knowledge hurts so much I want to cry.

Tomorrow I’ll have to call my neurologist and rheumatologist and determine what to do.  I am waiting for my insurance to approve a new IV infusion treatment.  It’s been a month of waiting for that so far.  Hopefully I can just start that and avoid more Prednisone.  But if I have to go back on high doses of Prednisone in the meantime, I suppose I’ll just learn to deal.  I always learn to deal.

The most important thing through all of this is that I do not become numb.  That I don’t loose my spirit in the face of this illness.  But I have no fear that will ever happen.  I do not know if I believe that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that I can make a reason out of everything that happens.  I have faith in my ability to do that.  And that is enough for me.