11 “Amazing” Family Members Everyone Tolerates at Thanksgiving

Do you remember Thanksgiving as a kid? We’d have pageants dressed in brown paper bags and construction paper. We’d learn about Pilgrims and Indians. We even learned that the Indians Native Americans called corn maize. We’d get time off of school and inevitably we’d each be asked to say what we were thankful for each and every day. Oh wait…this was before Facebook. Never mind we just had to do it once in the month back in the good ol’ days.

At Thanksgiving dinner we would sit around the card table with our other little cousins and eat our blended turkstufftatoes and gravy. Parents constantly encouraging us to eat more, but none of us stopped moving long enough to actually eat a proper meal. We wanted to play and run and do just about anything besides eat the food around us. Except the pie. We always wanted the pie.

Holidays were always fun when we were kids. We were happy, we ran, and we played for hours upon hours oblivious to the grown ups around us. Oh, sure, we’d hear the moaning and groaning of our parents and others about how difficult the holidays were and how difficult it was dealing with family and good ol’ Uncle Jim, but as kids we never understood. How could we have understood? Kids don’t understand the nuances of adulthood.

Well, the time has come. We have been officially upgraded to the grown up table. We are ready to join in on the annual football game. We can’t wait for the real wine and real conversations, but mostly the wine.

Thanksgiving is going to be great this year!!!!

Except before the appetizers are ready and the turkey is carved you suddenly realize what the adults have been groaning on about each year. There are almost a dozen people every family has that when combined in the same household can make even poor Turkey Tom spontaneously combust into a dry, withering mess.

 

  • Cousin Paul (The wanna be jock)In he comes Mr. Football himself! You know the one I’m talking about. As soon as he walks in the door he asks why the So-and-So Game isn’t on and plops himself on the couch. He asks his wife or mom to get him a plate of appetizers and a beer so he doesn’t miss one exhilarating moment of the games! As long as he’s not asking you to wait on him then you could not care less about what he does all day. Go Bears! (The Bears are a football team, right??)
  • The Sister That Brought the New Boyfriend.Oh my gosh they are like so totally in love. They’re going to get married and have babies and oh my gosh it’s going to like be so great. That is, of course, assuming they are capable of taking their tongues out of each other’s throat long enough. Ugh, tonsil hockey never looked so gross.
  • Grandpa Phil– You love Grandpa. He’s awesome when he’s talking football with the cousin. He’s perfect when he falls asleep in his lounge chair. And he is hilarious when he goes off on his politically charged tangents about everything. The kids at the kids table are talking about why we celebrate Thanksgiving and sure enough Grandpa is the first to go off! He shouts across the room, “Them Injuns scalped those Pilgrims. Don’t be trusting those damn teachers. What are they teaching kids these days? All this politically correct nonsense! Why…when I was a kid we played Cowboys and Indians. Now it’s Cowboys and Native Americans. What’s next?? Calling white bread Caucasian bread?? Bull crap if you ask me.” But nobody asked him.
  • Grandma Mary- Grandma is the matriarch of the family and has helped prepare many Thanksgiving dinners. Although this year you suddenly realize that while she is sneaking off to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner she’s also sneaking some time with Captain Morgan behind the pumpkin spice.
  • Creepy Uncle Jim– Uncle Jim keeps talking about the sorority sisters you had…many years ago. Something about the way he is licking the gravy off of his fingers makes you want to help Grandma Mary “do the dishes.”
  • The Praising Brother– He is a good church going brother who loves to let everyone know he’s a believer just about as much as you love pie. Mmmmm pie. Each year he says grace and proceeds to pray for 15 minutes as he not so subtly puts down all of the sinners around the table. Especially your sister and her boyfriend which have just announced they’re moving in together while unmarried! *Gasp!!*
  • The Brother’s Wife- A religious wife, a sweet wife, a meek and mild wife. She couldn’t hurt a fly and buzzes around the house helping and catering to the whims and needs of everyone in the family. She also wisely volunteers to help the kids at the Kids’ Table eat their turkstufftatoes and gravy. If you didn’t know better you’d think she’s been sharing some of Grandma’s “Pumpkin Spice.”
  • The Vegan Cousin- She’s 26, a Buddhist yoga instructor, lives in the big city, and a liberal activist. She’s brought her own tofurkey and strongly encourages everyone in the family to now boycott McCormick spices because it’s not organic. She sits three seats away from Grandpa and before you know it each outburst from Grandpa results in an equally passionate response. “Those Native Americans were here first and we stole this land from them! Not only did we take all of it, but we gave them smallpox and death! Oh and now they all live on a small section out in the desert because we have a guilty conscious!! I’d scalp your ass too if you were raping and pillaging my people.”
  • The Bragging Aunt- She continues to over brag about her kids. “Didn’t you know that my Tommy went overseas to Europe for missionary work? Oh, and my beautiful Sarah is studying pre-med in school! They are just wonderful children!” You struggle to stay silent because you know from Facebook that Tommy is in Europe going to Ibiza clubbing, getting drunk, and running naked on the beach while Sarah is taking a single biology class at the community college as she works on earning her degree in parties and boys.
  • Cousin Aiden- He is 23 and keeps checking his cell phone. He’s quiet and has five plates of food as if he hasn’t eaten anything in years. He must have spent all of his money on that brand new iPhone6 Plus that has grown into his hand. You don’t know much more about him because he leaves without saying goodbye.
  • Mom and Dad– They’re drunk. It’s the only way they will survive the next few hours. Looking at them only reminds you that someday…you.will.be.them. Drinking only to numb the pain of yet another family Thanksgiving.

