The Good Days

We are the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus of chronic illness. Joy is my sun. Soaring too close to the sunny rays of joy is always my undoing.

“Managed joy” those are the words I landed on with my therapist.

My top 3 day of my life happened last year and the prolonged excitement kept me in bed for the better part of the next two months.

My husband has grown accustomed to monitoring it as well, which helps but can be tough to accept. He usually prompts me to take health inventory when I’m doing too much. We are the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus of chronic illness. Joy is my sun. Soaring too close to the sunny rays of joy is always my undoing. Sometimes I get so caught up in the happy, nothing else matters. In those moments I have to ask myself the hard questions, “is this worth a potential flare? Being in bed the rest of the week?”

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, it is incredibly hard for my personality and disability to coexist. With my POTS and EDS, I have to limit physical and social situations or risk burnout and knock my recovery off its axis.

Four years later and it is still so hard for me to accept that I don’t get to be the woman who goes on runs after a long day of work. I can’t have back to back social/physical happenings these days without large consequences. Now I can get an IV and prepare for these events (such as these photos you see here.) Nothing is without thought anymore. You know when you look down at the most used buttons on a remote? How faded they are. You didn’t notice the way it faded. It was done incrementally. One day you look down and you wonder “when did the symbol on this button wear off?” When was the last day I got to stand up without adrenaline and heart pounding? Even now it hurts to think that there was a final day around this time four years ago that I went about my day healthy. My last run. My last functioning day at work. Last time I left the house without needing a walker in my car. All these last times and I had no idea. When did all this become second nature?

These realizations are deeply emotional and can verge on painful. The memories of life before the chronic illness overtook are inviting and warm. They’re very hospitable, at first. They have cute clothes and fun nights in a big city. But if you stay in them you can get stuck. You can’t grow when you’re stuck. So you must move through it. Similar to when Frodo puts on The Ring in LOTR. He wears it to escape but the longer he wears the ring, the more danger he is in. It drains him. Burdensome. It isn’t until he takes off the ring and continues onward that he can really be safe.

I have had to learn through trial and error what amount of social/physical I can handle at given times. I have had to carefully set my health boundaries by way of being honest with myself and others. I can be a people pleaser and let me tell you, chronic illness is the best way to get over that. I have set expectations with those in my circle. Everyone is accommodating and extends grace (if they didn’t we wouldn’t be making plans anywho because that isn’t something I’d waste precious energy on.) Some of my friends have chronic illnesses as well and I truly treasure when one of us has to cancel due to health and the other supports and understands. No added stress. Just love and support. Nonetheless, monitoring the inconsistent physical and emotional energy can be a lot. But the days when all the boundaries and care pays off? When you get to have a good day?!

Well darling, we’re going to put on a fabulous outfit and go enjoy your day to the fullest… without compromising the next one, of course. We’re going to add in a health recovery buffer day (or 3) so in the event we have too much fun, it’s already been managed. One thing is for sure, we are still going to live our best life.

What do you like doing on your good days?

Photography by Alexa Lei

Self Storage

I came to the realization that I have been storing my old self in that storage unit like Vodlemort stored a part of his soul in Harry Potter. If all my old life is still in this unit, I can still go back to that life. It isn’t over. It.can’t.be.over.

When I first got sick in 2018, I bought a mini storage unit. We had no idea where life was going to take me at that point. Part of me was convinced I’d stay with my mom for two months, get better (LOL), find medicine that helped and then I’d go right back to my career and move in somewhere. Two months came and went. Two years came and went. My bed. My clothes. My belongings. My life. All quaintly tucked away in a little 5×10 unit.

I left in such a rush, my lovely sister and brother in law moved all my belongings into the unit for me. I had a general inventory of what was in there but over time you forget.

