Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Hakuna Matata

I recently spent almost two weeks in Kenya and Tanzania. I travel often, and this wasn't my first trip to Africa, but it was certainly the most ambitious trip I've taken - there or anywhere. Now don't get me wrong - I wasn't camping out among the elements.  My "tented camps" were luxury five-star, complete with king sized beds and state of the art private bathrooms/showers, plus basically personal waiter service at every meal - in the five-star restaurant on site. Plus we had a private guide each day who knew exactly where to go and what to do.  We weren't roughing it. But still, there were a lot of (literal) moving pieces, and a lot that could have gone wrong - travel wise and health wise.

First, I had to take antimalarial medication. One of the warnings of this medication is that it can cause some depression. I've taken it before without issue, but considering I already battle depression, each time I take it is a little nerve wracking. That said, I'm unfortunately familiar with depression and figured that I could get through it for the trip. I do not want to also be familiar with malaria, so I took my chances. Secondly, there were a lot of potentially anxiety-producing pieces. Such as long plane rides (I don't like flying, ironically). And short plane rides on 12-seat planes. Which I found out by unfortunate experience, are not pressurized and cause altitude sickness. Did I mention I get migraines with altitude? And suffer from vertigo and motion sickness? I vomited my way through the 45 minutes between Nairobi and the Mara and it took most of the afternoon to recover fully. It was quite possibly the longest 45 minutes I've ever spent. In addition to the health stuff, both countries required a visa, one of which (Kenya) we got before hand, but the other (Tanzania) which we had to get at the border. So while it was unlikely, there was always the slight possibility that they could not let us in. That kind of thing makes me anxious. Not just while I'm going through it, but days, weeks, in advance. It's an unknown, and I don't like unknowns. There were other pieces too. We were told that our local tour operators would meet us on the ground with all the vouchers for the flights, accommodations, tours, once in Nairobi. So we literally flew over with just our overseas flight details and an itinerary saying that we'd be met with the rest of our documents for the entire trip. Again, unknowns. I had to just bank on everyone being where they were supposed to and having what they were supposed to every step of the way.

When we got there, everything changed. I found (minus the whole vomiting through an entire flight) I felt better than usual. In part, this was due to everyone being where they were supposed to be, and having the documents they were supposed to, and just being wonderful overall. But more than that, it was the attitude of the people. They have a saying there, you might have heard of it:  Hakuna Matata. If, like me, you thought this was a fun phrase created for the Lion King, you are mistaken. I noticed it particularly in Kenya, but in Tanzania some too. Basically, it means (very loosely translated) 'Everything is fine." Or perhaps "Everything will work out". And they mean it. It's not a brush off. It's not the "calm down, relax" that us with anxiety get thrown at us so often. It's truly their outlook. If there was a concern or a mix up or a confusion, they took care of it. If you weren't feeling well, they took care of you as best they could. If you had a question, they answered it. If you needed something, they helped.  And more off, you knew they would. For someone that battles crippling anticipatory anxiety (i.e. worrying about what could or might happen), this made a world of difference. I didn't feel like I was out there struggling on my own, hoping for the best option but knowing that achieving it would take it's toll on my health, leaving me exhausted and drained at best. A while back, I wrote a blog in which I asked people to stop telling me it would be ok, when they couldn't actually do anything to guarantee that it would be ok.  But here, they actually did make it OK. They could do something about it.  I could actually relax. And it felt magical.

When you're out there in the expanses of the plains, among the animals, something incredible happens - you realize how small you are. You watch these creatures who instinctively know how to live their whole lives and you think, "Wow, I really don't have my shit together." This little gazelle is sitting ten feet from a lion - it's greatest predator - but knows that because it's the wet season it can easily outrun the lion, who does better in the dry plains. The lion knows this too, and for that reason, knows there's no point in him going after the gazelle. So there they sit nearby harmoniously. These animals know exactly how other animals will react at exactly the time of year, and I can't figure out which new back splash will best match my new cabinets in my condo. It makes you want to get your shit together. It makes you want to be part of that something bigger. Not the life cycles of animals on the Serengeti, per se, but just to be doing something that truly makes a difference, that matters on a bigger scale. I'm not sure how that all connects, but it seems to, at least in my brain. The expanses of the planes and the animals somehow get into your blood (not literally, hopefully!) and you want your life to feel more expansive too. At least I do.

