She had done something of which her father disapproved, although no one any longer remembered what it was. But her father had dragged her to the cliffs and thrown her over and into the sea.There, the fish ate her flesh away and plucked out her eyes. As she lay under the sea, her skeleton turned over and over in the currents.One day a fisherman came fishing, well, in truth many came to this bay once. But this fisherman had drifted far from his home place and did not know that the local fisherman stayed away, saying this inlet was haunted. The fisherman’s hook drifted down through the water, and caught of all places, in the bones of Skeleton Woman’s rib cage.
Last week, I went to a doctor’s appointment and all I could think about in the days leading up was how I wasn’t sick enough to see that doctor. All I could think about was that her other patients can’t work or drive and so I must be too healthy to have the same diseases as them. But then I thought about the days when I am that sick, and I realized it doesn’t have to be constant to be valid, it doesn’t have to be as bad to be really bad.Feeling too much like a functioning adult to identify as “chronically ill,” but feeling too chronically ill to identify as “healthy…” It has taken the last few months for me to come to the realization that this is how I identify. Trapped between two worlds, neither of which quite fit me. On one hand, I feel so lucky that I am able to work a full-time job and do many of the things I want to do even while living with multiple chronic illnesses. On the other hand, I am constantly frustrated by the construct of trying to live in a “healthy person’s” world, knowing that I truly am not functioning on the same level as everyone around me. Living day to day with several “invisible” illnesses that aren’t always so invisible (dysautonomia, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, severe allergies and Meniere’s disease, among others) means that I am constantly adapting to living and working with people who don’t always understand what I do and think about on a daily basis just to keep up with them.
Chronic pain isn’t just constant pain, though that would be more than enough for anyone to handle. The truth is that chronic pain always brings friends. These added challenges are obvious, but rarely taken into consideration by “healthy” people. Remembering that like all bullies, chronic pain travels with a gang can help to better understand the life of someone in chronic pain.
I TOLD THE Medicos today that oe of the ICU doctors used onion for breathing.They smiled at me with that ” she’s nuts ” look to which I have become accustomed and almost immune. Now I have found this article. Tokd you so, Medicos. It worked a treat in Hospital.
While searching for a cure for asthma, I learned that onion extracts in particular can be very effective in the prevention of asthma attacks. An alcoholic extract made from 200 grams of onions were found to reduce bronchial spasms and airway obstruction were dramatically and in several cases totally eliminated.Over 150 different compounds have been isolated from onions so far. It appears that certain sulfur compounds and volatile oils in the onion are responsible for its ability to prevent asthma. These components apparently inhibit the body’s formation and release of histamines, leukocytes and certain inflammatory prostaglandins, all of which trigger an asthma attack.I have come up with a simple recipe so that you can make your own homemade anti-asthma onion extract.
Once at the ER, Eileen was placed on oxygen and admitted directly into the Medical Intensive Care Unit. That evening, her kidneys failed. A little over twenty-four hours later, she went into respiratory arrest and was intubated. Although a definitive precipitating cause was never revealed, Eileen was diagnosis with both Sepsis and Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Eileen’s husband, parents, two brothers, and twin sister were told the prognosis of ARDS: her chances of survival were not good.Eileen was forced into a drug-induced coma, insulted with tubes and assaulted with machines throughout her body. As the days turned into weeks, the physicians told her family the grim reality of her illness: it was time to start thinking about removing her from the ventilator; it was a “quality of life issue” because if she did survive, they said, she would likely “never breathe on her own again.” Her family refused to give up hope and sat with her each day, all day, talking to her, singing to her, just holding her hand. A tracheotomy was performed after she was hospitalized for about two weeks since it was clear she was nowhere near getting off the ventilator.
Silvana Breur, who lives in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, is thankful.In February, 2003, Silvana went to the hospital for her third surgery on her jaw. The previous unsuccessful surgeries were in July, 2002, and August, 2002. At that time, the then thirty-nine year old Silvana hoped that this would end her medical problems.Her surgeon told her that she would be in the ICU overnight. But that was not to be. Silvana had problems with her lungs coupled with difficulty breathing. Three days after, a trach was performed at the urging of Silvana’s mother.Silvana was in a coma for fourteen days. She required at least one chest tube. She was in the ICU for three weeks. She spent a couple of nights out of the ICU and then asked her doctors if she could go home early. Since she had a of family help, she was released.When she came home, Silvana was so weak; she could not dress herself and people came into the house to help her with the cleaning. Though she wanted physical therapy, she received none.Six months after getting ARDS, Silvana thought she could return to her part time job as a receptionist. But it was too soon. It took a full year to recover. She was diagnosed with diabetes afterwards. She has lost the feeling in some of her fingers and at times, she feels disoriented.
This is some of what I wrote about Mis in If Women Rose Rooted:Sometimes, madness seems like the only possible response to the insanity of the civilised world; sometimes, holding ourselves together is not an option, and the only way forwards is to allow ourselves to fall apart. As the story of Mis shows, that madness can represent an extreme form of initiation, a trigger for profound transformation.
During the course of her revival, her towering spirit, encaged in a frail body could not fight and eventually she gave in. It appears that during the surgery, her diaphragm may have got punctured. She developed septicemia, pneumonia, that deteriorated into acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS) and brain stroke.How did it happen, especially to a person who was the fittest amongst us all; who was the anchor and strength of our family; who was deeply loved and respected by whoever she came in contact with – we have absolutely no clue, only a few guesses.While she fought for her life, I wrote to the World ARDS Foundation (email@example.com) in sheer desperation, whose president, Eileen Rubin (firstname.lastname@example.org) was a survivor and had been on both sides of the bed to come back and devote the rest of her life, helping other ARDS patients. She explained that the Foundation does not offer legal advice (as it varies from one country’s jurisdiction to another) but they can initiate group prayers for my mom.