Everytime I would visit my sister, health permitting, she would take me to the unit so I could sort through my clothes and belongings to see if we could Goodwill anything. It was emotionally taxing. Especially my prized work wardrobe. It was everything to me. If I could just wear them again, everything would be fine. Getting rid of them felt too final. Everytime we went, I kept things even if it didn’t make sense because I was just sure I would resume my old life at any moment. My sister was always on the edge of pulling an Elsa and yelling, “LET IT GO”. It took me a while to come to grips with how debilitatingly sick I was/am. When you’re watching your new career pass you by. When you’ve paid off the student loans of a college degree you can’t even come close to using right now. When you’re realizing you can’t casually go on a run. When it feels like everything you’ve done to get where you got was all for nothing, you’ll hold on to anything. For me it was bags of beautiful horcrux skirts.

(I’ve got a lil pile in my sister’s garage now and we are one trip and a large suitcase away from having the transferable parts of my life on a plane.)

You know how when you’re driving and you miss a turn and the navigation system immediately begins recalculating? It searches for the best way to get you back on your original path. There are instances though where maybe the traffic or some circumstance won’t permit the U- turn your navigation suggests. At some point your navigation is going to throw in the towel and say, “rerouting”. It then proceeds to find your new path.

Let me tell you though, from experience? Much easier to reroute your gps than your life.

Most chronically ill people face that decision at one point in their health journey. Sometimes your “how do I get back to being healthy?” path turns into a “how do we live a meaningful life with this?”

I’m trying to have both of those paths coexist right now. Prayerfully hoping and working toward healing but also imagining life with POTS in varying degrees.You know what though? I have the ultimate safety net of a great God and I have the most amazing support anyone could ever hope to have. I know no matter how this pans out, I will be loved. Maybe, just maybe, letting go of yourself (no matter how fabulous) is how you find your new self. Dare I say it, your best self.

I am trying my best to make a space for this new Mariah. No matter what that entails.

Where are you metaphorically or literally storing yourself that’s preventing you from moving forward?

Photography : Alexandrea Leigh

My lovely dress by : Madeline Marie

Fairy Fail

Vines cover the walls of labyrinths. You need to learn which vines have thorns and which ones don’t. If you want to reveal people’s thorns, get sick

We are a generation raised on fairy tales. When I thought about my future. It was rosy. It was motivating. Limitless. We think of the different kingdoms we’ll travel to. Our dream careers. Who our prince or princess will be. The wardrobe is of course very important. My ideal fairytale version of life was very Shonda Rhimes female lead (minus the infidelity). I was excited to have found the challenging career. I was curating the work wardrobe. Life was happening. We are raised on fairy tales that have quick conflict resolution. No one tells you that the dragons, evil stepmothers, and crazy octopus witches aren’t always easy to spot. That sometimes they are masquerading as chronic illness. I was living my fairy-tale story line. And then I wasn’t. My evil stepmother is POTS. Limiting what I can do and where I can go. My carriage is a walker (rollator). My fairy godmother is made of IVs and salt. Cloaked in 175 mg of Metoprolol. But you know how the story goes, the magic powers always wear off come morning.

When I started feeling my power draining in the fall of 2017, I didn’t even register it as a side quest potential. Turns out it’s a bit bigger than a side quest. Little did I know, I was walking through the entrance of the labyrinth of chronic illness. A labyrinth bewitched with thick fog that makes it hard to think through basic functions. Gravity hits harder here. My standing upright powers diminished. After a while, the floor feels like lava as the blood is pulled to the feet with no way out. A simple change in the wind causes adrenaline induced paranoia. Not being able to discern what is danger and what isn’t. (Nothing says a distorted sense of reality quite like dropping to the floor and crying because someone set a dish down too loudly.)

Once you’ve been in the labyrinth of chronic illness long enough, you learn some of its tricks of course (we love some accidental word play.) You start to know where the villains’ evil sidekicks are hiding. You can avoid some altogether and the ones you can’t avoid, at least you know how to beat them now. For instance, sprinkling some Liquid IV powder into water creates the ultimate hydration potion for a little energy boost. Using a walker acts like a bridge to get you over the lava. You can still feel the heat pooling in your feet but not debilitatingly so. Hot dogs and Digiorno pizza boost powers as well. That one is obvious though, is it not?