So I came back with some affirmation of my efforts in mental health and chronic illness advocacy. It helped me to feel that my goals in this arena are well founded, and it motivated me to push forward, even when I doubt myself. And of course, as it goes with chronic illness and mental health, some days are drastically different than others. But at least it's a start. And it was a hell of a great way to get there. 

Monday, March 13, 2017

National Napping Day

Happy National Napping Day! Let me tell you, this is one "holiday" I can get behind. When you have a chronic illness, a nap often is more than a luxury - it's a necessity. Whether it's the condition itself (such as my MECFS, which actually has the word fatigue in the name of the disorder), the lack of energy from your disorder, or a side effect of medication or treatment, chronic illness often leaves you exhausted. Physically, emotionally, mentally.

So many days, I wake up with plans - I'm going to get this done and that done, these chores and those tasks. Then, I get home mid-day from my part time job, and I just physically cannot do it. Not that I don't want to do it, but I cannot. Sometimes, it's physical exhaustion, plain and simple. my MECFS is flaring up and it hurts to move. Or my depression is so bad that I physically am unable to do things - it feels like there's a giant weight pushing down on me, like my legs and arms are made of lead. (If you think that depression is "all in our heads", think again - there are real physical symptoms). Other times, I'm emotionally and mentally so drained that I might, at best, possibly go through the motions without actually being able to focus. Which means I can maybe do mindless tasks, but anything requiring brain power is off limits.

It's frustrating, to say the least. Especially when you own your own business, and are trying to build up a nonprofit project.  When you're self-employed, unless you're doing so well that you have tons of people working under you and business funds itself (and you and your employees) easily all of the time, a lot of the success is determined by your motivation, inspiration, and action each and every day. When you lose a day or two or five due to illness, it really takes its toll. Not to mention the number it does to your confidence and self-esteem.

And then there's social life. It's kind of rough when a good friend wants to spend time and you have to say "Well, I really need to nap instead."  It's tough to miss gatherings and time with those close to us. It's difficult to have to turn down or cancel plans because you need to rest. But it's part of chronic illness, and one of the many things over time that we learn to accept.

Finally, there's possibly the most frustrating piece of the puzzle - many times, the naps don't help. You take them because you truly are drained beyond belief, and it's the only thing you can do. You are legitimately tired. So tired that you think, "this time, it will help."  But ultimately, you wake still exhausted. Day after day, nap after nap. No matter how early you go to bed or how many days you take a nap. And sometimes you think, "Maybe I should just force myself to get through it. Maybe if I make myself work on that project or exercise (which can help, in moderation and small doses) or go out with friends, I'll be ok." So you try. But it doesn't work. You only feel worse, and you wonder why you tried in the first place. It's demoralizing at times.

But today, we get with reckless abandon! After all, it's a national day dedicated to just that. So here's to all of my fellow spoonies, for whom national napping day, if you actually get to "participate", is like Christmas (insert holiday you really like where you're given gifts). Not only can we nap without feeling bad about it, but we've paved the way for doing so!






Thursday, March 9, 2017

The End of an Era - Celebrating A Life

I had another post planned for today, but I had to change it. I found out this morning that my Great-Aunt passed away. It was not particularly a surprise. She was the last of my grandmother's siblings alive, and while I do not know her exact age, I'd say she was probably around 90 and been sick for some time. She was, in a way, the end of an era. My Aunt Alice, widow of my Uncle Charlie (Grandma's brother), is still alive. But Aunt Clara was the last Albanese sibling. She was the last who knew my Grandma growing up, who lived in my Great Grandparents' house, where my mom was born. The last who knew the family recipes that, love or hate them, I associate with family holidays of my youth.

For reasons that I won't go into here, I hadn't seen my Aunt Clara since my grandmother's funeral in 2008. It was not because we didn't want to see her - she was sick and due to circumstances, unable to see anyone. So I can't say I have recent memories with her. She lived in Buffalo, NY, as does the majority of my family on my mom's side, so she wasn't right around the corner. But as children, until about the age of 16, we went to Buffalo every single holiday. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Easter, and at least one of the summer holidays. We spent a lot of time, those days, with Aunt Clara. Her generation always seemed impossibly old, being the eldest generation at the gatherings, but thinking about it as an adult, she was probably in her early 50s, if that.

