could it really be that simple?

Were it not for overindulging on New Year's Eve (um, oops), I would probably still be having a migraine-free 2009. On the evening of the 31st, it'd been nine days since my last attack. As of 8 AM on the 1st, however, I was back at square one. That time I knew precisely who was the culprit: me and my re-found affection for white wine. Yes, it's true--I'm drinking that delicious nectar again, but with at LEAST 16 oz. of water with every glass of wine. Worked out well for me 'til NYE when I made the mistake of having a nightcap. Turns out wine is a bit more alcoholic than what I'm used to drinking.

But that's somewhat besides the point.

For the first time, I really, truly believe that I can get this disease under control. I'm following my doctor's orders, yes, but I'm not doing too much that's out of the ordinary. In general, I'm doing things I've always known to be good for me, things that I've let slip out of my life for one reason or another. As I've mentioned here before, the regular exercise has already proven to be quite the boon. It was nice to be validated by my new doctor, told that even long walks would give me a boost in serotonin. I don't need to swim at sprint-speed for an hour or even turn my walk into a run--I can just walk briskly five times a week and reap the benefits of exercise. It took some effort to let go of the notion that an "in shape" person should be able to jog or swim laps for much longer than I can without getting winded. Truth is, I'm not in the best shape. Another truth is that my body doesn't like it too much when I overexert myself (migraine trigger alert!), so why not take it easy and work my way up to some gentle exercise that fits the bill and makes me feel better?

A few days ago, I walked by the Habitat for Humanity parking lot on a walk. "Girl, you need to be runnin'!" a worker loading boxes called out to me. I do believe that a few months (or even years) ago I would have felt a bit bad after hearing this, simply knowing that I SHOULD be able to run and jump and do the activities a healthier person can. But this day was different. "Nah, I'm more of a walker," I called back, to which the man responded with a smile: "All right, all right!" I could have cited the arthritis in my knees, my bouts with sciatica, and my tendency to develop a migraine when I overexert myself. But I didn't. I just admitted that I'm more of a walker and kept on going. And you know what? I wasn't hard on myself afterward. I didn't spend too much time harping on the differences between my super-in-shape self of the early 90s (when I was a pre-teen, mind you!) and the 28-year-old I am today. I just kept going, and I felt great. There is a joy in being able to move and exercise without pain; you don't need to overdo it in order to feel accomplished. If there's one thing I've learned in these 2+ months of exercising healthily, it's that it's important to do what's right for you and not judge yourself by the standards set forth by fitness experts and marathon runners. Just do what you can. I do, and I hope to continue doing this.

Most of the other recommendations from the doctor were pretty simple, too. Eat well, treat my body well, and the like. J., my beau, pointed out the fact that many of the doctor's tips were tips he'd recommended for us long ago. Eat more fresh fruit and vegetables. Try to cut out dairy. J. hadn't called the "weed out white and enriched flour" bit, but that wasn't surprising. White and enriched flour is rougher on your system if you're sensitive like me and have IBS.

I keep reflecting on my wonderful visit and wishing more people could meet with this same doctor and have success. Were I you, I'd be skeptical. All the same, I'm putting it out there: I'm convinced that this person could help many of the people reading this. No, I'm not going to post his name and information (though if you are convinced by my admiration you can email me for details). He diagnosed me with several diseases/disorders I'd long since guessed I'd had, but didn't diagnose in a way I perceived as threatening or upsetting. He just verified my suspicions: I have mild depression, chronic fatigue (but not necessarily chronic fatigue syndrome, mind you), arthritis, allodynia (which I suspected I had on my scalp but had no idea was related to the bruised feeling I often have on my arms, legs, and torso!), Migraine disease (duh), irritable bowl syndrome (IBS), hypersensitivity, and mucositis (inflammation of the mucus membranes--mine is chronic but should be helped with my new regimen). I felt vindicated and relieved--all of these seemingly disparate symptoms I've been suffering from for a long time were all named, and all of them were related to my naturally low serotonin levels. The doctor is convinced that regulating my serotonin levels will allow me to live a happier, more productive, and less painful life. He pointed out how much better I'd been feeling since I started exercising and said that the exercise, combined with a diet that's easier on my system and some other exercise and relaxation techniques, I could cut out the majority of my migraines.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!