One of the best things you can do sometimes is to be still and listen. To feel the walls and remember they are just made of stone and nothing more. Focusing on one section of the labyrinth at a time instead of getting caught up in its vastness, is wildly helpful.

Here’s a word of caution: vines cover the walls of labyrinths. You need to learn which vines have thorns and which ones don’t. If you want to reveal people’s thorns, get sick. Their negativity and/or disbelief of your illness will do nothing other than try and grab hold of you and drag you down. It’s ok to whip out your sword and whack ‘em so they no longer have a hold. This journey is winding enough, long enough, and tough enough, without buttholes giving their two cents.

The silver lining is that the Author of my fairytale wrote a prince charming early on in my story so I didn’t have to find him at a ball whilst pumped full of saline. Cause man on man do you need a sidekick of some sort because it’s a big quest to go it alone. Now if you can get a fellowship going, you’ll be as golden as a golden goose. I’ve been blessed with a fellowship which is not something I take for granted. Frodo wouldn’t have made it off that first road in the Shire without Sam. There are no bonus points for setting out on this journey alone. Seek all the help. Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

I’ll be honest though, I thought I’d be through this particular labyrinth by now. I guess it isn’t really a labyrinth if you know the way out and how long it will take. This is no seasonal corn maze made by the local farmer. I suppose the Author of my fairy tale is really going for the bulk of my character development in this chapter. So I’m just going to have to keep trusting in the progress I’ve made and the process it’s going to take to the exit of this thing.

When I think of my future, it is still rosy, it is still motivating, and it is still limitless. You should as well. When you’re chronically ill it can feel like you’ve failed some part of life. Like your entire fairy tale is getting derailed. The storyline may be changing, yes, but that’s all. A change. Not an ending. Think of how boring Snow White and Cinderella would be without their villains and conflicts. This is simply adding some spice to your fairy tale. I really believe I’ll get out of this sooner than later. That I’ll get back to the super fun chapters of my fairy tale where my powers return and I’m driving, working, walking, running, etc. Time will…. tale.

Be Your Own Representation

“Yes, I have a walker but I’m still going to sparkle”

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.

The Not-so-Super Superpower

“Oh I’ll kill him”

Remember when people would ask you what superpower you would choose? I always chose invisibility. You could sneak on planes. You could be in a room and listen without being noticed. You could appear to teleport. You could give the illusion of telekinesis. I felt like it was the most versatile option. The loophole of superpowers if you will because you could do a bit of each technically. But now, here I find myself with a sense of invisibility. It isn’t as foolproof as I once thought. I wish I could pull a Harry Potter and uncloak my illness but I can’t. The closest I can come is fainting or allowing blood to pool in my legs causing them to turn ugly colors with bulging veins even The Rock’s biceps would aspire to have. Not super into that idea. Doesn’t really match my *aesthetic*. So hard pass on the reveals.

If I had a dollar for everytime someone said, “You don’t look sick” I wouldn’t feel nearly as bad that I can’t work right now. Coming 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…”

I am thankful you can’t physically see my illness but not seeing it adds a pressure on top of being ill. At the end of the day, I’m 5’11 with an athletic build. I spent almost all of my life modeling so no one is looking at me and thinking, “that girl can’t walk 10 minutes straight” or “I bet if the waiter drops something she’ll begin crying and fainting”. It’s a catch 22. I don’t want to have to explain my behaviors/survival techniques but I am also happy people don’t give me pity stares.

A big mental hurdle with chronic and invisible illnesses is that you don’t have the time or energy to care what your situation looks like to people. Like me sitting on a bench while having my mom wait in lines or having her carry the heavy things because I can’t strain. It’s those moments while pre-boarding because you’re on the disability list and everyone looking you up and down looking at you like you are a fraud with no respect for the old woman behind you. I always want to turn around and say, “Agnes can flipping stand. She’s just old. If I go behind her slower-than-any-snail-I’ve-ever-owned self, I’ll pass out and delay this flight and it will be an event. So I’m boarding first.” I tried the other way and it DID NOT go well. The lesson here is you never let your pride win and wave off your wheelchair pusher and tell them you can make it on the plane solo. You gotta do what you gotta do but there are tough moments/situations when you’re a healthy looking 24-year-old with an invisible illness.