Aunt Clara was my the closest sister in age to my grandmother, and her best friend. They did everything together. She was the sibling that we, as kids, spent the most time with on our visits. I honestly can't remember a holiday celebration without her.

As my family tends to do, instead of mourning a death, we celebrate a life. Often, with humor, or at least light-heartedness. It seems the best way to remember a person, especially one who suffered so at the end of their life - I don't think anyone wants to be remembered old and sick and suffering. And so, here are some of my most memorable Aunt Clara experiences and stories.


  • Aunt Clara was the world's WORST cook. I mean the absolute worst. She would substitute ingredients simply because they looked alike. No sugar? It's ok, there was salt for that! Literally. We used to all spend time at a house on a lake (I should know the name of it but I cannot) and on one occasion, against our better judgement, we let her make dinner - she'd chosen hamburgers, which seemed a pretty safe bet (I was about 8 then, so still ate some meat). No sooner did we eat, then every single one of us ran out in the bushes to get sick. Every. One. She tried so hard and we didn't want to hurt her feelings, so we just took turns vomiting in the bushes and trying to distract her so that she didn't notice. 
  • She always clearly dyed her hair, but for a while, she had this really bad reddish orange color. She was so sweet that nobody had the heart to tell her it looked terrible, but it was a badly kept family joke. 
  • Her house was, for some reason, always a mystery. It was messy beyond belief - I remember it taking effort to get in the door. But she always invited us over and dutifully, we went. I think she had some cats - I associate her house with cats, but I may be wrong. There was also something weird about the bathroom. To this day, I couldn't tell you what it was, but like her cooking and dye job, it was just something known in the family. "If you have to go to Aunt Clara's, make a pit stop before hand, because you do not go in the bathroom." I don't think it was filthy, I think it was just some place you didn't go. 
  • Of course, there's that family infamous cake-baking story. My Grandma and Aunt Clara decided to bake a cake for a special occasion (I believe, but I don't recall the occasion). The cake called for egg yokes.  This was in their younger days, and they were not wealthy, so they didn't want to waste anything.  So "naturally", after they'd separated the yokes out, they forced themselves to gag down the raw egg whites. They simply couldn't toss them. Several steps later in the recipe, they realized it now called for them to add in the whites.
  • Last but not least, there was the time that Aunt Clara and Grandma visited England, got sick on a bus ride, and then, being too embarrassed to say anything, stashed their vomit bags in the bushes outside of Buckingham Palace while everyone was busy watching the Changing of the Guard.

All joking aside, though, Aunt Clara was the kindest person. When I think of her, I picture her the way she was when I was about 10, with smiling eyes, badly dyed hair, pink lipstick (also a bad idea), and the voice that my grandmother and her two sisters shared - they sounded almost identical, or at least they do now in my head. She always seemed so gentle to me, almost frail, but she was not. I picture her in the kitchen in my Grandma's old house, where we all gathered each and every holiday. I do not picture her old and sick. That is not how I will remember her. Instead, I will chuckle about the horrendous beach house dinner episode, the trip to London, the cake, and the mysterious bathroom that I doubt we'll ever figure out now. These are what made her, her. And they are cherished. Rest in Peace, Aunt. You were the last of the four siblings, and you are now all together again. Perhaps they'll finally teach you to cook. 

Aunt Clara, Grandma (Lena), Aunt Lucy, and Uncle Charlie in their youth. 

Monday, February 13, 2017

Unusual Things That Come Naturally To Chronic Illness Sufferers

Let me clarify: by unusual I don't mean it in a derogatory manner. I mean "things that feel completely common to us, yet that those without chronic illness probably don't do/think/experience". And I mean that in the best way, because knowing that there are others out there that do the same as I do, that may have to do the same as I do because of illness, is wonderful. It makes me feel less alone, less of an anomaly. And it's only when I step outside of my spoonie community that I realize "oh, not everyone does/has to do this." And I remember why I love my spoonie community so much - because they get it.

1.  We know the "nicknames", abbreviations, and details on illnesses that others (outside of the medical field) have never heard of. This also goes for every spoonie/chronic illness chat hashtag.

2. We have ready answers for our favorite medication trackers/tools/organizers (either electronic or old fashioned pill cases).

