I'm Sarah! I love to read, write, and create. My blog is to share my passion for life while living with chronic pain. I hope you'll enjoy this journey and a good book with me!
I haven't had a chance to update my domain to match my blog name, yet, but I'm working on making it all come together!
Visiting from a search engine? New here? This is what you need to know:
I'm not doing well, health-wise, so I have not been updating or writing as much as I would like.
However, I am trying to write once or twice a week!
Also, if you have a problem with the Le Tote post that I wrote two years ago, I'm sorry. It's the Internet.
Most Popular Posts
2017 Reading Challenge
- Le Tote: A Very Honest Review
- Love Jane Austen? 10 More Books to Read!
- How to Deal with One Sided Friendships
- 9 Ways to Ease Your Cervical Dystonia Pain
- My Dogs Love this Amazing Alternative to Greenies
- 10 Ways to be an Amazing Friend to Chronically Ill People
- About Me
- Books Like Gone Girl: Recommendations
You may have noticed my rant about medical advice the other day. Or maybe you didn't. Either way, I wanted to address when illness is not always invisible, when it is chronic, and how much courage it takes. I am not writing this because I am brave. I am writing this because I cried on the way to work. This is not a lifestyle blog about sipping mojitos (who likes those, anyway? Pass the Jack--pre-Cervical Dystonia!) and spending the weekend some place awesome. This is about writing my way through an impossible situation and maybe adding a little levity along the way. Last week, my Cervical Dystonia was causing me a lot of pain. The only way that I could go to work and concentrate was to wear big lidoderm patches on my the muscles that were tight and pulling. These patches aren't pretty to begin with. In addition, they don't stay on well, so I have started using strong tape to hold them in place. I like to wear my hair down to cover it, but I was just feeling so poorly that I couldn't bring myself to style it. A ponytail was the best I could do, if I wanted to get to work before noon. I had to place pain relief and quality of life over my vanity. It was on that day, that everyone in my office (thanks fire drill!) that everyone could see my invisible illness. Most of the time, I like to think that it is invisible, but the pain is written all over my face and in the way I walk. My head tilts to the side. My hand tremors. I cry. It's fairly miserable on a regular basis. However, if you notice the picture, I can't help but smile. I've been conditioned since I could learn--you always put on a happy face. No matter what. It's exhausting. It's probably the worst part of having an "invisible illness."