Another comment I get is from people with the greatest of intentions is when they tell me they are happy I’m out and about because they are worried I’m going to get depressed. Here’s the reality, I have zero control once outside my room. And it is terrifying.

The other day my mom and I had done my swim for the day and we ran into a woman we had done a bible study with years before. She had no idea I was sick. So she asked how to specifically pray for me and asked what I was going through. So while telling her what’s going on with my system, I’m specifically telling her how I struggle with constant high adrenaline, palpitations and high heartbeat (to name a few). She begins praying and not 10 seconds later a loud noise startled me. I opened my eyes and looked over, someone let the air out of something about 30 yards away and it devastated my system. The thing about when my body just goes off is that my thoughts remain the same. So while I have an attack it’s like my thoughts and logic are like “we’ll wait ’til you’re done, crazy” or “oh here we go, this will be a good one” These are actual thoughts I have had while sobbing and getting to a safe position to prevent fainting. Having a sarcastic mind during all of this is a blessing and a curse.

hpbody and mind — Ron is my Autonomic Nervous System. Harry is my thoughts.

I was able to get out an annoyed, “Oh I’ll kill him” (no idea who the guy is) before I began sobbing uncontrollably and then had to lay down because my heart rate went up by more than 30 bpm and my blood pressure plummeted. My mom knew right away I heard a sound so she was communicating to the woman who, at this point, was very confused and didn’t even hear the noise. This poor woman who was just made aware of my condition is now SEEING it. My thoughts came through with a, “well I guess she freaking knows what’s up now. Well done.” My body took about 15 minutes to somewhat recover. On top of it all, I cried my contact out which was a whole other issue….. It took an additional 10 minutes for my heart to get below 100. Something people do not realize about HyperPOTS, is you’re essentially on the verge of an attack at all times. It is one of the most debilitating and constricting symptoms. The moment I step into public, anything (literally the sound of air) can cause an attack and I have no control over it. There is no system override.

That’s just where my body is right now.

Every time I leave my room, I’m at risk of having an attack. This is all on top of my normal and prevalent symptoms, so not ideal.

There is no set medication for someone who has POTS. There are just families of drugs that we try. Earlier this week and toward the end of last week we have been corresponding with my Autonomic Specialist but it turns out….due to my latest beta blocker reaction, combined with my lab results, I am no longer a candidate for any of the medications for those with POTS. Turns out my resting heart rate and blood pressure are too low naturally for any of the medications doctors prescribe for POTS.

Translation: Buckle Up Buttercup.

Bed Riding

For future reference, we’ve been told anything under 55 is when you go to the ER….

Happy Friday,

Time for a general update:

A lot of people have been asking about the blog and when I’m going to post but even for me, it’s hard to find material when you spend 23 hours a day in a dark room. Shocking, I know. My energy levels were also very low to the point that when my mom brought my meals up, simply making eye contact felt exhausting. So writing was not on my to-do list. Making it through my day was all that was on my to-do list tbh.

When we tried to leave Mayo we had every travel issue in the book thrown at us. We spent 27 hours traveling from Rochester, MN to Myrtle Beach, SC. Everything that could go wrong traveling, happened. As some of you know, the 7th plane delay ended up occurring after we got on the plane that had no air conditioning and we had to deplane due to it being over 90 degrees outside. The sweltering heat almost caused me to pass out inside the plane and none of this is made easier by needing a wheelchair. We eventually got to Myrtle Beach.