3. We actively post photos where we look our worst, because it shows others what our symptoms look like, or how we look during a flareup.

4. We rate how we're feeling for the day in spoons.

5. We choose food according to how it helps us digest our medication. (Mini cheeses are great for mid-day meds dose, you guys!).

6. We choose food according to how badly it affects our illnesses.

7. A nap is not a luxury; it's an essential.

8. We have to create a plan to store up energy for important events, and plan recoup time to replenish.

9. We understand that grocery shopping or running errands for an hour is a big outing. And cleaning the house (when we can) requires reserve storage.

10. Trying to figure out how to take sick days from work is confusing. Every day is a sick day, so... maybe we should do the reverse and take the day when we feel slightly less sick. This way we can actually enjoy a "good" day!

Have more? I'd love to hear them!










Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Stop Telling Me It Will Be Ok

Clarification: This is not a political post. I've seen a lot of political posts on social media with this type of tagline, so I just want to clarify. It's about mental health, through and through.

There's something I think people don't fully understand about anxiety. In fact, I think that unless you've battled it, it's near impossible to understand, because it's what happens inside of the brain when anxiety takes the reigns. And without anxiety, you don't experience it.  That "it" is that when you battle anxiety, you can't not worry. And trying to not worry makes you feel worse. Because then, you start to worry about worrying. You end up chastising yourself for an illness you can't control.  It doesn't matter what the topic is, or how trivial it may seem to others. It doesn't matter how unlikely it is that what you're anxious about will actually occur.  And here's the piece that I think can be most frustrating to those we're close to, those who witness this anxiety: no amount of reassurance will make us feel otherwise. In fact, it often makes things worse.

Here's the thing: unless you are, somehow, the person who can actually make a situation OK, you're just guessing.  You may think it will be OK. Or you may mean that even if the worst happens in a given scenario, eventually, the person will get back on their feet. Or that what they're worried won't be that bad. But you're looking at it from your perspective, not from what's going on inside their anxious mind. You can, in no way, guarantee that what happens inside their head will be OK. You cannot control how their anxiety or depression or panic acts. You can't insure that they won't feel like they can't breathe, like their brain is going to explore or their body break down. You probably can't control their external circumstances (unless your specific actions are what they're worried about in the first place and then hell, do something about it!), and you certainly can't control the internal ones. So really, you don't know that it's going to be OK - not from their perspective and experiences, anyway. And yet you promise it will be, and want us to believe you and act accordingly. You want us to control something in our brain that we cannot, simply because you tell us it will be OK.

Continually trying to insist it'll be OK only alienates us. It makes us feel like you don't understand us, or how we're experiencing the situation. It invalidates, in a way, our worry.  Especially when you keep insisting on it, even when we tell you that we know the emotions we're in for, and they are not OK.  Basically, you're telling us that you know our body and brain better than we do. That, without being inside of our head, you know how it will react. You may not mean it this way, but it's how it comes across to use nonetheless.  In a way, I almost wish that you could have a glimpse of my worry - that you could spend even a second or two inside my head. If you understnad what the worry felt like, I wouldn't feel so isolated in my feelings, so wrong or broken for being worried.


Now, there may be times when you can help to control at least the external circumstances. If we're anxious about money because we're having trouble paying the bills and you offer to help, you actually can make the situation better. But most of the time, this isn't the case. There's rarely something you can do, right at this moment, to improve our worry. Partly, this is because much of our worry is about the future - I won't be able to do that, this will happen, that will occur. And because you can't control the future, you literally cannot prove to us that these things we are worried about are not a problem.

So what can you do to help? Stop making our worries feel trivial. Stop trying to convince us of things you have no actual proof of. Stop trying to pretend you know what will be going on inside our heads, which is where the anxiety lives.  Be there with us. Listen to us without contradicting how we feel or think. Promise us that you will be there, whatever happens. Let us know that we aren't alone, that even if the worst happens (which surely we're anxious about), that we will at least be going through it together. That won't eliminate our anxiety, because it's an illness - and illnesses aren't cured with kind words. But at least it will let us know that you are there, and that you don't think our anxieties silly, and we are not so isolated, misunderstood, and alone. 