Yeah, I think I want my brown paper bag costumes back.

 

How Do You Have a Social Life with a Chronic Illness?

A reader reached out to me with this tricky question…”How do you have a social life between the kids and a chronic illness??”

 

It’s hard sometimes because we don’t want to disappoint our friends, family, and (more importantly) ourselves so we don’t know how to maintain this very delicate balance. I’ve asked myself this question many times before and since I’m not a lay down and play dead type of person I have a different take on it than some!

 

Watch the video below to see my answer and share with me your strategies for having a social life with a chronic illness!

Farah

Beginning my Vlogging Adventure

Hello everyone!!

I’ve decided to do a few things differently here. I’m beginning my vlogging adventure! Check out my video below for more. Of course, make sure you subscribe to both the blog (here) and the YouTube channel and tell me what you think! I can’t wait! Don’t worry, I’ll still write, but hopefully, this will let me have more time to talk to all of you through the chaos and fun of day to day life!

xoxo!

 

Mom Mondays- Kimberly’s Story

I am so lucky today to introduce Mom Mondays! Each Monday I will be sharing an interview of a mother with a chronic illness and sharing it with all of you! My hope is that with time we will all have a chance to realize that we’re not nuts! We’re all going through a similar journey and are all doing our very best! I can’t wait!

I want to take this time to thank Kimberly for taking the time to share her story with me…and with all of you! Please check out her awesome fashion blog at Penny Pincher Fashion. She has great advice and tips on how to step our look no matter how we feel!

The interview is 25 minutes long, but definitely worth the watch!

If you are interested in being a part of Mom Mondays please email me and we can set up a time for an interview! The more the merrier!

Farah

Why Other Patients Should Support the Ice Bucket Challenge

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It’s all over social media. The gasps, the cries, the shrills, and the challenges have taken over our Facebook newsfeed. For weeks we have watched person after person, celebrity after celebrity, even children and animals participate in the Ice Bucket Challenge. We have heard more about ALS in the last month than we had in our entire lifetime. Some people have even searched to find out why they’re pouring water over their heads.

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The ALS Association has raised over $88.5 million dollars (so far) compared to the $2.6 million dollars they raised in the same time period last year. People are talking. People are researching. People are learning.

And, of course, we have the critics. We have the people who think the whole idea is stupid. We have patients with other diseases, such as lupus, that talk negatively about the challenge. Jealousy oozing out of both sides of their mouth. We have whispers (because who would want to be the anti-philanthropist) about how the challenge should be for this disease or this cause instead.

To them I say, “You are wrong.”

I’m going to be straight forward with all of you. I’m not doing the Ice Bucket Challenge. I’m not pouring cold ice water over my head. I live in Chicago and all I have to do is wait a few more months and I can just step outside for the freezing cold. I’m not going to have my children do it because I don’t want them to participate in challenges “because their friends did it.” Even if it is for a good cause. My inaction doesn’t mean I think it is wrong or that I am jealous as a lupus patient that there are people who are participating. No, it means that in this instance, I prefer to learn, teach, and support.

And that’s ok.