We got here Sunday, May 13th. I began my beta blocker Propanolol that evening. I noticed my body temperature changes were not so extreme. It took a bit longer for my heart to skyrocket upon moving. I struggled for the first time in my life to hit 160 bpm while working out (albeit I was sitting down on a recumbent bike….) For potsies, the bed is the worst place to be which makes everything really difficult because most of us have chronic fatigue. We also have blood pooling in our legs. For me, it gets to the point where my skin itches and my ankles are so swollen I literally can’t even bend them. Since May 13th, I have been in bed about 90% of the time. We chalked it up to change of environment, exhaustion from traveling and being at Mayo all week. Then more recently, I started noticing more and more of my heart recordings were showing blue which means less than 60 bpm. Even at 50, I thought “meh, I’m fine”. It was the 34 bpm recording throughout the day that got me slightly concerned. For future reference, we’ve been told anything under 55 is when you go to the ER…. you live and you learn and I’m fine. After discussing with my doctor from Mayo, we decided to stop the beta blockers altogether. It is bittersweet because although I feel like my regular sick self instead of barely alive, beta blockers are the main treatment for POTS.

My “normal” sleep schedule has been about 6 a.m. to 12 p.m. It has been an absolute nightmare and my adrenaline is one of the causes of insomnia and is also made worse by it, so not ideal. One night I took 2 Benadryl and 2 Aleve PM and I was still up until 7 a.m. It has been agony. I missed the feeling of being sleepy tired which is completely different from feeling sick exhausted all the time, believe it or not. Wednesday we got some quality CBD products so I have slept well since Wednesday night. Which is a big deal!

So Tuesday was the first day of not taking my medication. My resting heart rate has been steadily rising which is exactly what we wanted. I can be somewhat mobile again. Going from my bed to the bathroom now warrants a change of over a 100 bpm within 30 seconds which is exhausting as always….so we are back to my normal sick self. Who knew I’d be grateful?

I got a recumbent bike from Amazon that I do my little workouts on. The hope is to recondition and to help sync up my system. Depending on the day, I can do 10 minutes and be finished or I can do 10 minutes at a time, recover and do a total of 20 or 30 minutes if I’m feeling wild. That’s a big day though. What the doctors did not seem to consider, is that I have to do these workouts AND THEN shower. It’s so much energy right now. I use a super age appropriate shower stool. It comes in a striking Millennial Grey for those of you looking to purchase one (I lied, that isn’t a thing). To be fair, shaving is a lot easier…Anywho, so basically, my existence has become trying to workout and shower. For example, I can’t workout, shower, and do my hair the same day. Below is the Spoon Theory. This has become the easiest way for people with chronic illnesses to explain to regular folk what our days are like. Go through your day and see how many spoons you use!!

Iron Woman

No matter what I am doing at the time, I need to freeze. It’s like playing a game of medical freeze tag all by myself.

Today was a day I needed. We sat across from Dr. Elizabeth Coon and went over all my results. My sweat test, the prickly one they did before my tilt table test, showed a low amount of sweat on my foot which means *drum roll, please* I have Neuropathic POTS. She believes the series of back to back colds I had for 3 months this fall caused the Neuropathic POTS (NP). NP symptoms come on quickly. Which is why I could run a 5: 48-minute mile in October and by January I couldn’t (still can’t) stand for more than a couple minutes. So NP is partial sympathetic denervation, especially in the legs. Basically, a dysfunction of one or more peripheral nerves. Just weird, nerd stuff. But….my hands tremor. As in, if Kevin Bacon were around he’d be all,

My blood pressure rises whenever it so chooses and I can feel my adrenaline coursing through my body. So Dr. Coon said I have crossover symptoms so I technically have both Neuropathic and Hyperadrenergic (pronounced: hyper-adjre-ner-jic) POTS. She thinks that my low ferritin (mine is 8, anything under 50 is low) caused my HyperPOTS.

None of this matters cause here is the cool part, my buddy Dr. Elizabeth Coon said that if I adhere to everything and aggressively get after it, in a year or a year and a half to two, I could live a somewhat normal life and then just maintain the cardio and diet! HOW GOOD IS GOD?! Like I could go to Disneyland and just make a day of it. I’ll need a recovery day or five but I’ll be able to handle it!