Thursday, February 2, 2017

It's Time to Talk (About Mental Health)

Today, February 2nd, is Time to Talk Day. Time to Talk about mental health, that is. As a mental health advocate, that's really every day, but today I thought I'd get back to basics, talking about my mental health, in the form of a questionnaire of sorts.

What's the name of my condition?: (Rapid Cycling) Cyclothymia.

When was I diagnosed?: A month shy of my 30th birthday, but I've had it since birth.

Will I always have it?:  Yes. At least as of now. No cure has been discovered.

Am I always cycling?: No. But there's always the possibility. Many days, I feel quite... un-cycle-y.

What's my chosen course of treatment?:  Therapy approximately once every three to four weeks, oxcarbazepine three times per day, hydroxazine (for anxiety) twice per day with an option for a third time if bad. Let me say that treatment is very individualized, and everyone has to tailor their treatment to what works best for them.

Why do I advocate?: Because there's stigma. Because people are still afraid of saying that they have a mental health condition for fear of repercussion - from their families, from their friends, from their jobs. Nobody should have to fear repercussion from others for having an illness. And because there are still so many myths about mental health that are absolutely untrue, and people need to have factual information to in order educate themselves on the topic. People don't know what they don't know.

What do I want people to know?:

  • 1 in 5 people in the US has a mental health condition. That's 20% of the US population. When you include addictive disorders, that percentage is even higher.  
  • People with mental health conditions are 10 times more likely to be victims of a violent crime than perpetrators. 
  • We are not "crazy", "mental", "insane". We have an illness. Just like someone would have diabetes or asthma or any other chronic illness. 
  • Taking medication doesn't make me a pawn of the medical/pharmaceutical industry. It saves my life, and that of many others. 
  • Anxiety isn't just being stressed; depression is not just being sad; mood cycling isn't just being moody. They are multi-faceted illnesses that are rooted in a physical part of our body - an organ called the brain. These illnesses are not a choice, an attitude, or a lack of gratitude. We would never choose these things if we had the option. 
  • My illness is, and never will be, a crutch. If I say I cannot do something - physically, mentally, emotionally, because my illness affects all three -  I cannot. Just like I cannot know what it feels like to not be able to breathe due to asthma, since I don't have it, those without mental health conditions don't know what it's like inside my brain. 
  • Our illnesses are not adjectives to be thrown around. Someone who changes their mind isn't "acting bipolar"; needing to double check something isn't "so OCD"; you're ADD isn't acting up today, unless you actually have ADD and it's acting up today; you're not "so depressed because you have nothing to wear to the party" unless you actually battle depression and this is somehow a trigger. You wouldn't say someone was acting "so cancerous". So don't use mental health this way either. 
  • Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US. There are approximately 121 suicides in the US every day (over 44,000 every year in the US). For every suicide completed, 25 attempt. 
  • Mental health conditions are not weaknesses, they are illnesses. Illnesses that can be fatal. Suicide is not weak or selfish, it is (at least when related to mental health), a battle with an illness that's been lost. 
  • If you struggle with mental health, you are not alone, even though it often feels like it. There are so many of us that understand. Please, reach out. To me personally if you would like. 
  • I am not ashamed of having a mental health condition, and I will never let anyone make me feel that way. If you, too, battle mental health and need some help in talking about it, reach out. To me, or to anyone else who advocates and is open to it.  
It is time to talk about mental health. Time to stop the stigma. Time to change. I am happy to answer any questions anyone has about mental health, my condition or personal experiences, or becoming an advocate.  

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Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Surviving In the World Of Anger When You Physically Absorb Feelings From Others

The world is angry right now. Or at least it seems that way as an American. People are either angry at the government, or they're angry at the people who are angry at the government. And I get it, trust me. While I won't get political much on here, suffice it to say that without insurance, my medications would be $1300 to $1600 per month. And that's just meds. So yes, I get the anger. I get the frustration. I have a stake in this, and I don't have my head in the sand. But the anger. It's like it's become a new weather pattern.

"Well, today, we'll see a 100 percent chance of extreme anger coming from all directions, a 75 percent chance of a nasty comeback and ensuing row in the comments section, and 30 percent chance of years of friendship being destroyed. Oh, and there's a minor chance of a rain shower this afternoon, so if you weren't already bringing your umbrella to protect you from the ensuing shit storm, may want to throw that in your bag." 