Every day I make a smoothie chock full of good things for me--blueberries, pomegranate juice, tea, oatmeal soaked in rice milk, flaxseed, and some supplements. Each morning and night I take supplements/vitamins, a few of which I've been taking for a couple of years now. Five days a week I'm to engage in "gentle exercise" for 30-60 minutes, depending on how long it takes for me to reach the peak when I have the endorphin rush. I've been exercising 45-70 minutes when I go out and walk. Tomorrow I'll call and sign myself up for therapeutic yoga class (which I convinced Handicapped Twin to go to, too!); soon I'll buy a book on mindful meditation (the main form of meditation that has lots of good research behind it, hence the hospital being able to endorse it). The more I do for myself, the better and more hopeful I feel. I've already begun returning more to what I consider my "real" self--making calls to distant loved ones with more frequency, writing letters again (something I was once famous for but sort of dropped in recent times), and persuing creative activity. Hell, I even enrolled in the Sketchbook Project and am trying my hand at drawing, something I never thought I'd do.

I'm happy. I really hope you are, too. I hate the fact that I might sound as if I'm proselytizing, but it's hard to hold back when you've been hopeless for so long and suddenly see concrete evidence that your life is changing for the better. I dare any of you who've made it through this entire blog entry to start exercising a few days a week to the best of your ability and see if you don't feel better. I dare you!

Happy 2009. Love love love.

Just another Oct. 31

I skipped Halloween tonight. This seems pretty sad at first: I mean, I have always loved Halloween and tend to dress up each year--if you exclude a handful of early high school Halloweens when I was too cool (and too old, according to my parents) to dress up and go trick-or-treating.

I've told you a little bit about my dear friend HT before. She and I are very similar in a variety of ways--it's not just our height and Germanic looks. (What an odd non-Janet-sounding sentence. I'll keep it.) We get along well for many reasons; it helps that she is perhaps the only real-life person I know who genuinely understands what it's like to live with a chronic illness. Because our personalities and senses of humor are so similar, our perspectives are that much more in sync.

Earlier this week, I called her to see if she'd be interesting in spending the night IN on Halloween. As the night is her favorite holiday, I knew she might be reluctant to commit. As she'd been pretty sick off and on for the weeks prior, I knew she'd probably end up being able to hang out with little old me. As it turns out, we did get to spend time together. We had dinner, chit-chatted, and watched The Shining for the first time in over a decade (for each of us). Let me just tell you: this movie is AWESOME. I somehow remembered it as being sort of slow and boring until the final scenes--but my 28-year-old self now scolds my high school self for not having realized how wonderfully suspenseful the film is. The experience I had watching it was lessened by the pain and discomfort I felt during the loud scenes or very bright shots. I thought to myself a few times, "Wow--this would REALLY be painful in a movie theatre!" I asked HT to turn the volume down once or twice, but the high-pitched, sitting-on-the-edge-of-your-seat squeaky strings still got to me. When I watch TV with my boyfriend, I almost always have to ask him to turn it down for me. (He's a musician who must already have irreversible hearing damage; I'm an ultra-sensitive girlfriend who is getting paid back by karma for all the times her older sister used to tell her to turn down the volume.) I can relax pretty well on my own, but now even laid-back activities are threats of pain and discomfort. I don't like that, even when I'm in a friend's quiet, smoke-free house--a place that should be lovely for a migraineur--I have to ask her to make many adjustments to accommodate me.

I suppose I feel as if I'm always on guard; that a trigger could be waiting around the corner. IS waiting around the corner, and I've got to be quick enough to catch it.

Even now I'm affected by the unintentional elements of my visit. When HT gave me a long hug goodnight, I could smell hand sanitizer on her, hand sanitizer with a strong scent (strong for me, at least). Even the hug couldn't be an enjoyable goodbye--instead I was thinking, "Oh, I hope she doesn't hold on too long, because that smell is going to wear off onto my clothes and it'll bug me!" Now I'm sitting at this computer, 30 minutes after saying goodnight, and the hand sanitizer smell is wafting through the air and sending daggers through my nose into my brain. Sorry.