All around Facebook I have seen memes talking about the challenge. Some of these challenges are funny.

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Some are stupid.

Ice Bucket Challenge. Did you die? Ice Bucket Challenge

 

And some make me angry.

Ice Bucket Challenge Insult

Let me be clear. I’m not upset that there is awareness being brought to the clean water issue. I am, however, upset that they are insulting awareness about a disease because they don’t think there are enough people dying from that disease. Why is it acceptable to insult something that is being done for a good cause? Why is it fair to minimize a disease because the amount of people suffering from it is fewer than those suffering from another cause or disease? Why is it important to downplay something that is a guaranteed death sentence because it is not a death sentence that someone else is facing?

Yes, we’ve been inundated with video after video and challenge after challenge, but if your mom, brother, best friend or you were diagnosed with the disease do you think you would think this is stupid? Would you want them to see the meme above?

Take it to another level for me. Let’s say you have ALS. You understand what it means long term. That someday you won’t be able to lift a fork to your mouth. That someday you won’t be able to walk without help. That someday your mind will be functioning perfectly, but your body…well….your body has failed and all you are left with is a body only capable of laying in a bed while you’re fully aware that with time you will die.

Do you feel scared? Alone? Devastated?

Suddenly when people start doing something as simple and seemingly stupid as dumping a bucket of ice on their heads you’re excited because for the first time in your time with ALS people actually know a little bit about the disease. People aren’t just nodding with feigned understanding when you tell them you have ALS. For the first time since your dismal diagnosis you feel support and hope. Awareness is happening and you’ve been lucky enough to see a big movement in ALS awareness.

We should support that. We should support awareness and help towards any disease. We should support education and fundraising for all diseases. Even if it is something we know nothing about. Other patients should support the Ice Bucket Challenge because we understand what it’s like to have no one know about our disease. It’s called empathy, people.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. We will be surrounded by pink ribbons, pink on NFL football players, and advertisements promoting walks and awareness. Buildings will be lit up with pink lights and businesses will have special fundraising opportunities. Many people say we don’t need to do the breast cancer awareness campaigns as much because the death rates have fallen. Of course they’ve fallen. They’ve fallen because of the awareness, fundraising, and pink explosion in the early nineties. Since 1990 the death rate for women diagnosed with breast cancer has decreased by 34%!! That means that thirty-four more women out of a hundred diagnosed with breast cancer will live. Thirty-four more women will see their children grow. Thirty-four more women will survive.

And why is that?

Studies have shown that there is “evidence that [National Breast Cancer Awareness Month] events were effective at increasing November diagnosis rates during the mid-1990s when the awareness movement was expanding rapidly.” In the twenty years since the initial push, more money has continued to be raised, more funds go to research, more awareness continues to happen.

Most importantly, more women get to live.

In twenty years, we can only hope that the death rate for ALS has fallen this substantially. We can only hope more children get to have their parents live a long life after an ALS diagnosis. We can only hope that progress is made in research about ALS.

Until then, pour some ice cold water over your head and support someone whose struggle you know nothing about.

How to Cure Over-Volunteering-itis

overvolunteer copyToday begins the first full week of school this year. Each Back to School season I find myself in the throes of being inundated with papers, sign-ups, and volunteer opportunities. Each summer parents grow with excitement as they begin the process of sending the kids back to school. Overwhelmed by the paperwork, but thrilled by the few hours of potential freedom to do as they please, we sign up to volunteer and be involved in our children’s schools. We are all suffering from over-volunteering-itis, a very common and curable disorder.

Except when you have lupus, the decision to volunteer becomes so much more difficult. You want to do it all. Your Type-A personality tells you that you can do it all. But, like a wolf stalking its prey, your lupus (Yes I take ownership of my lupus. It’s an unbearable pet I can’t ever seem to lose) is just waiting for you to become weak from exhaustion at what should be seemingly simple task.

Eleven years into having lupus and almost seven years into having children, I’ve realized that I can’t do it all. I can’t sign up for everything. I can’t push myself with the ferocity as I have years before. Last year’s attempt landed me into a spiraling flare that left me blinded with optic neuritis and weakened by my lupus. A flare that required six rounds of the chemotherapy Cytoxan. A flare that left me lying on the couch as my sons played trains and race cars around me.  This year I have to remember that I cannot be everything to everyone at the school. I can only be my boys’ mother, as simple as that may seem. I will carefully decide how I can be Supermom.