So my current goal is to walk 10 minutes 2 times a day and then work up to 60 minutes somewhere way way way down the road. I also need 10-20 grams of salt a day. Is that a lot of salt, you ask? Well yes dear, the normal human should never exceed 1.5 grams apparently. I’m no mere human though, I’m a Potsie so I can eat as much salt as I want and it isn’t enough. She gave me this amazing list and Kimkim isn’t happy about it. As you can see, my doctor told me to drink hot cocoa, have cake, eat bread, and pancakes. So lots of Olive Garden and IHOP! Maybe this POTS stuff isn’t so bad!

She also prescribed me some additional iron pills to get my ferritin up. You’ll notice the title is “Iron Woman” this is ironic (lol can’t stop, won’t stop) because I don’t have much iron. I get to take Propanolol, a beta-blocker, 10mg twice a day to start. This will help with my heart rate as well as the constant palpitations. We will start this after we get to Myrtle Beach in case something happens while traveling. Low blood pressure can be an issue with this medication and we don’t want to pass out in an airport. She also recommended Water Bolus Therapy. WBT is when you chug two 8-ounce glasses of water to higher blood pressure whenever feeling sick. This can higher blood pressure as much as 40 points.

We got my 24-hour Holter monitor as well as my 24-hour blood pressure cuff. I’ve got more wires than Iron Man. The blood pressure cuff goes off every ten minutes. No matter what I am doing at the time, I need to freeze. It’s like playing a game of medical freeze tag all by myself. Yes, on our way out I had to stop in the middle of the hallway and tell the woman behind me to pass on my right because I had to stand still. Such is life. I also always forget that I am allergic to the four little electrode pads for the Holter monitor, so they itch like crazy…

We went to this sick-nasty green granola place and I’d like to blame my nausea on the food. I was ok before we went in there… Anywho. I wanted to be a dork and document some of the excessive wiring. So I put on an off the shoulder top and posed through the nausea so we could pretend that POTS is cute. I know some of you are thinking, “Really? Of course, Mariah has a top like that when going to Mayo” You bet your bottom dollar that yes, yes I did bring a top like that. I did like walking through the clinic with my little blood pressure satchel because I felt visible. That is something really hard about POTS. If I’m sitting down or walking for 8 minutes or less, I don’t look sick. But my sexy satchel? Everyone who saw me knew I meant business.

So thank you so so much for all your prayers! Basically, I’ll take a year or so, reconditioning my system and hopefully, I will be able to get back to working like a normal 24-year-old!

Nueve de Mayo

I’M DONE FASTING!

I’ve had tests every day this week where I am asked to fast and I have not been into it at all. Being this close to a Valentino’s and not being able to go ham has not been good on the soul.

Finished my last test at 3:35 and ordered Valentino’s at 3:42 while waiting on an Uber in the Mayo lobby.

Today was the first time the new Epic system kind of got on my nerves. We had to wake up early to go get my 24 hour Holter Monitor and blood pressure cuff. We do the song and dance and get to the 19th floor only to be told there is a glitch they can’t override so they couldn’t give me the monitors which means the test won’t be finished in time before my meeting with my specialist. So we won’t be able to go over the results with her in person and talk about how we want to handle it. The purpose of this test is to confirm my subtype of POTS. If it is Hyperadrenergic POTS, it will show my blood pressure rising along with my heart rate. We do have results from my stress test where both were taken. We just won’t have a 24-hour span to see potential patterns.

BUT this did allow us to have a yummy breakfast at a cute little family owned cafe by the hotel.

So Mayo take two today….

I discreetly hauled my pee container from yesterday in an MK bag because, fashion. Dropped it off and no one was even looking at me funny! I think I could be a drug dealer. Be calm, be cool, make the drop, get out, don’t be seen. Idk if that’s how drug dealers talk but I bet they do.