And I get it. But I am doing my utmost not to be consumed by it.  Not the issues, but the anger itself. As a person with strong HSP (highly sensitive person) and empath qualities (where you literally feel the emotions that other people are feeling), as well as decently severe anxiety and depression, the world is seems physically painful to me these days. I can't explain exactly how it feels, other than to say that it's almost like I absorb the energy and emotions of others, like I'm actually experiencing part of what they're experiencing. Not "I feel terrible for them and this is awful" but "I can physically feel their pain". I guess the best example I can give is, think of a person (or pet or being) that you're really passionate about. Think of the joy you see at your child accomplishing some goal that they've been working so hard for against all odds - how it can make you cry with happiness. Or the pain of seeing them so defeated or ill, how it can make you break down with sadness and grief. Or, for dog lovers, how it would feel to see a suffering, starved, innocent dog abandoned,  helpless. That emotion, that's how it feels to me. About everything. Not just my child, or my dog, or a homeless abandoned suffering dog. About everything, including other people's feelings. They're angry or upset about something? I physically feel it. They're happy? Tears of joy.

It's so much that I literally cry almost every morning, and half the time I don't know what it's about. It's just so emotional it's overwhelming. On occasion, it's happy and sad tears simultaneously. I'll hear or see something that's upsetting someone and burst into tears. Then I'll hear a song that makes me remember a great time with someone close and burst into tears. And none of this actually counts what's going on with me. This is all before you factor in my mood cycling and my anxiety, the anxiety and fear of life events or things going on in the world, or the general ups and downs of every day life. This is just from other people.

So how do I deal with it? Well, I wish I could say "better than I am". Right now, my tactics consist of the following:

  • Try to quietly do may part for those causes I'm passionate about - whether it's donating, taking an action, or supporting those who do/can. 
  • Help in ways that do not further fuel my anxiety and/or depression. I don't have to stand up and give a one-on-one speech, or call and personally chastise my local congressman or whoever it is. I can send emails. I can join peaceful marches and protests, I can sign petitions, advocate online, volunteer with a local chapter/organization helping them operate day to day.  Things like phone calls standing up to authorities aren't just something I don't enjoy (like a lot of people). They're something that sends me into severe anxiety attacks. So I don't do it. Because me gasping for breath while the room spins won't actually help anyone. But there are other ways that I could. 
  • Focus on my advocacy efforts, and how I can help others through them. Just because there are massive changes going on doesn't mean that helping an individual with their mental health or chronic illness is meaningless. In fact, to that person, I hope it's quite meaningful, and that means a lot to me. 
  • Focus on love and caring and kindness - to my fiance, family, friends, Grace, as well as offering caring and kindness to those who I may not know well/at all, and who need it. Like my spoonie community, for instance. I can't stop the angry - sometimes even within myself - and people, myself included, have every right to be angry. But I can try with everything I have not to let that anger completely displace love. 
  • Practice increased self-care. This mean taking additional time for things like yoga, reading, writing, time with loved ones, me time. Things that help my anxiety and depression and overall health and well-being.
These aren't, by any means, cure-alls. I still feel like a giant sponge soaked with the world's emotions. I still feel my own strongly. I still battle mood cycling and anxiety, because quite frankly those are their own entities, that were here long before the current situation and will be here regardless of the state of the world in the future. Yes, they're influenced by it, but they're not caused by it. That would be genetics at play. 

And I am in no way saying that those who are angry and protesting and calling their congressmen and meeting with their representatives and are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore should not be doing and feeling that way. I envy you, honestly. Because I'm angry too and I wish I could do that without becoming a ball of wreckage. To be frank, it's nice to see people so passionate again in general, because it felt like for a long time we were robots programmed to stare at our phones and give canned answers like "Busy! Ok. Good, how are you (as we kept walking and didn't wait for a reply)." Though I wish the circumstances under which we regained our passion were different, of course. I hate seeing arguments fester, people's friendships dissolved, families so divided. I simply am expressing what it feels like when you unintentionally absorb this from others, as some of us do, and how I'm working with it. To all of those raising hell out there, I appreciate you. So much more than I can express. You're doing what I cannot without sacrificing my health. And if I'm not healthy I can't help anyone, and so I have to toe the line, and do those things that I can do, hoping to somehow make a difference.