Even if you don’t have an autoimmune disease I know so many parents that over extend themselves and struggle with finding the balance between being involved and being stretched too thin. Here are the questions I’ve decided to ask myself to prevent me from over-volunteering.

1)      Why are you doing it?

I have a history of jumping in feet first to volunteer for all of the programs I can and last fall was no different. I became involved in the Halloween Party, the Art Program, and more. I couldn’t wait! I was like a bumblebee jumping from flower to flower to get in on all of the action. When people asked why I was so involved I told them I did it so I could be a part of my son’s elementary school experience and so that I could meet other parents. I’m not really a social butterfly, but I’m gonna fake it ’til I make it. If I’m honest with them (and myself), I did it because I needed to feel as if though I had purpose beyond dropping off and picking up my son from school. I was forcing myself into a part of a community that the former teacher in me misses.

 

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2)      Does your kid care?

We all believe that our kids remember every nitty gritty detail of their childhood. That they’ll remember every party we attended and every game we coached. Except they won’t. They’ll just remember bits and pieces of when you were there. What they will remember is how you make them feel. If I’m too tired because I rallied at the school then the less I can be patient and understanding at home. Shoot, I may just throw leftovers at them for dinner because I’m too worn out. Last year when I helped with the school wide Halloween Party even though I was flaring, I probably should have rethought it. Sure…  I painted games, I found items for the auction, and I decorated. Did my son care about any of this? No. He just wanted to go to the party. Did it matter to him that I had used my limited spoons to be part of the duo that put it together? No. He just wanted to pin the wart on the witch’s face and get some candy.

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3)      Is there another way to be involved?

By the end of last year I realized very quickly that I cared much more about being involved in helping my son’s teacher than I did in putting on a school wide event. I’m not made for the PTO. I’m more likely to be a Room Mom than anything else. Top that with the fact that I was a teacher and I know how much time the prep work and grading takes. To cure my “DO ALL THE THINGS” itch,  I began to help by doing things I could do at home. I cut out hearts, I decorated plates, I did things that I could do from the comfort of my couch in my pajamas and when I had time. I know that it meant a lot to his teacher and it made me feel good knowing that I helped her a little bit as she handled 24 five and six year olds day in and day out. My son thought it was great when he could say, “My mom cut those!” when he was in class. It’s the little things!

 

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So, after some trial and error I think I’ve figured out a healthy balance for being involved in the school this year. I’ll let you know in June.

 

Do you have any other suggestions on different ways to help you decide if something is worth signing up?

 

Taking Back Control

On May 30 I had my last infusion of Cytoxan…forever (I hope). The relief that comes with this is phenomenal and I am so glad to finally be done with that stage of my life.

Except on June 5th my neurologist scheduled me for an MRI of certain parts of my brain to search for lesions again. Whoopsie daisy.

Oh well. At least I’m not flaring.

So what does a normal person do when they realize they’re flare free, annoyed that their body is still trying to control them, and have an entire summer to enjoy it?

Why… sign up for a half marathon, of course! Because, you know, I’m completely normal. **Taps fingertips together and speaks in creepy hiss**

Taking Back Control

You see, as I drove away from the neurologist appointment I became frustrated. I cried at the thought that at some point the neuropathy will prevent me from walking someday in the long off future. I thought I was done with the medical stuff for a while. I thought I was able to move on and be happy and healthy. Except, as anyone with lupus knows, you can’t always be free of the wolf on your back. (I really should have chosen a smaller pet to carry around.)

The Cytoxan did help. I feel better, except for some annoying problems that won’t ever go away (vision issues, neuropathy issues, etc). I am so happy it’s summer. The boys are ecstatic. We live outside and I love love LOVE it!

So why can’t I actually be better?

As I drove home I had a conversation with my body that went something like this:

Body, what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Me? Oh nothing. Just ruling the world in a pint sized vehicle. You know, if you were a little bit taller I would have a bigger playground and wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, yes…never mind. What was it you asked? Sorry I was distracted by my ultimate goal of ruling your life. So what do I think I’m doing? Ummmm ruling your life? Is that correct answer to this? Is this a new concept for you? I have to say, you did quite a number on me with that Cytoxan crap, but I noticed you said you were finished with it. I guess that will give me time to grow stronger again! I wonder if this time I can become werewolf sized! That would be good fun, you know? Anyways, Farah, good luck telling me what to do. You do realize I’m the one driving this crazy train.”