Today was my Endocrine Test. For those with Hyperadrenergic POTS, HyperPOTS for short, the Endocrine System is the gossipy part of your body. Your Adrenal Glands are part of the Endocrine system. This is where your “fight or flight” hormone, adrenaline (epinephrine), starts. So for HyperPOTS, the Endocrine System is playing telephone, which we all know never ends well. My brain says, “stand up” but my systems call out, “OMG, omg she said we gotta stand up for ourselves! Fire up the canons!” The Adrenal glands get very, “You about to see something you ain’t never seen before”, a la Seabiscuit and then my heart gets going and I feel like absolute crap on top of it with lots of adrenaline and no energy or monsters in sight.

This test is done by giving me an IV, putting me in a dark quiet room for 30 minutes, having a nurse quietly come back in and take two vials of my blood through the IV, and then they have me walk around for 10 minutes and then having my blood drawn again. So if I do have HyperPOTS, my blood will hopefully show something that Mayo has seen before and we can better treat me. Hooray!

Let me tell you a quick little story. It’s about what I overheard in the waiting room. I have been realizing that I am the only person I have seen here under 65. As most patients are older, they talk louder and say things. Some adorable, some ignorant hateful.

So I am reading this really cool little display that tells the mini-biography of the man the Mayo Clinic Zayed Cardiovascular Center is named after, Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan. I’m finding it really cool and tell my mom he must have donated millions of 32191159_10215286100693092_531859883461443584_n 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 without regard to race or creed from all countries of the world,” Gade said of Sheikh Zayed. “That was his specific language back in 1996.” So, sir, if you have an issue sitting in Sheikh Zayed’s waiting room, due to his race, waiting to get potentially life-saving care from some of the best practitioners, and he helped make it possible? I suggest you go somewhere else.

*deep breathing*

So yeah test went great and I ordered Valentino’s in the lobby at Mayo so it’d make it to the hotel when we did. And it was amazing, full of flavor and no racism.

I had to order us minis because although the large was great, the box didn’t fit in our fridge and it ruined my leftovers.

You want me to do what…..?

“I was ushered into a room and given a container in a bag that looked like it was from the latest Yeezy collection. She pulls out this massive container and was like yeah so just for the next 24 hours…”

Ocho de MAYO!

Last night was one of the worst nights I’ve had as far as physically and emotionally. I ran out of my CBD drugs that my friend Connor had been getting for me. So I had nothing to calm my system down. My adrenaline levels and the painful palpitations that started after my Tilt Table Test along with a severe headache continued to be an issue until I finally went to sleep around one. I was just uncomfortable and sick of being sick and had a cute little meltdown on the bathroom floor. I hadn’t taken off my mascara yet so it was fantastically and tragically dramatic.

So today we had blood tests, a stress test, and I picked up my Container (wait for it.)

We got a wheelchair today because Mayo does not give out brownie points for overdoing it so. No glory, no guts. Blood tests were great. Nothing to report.

The stress test was lacking because, in my mind, you know the scene in Space Jam when they are trying to test the athletes to figure out what’s wrong? The guy running the test said, “how are you doing?” I said, “well I feel like I’m in the Space Jam montage but I’m missing that Barry White song…” He didn’t get it. We continued our non-talking, patient-tech relationship as I did not want him as a friend because he failed miserably. For you uncultured swine or for those of you that want a refresher, Space Jam Stress Test.

I was only able to walk for 8 minutes and 15 seconds before I became too symptomatic to continue the test. Apparently, they predicted that I’d go for 11 minutes and 39 seconds. I just love underachieving. Especially with my health.

By the time this was all said and done, I had been fasting for 15 hours. Most of you know, food is my favorite so I was more than done. So we wheeled underground to a neighboring hotel and got a large cinnamon roll and french toast before taking a quick nap.

Now let’s get to the good part shall we?