So yeah. Back to Halloween. We drove downtown once to deliver HT's husband's i.d. to him--he'd forgotten to carry it along with him in his costume. We got to see a few costumes and were creepily incognito: we wore bags on our heads as we parked outside my favorite bar and waited for HT's husband to come out. Only he and two other friends knew who we were; they snapped a few photos of us. I looked beyond them and saw many of my friends outside the bar, no one knowing I was near. And then we pulled off.

And you know what? I'm not sorry I didn't got out. At this pinot, the night is over for most folks in town and I'm sure they had a great time. So did I. I continue to get used to this lower-key Janet who chooses to stay in when she used to be social, social, social. I hope I stop questioning her choices so much and trust her to do the right thing.

mine nose is mine enemy!

In the last several months, my sensitivity to light, smell, and sound has skyrocketed. I don't know what the deal is, but times are tough. I won't even go into the fact that going to rock shows (which is one of my favorite things to do in this entire world) has become painful to me even when I wear my omnipresent earplugs. Let's save that tragedy for another post.

Let us focus on my borderline live-in boyfriend for a second. J. is thoughtful, lovely, kind, smart, and extremely goofy. Wonderful traits. J. wears a combination cologne-deodorant that my 19-year-old self would have swooned over. (Swooned!). He smells so wonderful when he sprays the mist into his pits. Unfortunately, the smell has gotten worse. A couple of years ago, I asked him if he would wear the blue-bottle scent instead of the green-bottle scent because greenie and I didn't get along. Then came a lovely period when he used normal stick deodorant like most of us. A month or so ago, he bought his old brand again...and this time I CANNOT TAKE IT.

Despite my feeling like a crotchety old lady, I asked him that if he was going to get ready for the day at my house could he please spray the deodorant outside on the porch? Affirmative. Except for the times when he forgot and I had to turn on fans and lie down. (One time in particular I got a migraine attack within thirty minutes despite my going as far away from the Spray Site as possible!)

It's been awhile since I trained him to spray outdoors (ew--I sound like I'm talking about a feral cat). Tonight he sprayed his deodorant on the deck and reentered the house. Kind soul.

Too bad the smell is shooting straight up my nostrils into my brain! So gross! I am in my office, door closed and window open. I still cannot shake the smell that he sprayed nearly two hours ago OUTSIDE.

When I was a younger lass, my mom's inability to be around strong sensory stimuli drove me crazy now and then. I'd come in the room after a shower and try to sit with her on the couch, but my shampoo smell was too potent for her and she'd ask me to get up (or even leave the room). When Bath & Body Works lotions were all the rage in eighth grade, I became a fan of the ever-popular "sun-ripened raspberry" line. My mother couldn't stand to be in the same room as I after I slathered myself in the overpriced body lotion. (Again, I will not discuss her other types of overexcitabilities here, but suffice it to say she is very sensitive to her environment.)

It made me sad and hurt my feelings when my mom wouldn't be able to hug me because I smelled. To be honest with you, my friends, I thought she was being overdramatic. (Sorry, ma--I was a 'tudey teenager anyway, eh?) Surely no one could have physical reactions to smells that were so mundane yet lovely! Right?

Wrong.

I am turning into my mother. Yeah, yeah, most adult women come to that realization some time or another. Truth be told, I am proud to be very much like her. Too bad part of that similarity is extended to my nostrils' oversensitive nature. I can't be around strong smells. My boyfriend is going to change deodorants. I hold a shirt over my face if I'm around cigarettes, thereby marking myself as one who is trying her best to passive-aggressively judge the smokers around her. (While I detest cigarette smoking, I am only covering my nose to help stave off the migraine attack, not to pass judgment with a gesture.)

So Ma, I'm sorry. Sorry I doubted the power of your nostrils all those years. Sorry, sorry. For now I am you! Aaaahhh!

The end.