I found myself googling things and coming up with nothing.
I could hardly find informative POTS blogs, forget having them not be completely discouraging with a whiny voice. So I had to make one.
Do you know how hard it is is to find people my age using walkers? I wanted to find fun pictures with walkers and couldn’t find any and thought, I’ll be the one who posts fun pictures of walkers.
No one makes walkers fun. I wanted to look at ways to decorate walkers and could only find decorations for kids (got pink, bows, etc) so I was like well nonsense, I’ll make the walker I want to see.
I didn’t want to use a walker because I felt like no one else with POTS was and then I realized I need a walker. I’m the type of POTS patient who needs help.
Growing up not a lot of people looked like me. No one had my hair. My sister doesn’t even have my hair. She’s got these loose waist length curls whereas I have tight curls that graze my shoulder on a good day.
Sophomore year of college I had this embarrassingly obvious revelation. I’ve modeled almost my whole life. I’ve been the representation. I am the representation. So I had an empowering moment and I become unapologetic about my hair and from that found a whole bunch of people who connected with me and I found a whole community of people who had my hair and it was a fun time.
Why should my illness be any different?
I’ve been essentially bedridden for nearly 10 months. For some reason, I didn’t feel like I had the “ok” to use any form of help. Like I wasn’t that sick. In airports and hospitals, I used a wheelchair. But I wasn’t getting healed when I left these places. I still needed help, yet I never acted on it.
After a 9 minute trip to Target with my mom, where I bent myself over the handles of a cart and used it as a walker, got progressively worse and ended the Target trip with a panicked hobble to the car, putting my feet on the dash in the car, seat laid back, and guzzling down water to get the bitter taste of the Dramamine I had just bought.
For whatever reason, that’s when I decided I was sick enough. The thing about chronic illness is that you become so accustomed to the chronic part, that you forget you had a life before. When you have POTS, it takes 3 times the energy to stand (on a good day). When that is your every day, you forget that standing isn’t an accomplishment to other people. Most people just stand up without even thinking about it! Wild. I forgot. I forgot walking is supposed to be simple.
So I got a walker.
Now I’ve got a snazzy walker and it’s fantastic. I spent well over 6 hours (over the period of a week and a half) sanding, priming, and painting my walker. Pimping out my walker was oddly cathartic. Not only was it something fun to do but it was a visual representation of me embracing where my health was but still being ok with it. Yes, I have a walker but I’m still going to sparkle.
The first steps with my walker were some of the most liberating moments in my life. It’s still hard. I still use the seat to rest every couple of minutes depending on where I am. My blood still pools in my feet when I’m up too long and causes intense burning and swelling, even still its independence.
I’ve struggled with multiple illnesses throughout my life so yes, yes I’ve learned that I’ll get through it. That parts of it are temporary. That I can’t go to all the events and I can’t make all the trips, I can’t make plans far in advance, I can’t be spontaneous but I also can’t do something without a heads up to physically prep. I also know that when you’re sick, you appreciate life so much more. Life becomes about quality, not quantity. Something as simple as a 15-minute car ride with the windows down going nowhere in particular. I don’t always get to go out with my friends but when I do I savor it. My best friend was in town this weekend so I got an IV and we took pictures, went to dinner, and got a mani/pedi over a single weekend and I was able to savor it the entire time. When you become sick, the little moments people usually take for granted become the greatest gifts. So although most will say being sick feels like they can’t live anymore, I would also argue that you feel more alive. Even if it is only for a few moments at a time.
oming in at a close second is, “are you better?” Although it comes from the kindest of places, I am chronically ill. The general theme is that I will still be sick….chronically if you will…even if you wait a full day or a week to ask. “How is today going?” or “how are you feeling?” is significantly better. The last thing I want to do is be like, “Ummm yeah no, shocking, still CHRONICALLY sick looks like it’ll be that way for the foreseeable future. I don’t have the flu. This is a thing. Thanks for asking…”
dollars. Can you imagine donating millions of dollars to someplace halfway across the world that you don’t go to often? So I start googling this man, seeing what all he has done and take this picture because I love his quote and a couple minutes later this old bigot sits behind us. He then lets out a disgusted grunt and says to his wife, “look at that *racial slur* he’s from the middle east, guess he’s from the UAE which is better. But still a *racial slur*”. He said a couple other things but I was kind of too upset to process them because here we are, in this place that this man gave 25 million dollars to (this number was not made public until after his death per his request because he didn’t even want publicity for it.) Here is a quote from Chris Gade, the department’s chairman, “He recognized and he has told us directly that the money is really an expression of support for Mayo’s mission to provide the finest medical care to current and future patients 
potsiemouth 