“Crazy train? Werewolves? Ummmm, ok then. How about this? You continue to try to knock me down and I prove than I’m in control of you. I’m taking back control, if you will. I should do something physically challenging. Something that I have to work hard at. Something I think I could handle. Oh….I got it! I’m going to run a half marathon. I’ve always wanted to start running. I’ll exercise everyday and I’m going to get in the best shape of my entire life. I’m going to be healthier than you can be strong. Boo yah! Take that, you punk ass mofo!”

“Say what??? Ummmmm, I’ll be right back. I have to consult with the rest of you to decide the best way to attack.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Bwahhahah. Good luck to you!” **Taps fingertips together and speaks in creepy hiss**

If any of you remember I’ve had one bad incident with running. This time, though, running has been fun! I enjoy the runner’s high. I hope to get a runner’s butt. It’s been great and while I know my body is screaming at me I also realize that I’m going to do this. Slow and steady wins the race.

I will take this one time, and one time only to control my body in doing something none of us thought it could do. I’m going to run and nothing is going to stop me.

We’ll see how it turns out.

See yah at the finish line!

Follow my hashtag #strongerthanawolf
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Social Media Makes Me a Bad Mother

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Oh My Gosh, I can’t breathe! I think. They’re too close. It’s too early.

It’s seven thirty in the morning. I’ve been up for thirty minutes, my husband has left for work, and as I try to sit on the couch so I can wake up my children climb on me.

Literally climb on me. Like I’m a  jungle gym at the park that’s just down the road. All I’m missing is a wood chip floor and a swing hanging off my back.

My four year old plops himself on my lap and starts rubbing my face. I hate when people touch my face. All I envision are little hands covering my nose and mouth making it impossible to breathe and easy for me to cry with fear. I much rather the vision to be of dirty grimy hands putting dirt into my pores, but alas my fear of suffocation overrides the Zit Creation concern.

He’s trying to be sweet as he coos, “Baby Mommy! Baby Mommy!” I am beginning to hyperventilate with the fear of suffocation. My six year old wants in on the action. He climbs up next to me and huddles so closely that he is now stroking my arm and mimicking his brother. My nerves are on fire and it hurts. My body is in so much pain, my neck feels like it’s being squeezed, and I’m starting to panic.

I just want them off of me.

Except instead of being able to ask my children to nicely get off, I sit there beginning to panic yet not wanting to break their moment of loving their mom. I want them to feel like they can show me love. I want to be able to accept that love.  I know it won’t be forever and I want to enjoy the moment instead of becoming the Hulk as he shakes off little villains. I take short shallow breaths as I remember memes telling me to love these moments. That every snot filled moment where they dribble green goo on your body are precious and I am such a bad person for not enjoying it.

Except I can’t. I’m irrationally afraid I may suffocate. I know it’s irrational. My mind understands this. My body can’t seem to catch on.

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Every day we see some version these memes on Facebook. They all have the same message. Enjoy these moments because they will be gone before you know it. Enjoy these moments because if you don’t you’re an unattached mom who doesn’t care for her children. Enjoy these moments because the ones to come aren’t as great as the moment you’re having right now as you’re elbow deep in poop while you clean up underwear filled with crap for the third time today.5e008b454e45acb7c128e45791f58da3

Enjoy these moments because if you don’t….we’re going to make you feel guilty because that’s what the Internet does.10151199_659183944117429_3781062308417268784_n

So, I sit there on the couch with my boys invading my space. I listen to their coos. I try not to scream and cry. I sit there because that’s what the Internet told me I had to do to be a good mom and to create memories filled with love.

Except I couldn’t…I eventually had to ask them to get off of me so I could breathe. I didn’t yell, I didn’t scream. I just asked them to get off.

And just like that I broke the moment.

Their little faces fell as I took my much needed space.

I felt horribly guilty.

Because all I could see in my mind was a picture of a mother with a child on her back that says, “You will never be this loved again.” While the subscript in my mind screams, “And you just pushed it away.”

Thank you, Internet. Now I can add being a bad mother to my list of things I accomplished before eight in the morning.

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You Probably Got This From Me- A Parent’s Guilt

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“I wonder where you got all of these things,” she would say. I was tired. I was sick. I didn’t care where or who the hell this disease came from. I have it. I must live with it. It is my heavy cross to bare all on my own. “You probably got it from your dad. No one on my side has autoimmune issues.”

“Does it even matter, Mom? I have it. I just have to deal with it,” I’d impatiently say.

“Well, no. I just…” she’d let her words trail off. There was nothing she could say. I wouldn’t listen and the guilt she had brewing in her heart was at a constant simmer. Each flare I have, each pain I felt….she felt it in her soul.

“It is what it is. Would you rather me not have been born? I either live with this regardless of where I got it from….or I was never born at all with no chance of being sick. Hey, I gotta go. The boys are about to destroy something.” I ended our conversations quickly each time she brought this up. Each time I would be annoyed that she would turn this into a oh you poor thing, you gave your daughter an incurable illness on accident moment. My expectations for her to automatically understand what I needed in that moment were too high for her to reach.

Why doesn’t she understand? I would think. This isn’t about her. Why wallow in self doubt for something you’ve never had control over? 

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When I was child I had severe asthma. The type of asthma that would land me in the hospital for a week at least once or twice a year from the time I was nine months old. Each visit I’d be held down for a nebulizer treatment, I’d have oxygen on my face, and I couldn’t laugh when my sister blew up a latex glove and held them as a gobbler without going into an attack.

Each visit my dad would be angry. I thought I did something wrong. I thought he was mad I was taking time away from the family because I was sick again. I thought he regretted having me because I couldn’t stay healthy when he could stay out of the hospital even though he had asthma, too. I cried to my mom asking her what I had done. She brushed my hair from my face, held me close, and, as I smelled in her motherly scent, told me that he felt bad that I was sick and that’s how he (and most men) handled feelings like that.

My father came to me during one of these hospital visits. My mother had clearly spoken with him about my fears. He sat with me alone in the glow of fluorescent lights and told me about the times he almost died from asthma attacks in the 1950s and 60s. He told me about the times he would cry because he couldn’t breathe and couldn’t handle the suffering. Each time he would promise himself he’d never have children so he wouldn’t pass this down to someone like his mother had passed it on to him. He wasn’t mad at me, he had said. He was mad at himself for letting me be sick.

Even then, as a child of 12 or 13, I was able to mutter the words, “Would you rather me not have been born? I either live with this regardless of where I got it from…or I was never born at all and no chance of being sick.”

Tears streamed down his face as he hugged me tightly through the wires and tubes. “No, Farah,” he whispered, “You and your sister are the best things to have happened to me.”

He never brought it up to me again.

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So ten years later when I was dealing with my mom and her own denials I didn’t have the patience I probably should have. I didn’t understand why she felt almost obsessed about knowing where I had received this disease from.

I couldn’t understand her obsession.

I wouldn’t understand it.

Then I had a son. And then I had another son.

One cold winter night, I slept in a hospital cage crib with my 20 month old son (one of the benefits of being tiny is fitting in a hospital crib when your baby is sick!).  He laid on my chest gasping for air, sleeping  and exhausted by the constant effort of something that should require no thought. He had RSV, they said. He had asthma, the said. I passed it on, they said.

That night, I sang Baby Mine over and over as I guiltily thought, “I gave this to you. How many nights will we spend in the hospital because of this? You have asthma because of me and I don’t have a clue how to take away your pain.Your pain is because of me.” 

Memories flooded back of my family around me in the hospital bed, my father feeling guilt because he knew he gave me asthma.

Memories flooded back of more recent conversations, my mother feeling guilt because she probably gave me lupus.

To me it didn’t matter where I got it from, but their love for me made the knowledge that they were (in literal definition) the source of my pain broke their hearts.

They felt a guilt that only a parent can feel. A guilt based on their own illnesses. A guilt that they were meant to protect me from bad things, but weren’t able to do that seemingly simple task.

It’s okay, Mom and Daddy. It’s okay to feel guilt for what has happened, but it’s not your fault. You had no control over which genes and characteristics were passed on. None of us do. Don’t grieve for what has come to pass. Don’t let my illnesses suck you into a cycle of guilt and hurt, too. Just know, that without my asthma there would be no breath. Without my lupus there would be no me.

And without me, no one could love you both as much as I do.

Farah

Wordless Wednesday- What Does This Picture Make You Feel?

Wordless Wednesday Lupus

Wordless Wednesday- What Does This Picture Make You Feel?

 

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