My schedule said that at 7:10 a.m., I had to pick up a container. With POTS, as some of you who have read this blog before, you know that salt is a big deal for my condition. So in order to figure out the proper amount of salt I need, we need to watch my potty. It was more aggressive than I thought.

I was ushered into a room and given a container in a bag that looked like it was from the latest Yeezy collection. She pulls out this massive container and was like yeah so just for the next 24 hours, you need to pee exclusively into this container. Like full on, carry this bag around in public and go about your day like it’s normal.

So below is a video of me oversharing because it was a source of joy for us today and anything that can make me laugh through all of this crap right now is deemed worthy of sharing.

Siete de Mayo

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Happy Siete de MAYO, all,

So today we met with the lovely Dr. Coon. She is an Autonomic specialist in the Neurology department at Mayo Clinic. She’s great. She didn’t even have to use the Google to know what POTS is! Whaaaat? Anyway. So the beauty of having patience is that we kind of had Mayo to ourselves. The waiting rooms here can hold no less than 100 people. We were two of maybe 10 in each waiting room we went to. What does patience have to do with this? Well, Mayo switched to Epic software and today was the first day so no one knew what to do and there were four people from Epic per Mayo worker which seemed a bit much. Anywho, we were warned it would be mayhem and it may take forever and we were like, “yeah no, that’s chill. I’m really sick. I’m just sitting around anyway, may as well be for you guys.” Most people rescheduled their appointments to avoid this, but it wasn’t too shabby!

I’m running on more adrenaline than normal due to my even more erratic sleep schedule… and the appointment started at 7:10 a.m… and I’m still on Portland time. So one can imagine. So she called out my shaky little self pretty quickly as I get pretty bad tremors in my hands with POTS anyways, especially with that much adrenaline. As we suspected, she’s pretty sure I have Hyperadrenergic POTS (irregular blood pressure, heart rate, and ADRENALINE rushes). So more tests tomorrow will help figure out the best way to combat this so I can be casually alive again.

So today is the day I have been dreading: Tilt Table Test day. The technician’s name was Jeff and he came and got me and said, “Hi, my name is Jeff,” and the thought of Channing Tatum in 22 Jump Street almost made me lose it. I was calm.

The TTT has more steps than I thought originally.

I was laid down on a cushy bed. All comfort was soon over.

Four little monitors about one inch wide and half an inch tall were placed on the left side of my body. On my foot, inside of my calf, outside of my upper calf, and the inside of my forearm. Acetylcholine, a neurotransmitter, was then pumped into said little monitors and a first it was hot, then it was itchy and then it felt like 100s of needles. Now pain, I can ignore. It went on for maybe 10 minutes and it was uncomfortable but also pretty whatever. I don’t know if you’ve seen Law Abiding Citizen, but when a man straps you on a table and is playing classical music while putting neurotransmitters on your body, it’s hard not to think he’s going to saw you to death piece by piece. But I haven’t killed or injured his wife or kids so I think Jeff is going to be nice. No revenge job needed.

I then had to breathe deeply in and out in time with a very slow light on a machine that went up and down. I know what you’re thinking, Mariah, it’s breathing, all your doing is breathing. Yes, able-bodied humans, I was. For me, however, that is not fun. I started experiencing presyncope. Presyncope is a state of lightheadedness, muscular weakness, blurred vision, and feeling faint. I had to do this twice. Jeff was a great technician but at some point, I felt like he was asking too much.

The next test I had to take a deep breath and then blow into a mouthpiece and keep the pressure gauge at 40 for 15 seconds. Again, not fun and had to do it twice. #presyncope. My buddy Jeff was blown away by the number of PVCs I was having the entire time… Premature Ventricular Contractions. Everyone has them I just have an abnormal amount on top of POTS and I can feel them and most people can’t. Such is life. That being said doable. All this was doable. Then we did the granddaddy of them all. The actual Tilt Table Test. *Que any and all dramatic music*

So I’m still laying on the torture bed and then Jeff took my blood pressure manually while the lovely Jeanie wrote down everything that was being recorded automatically. They then traitorously raised the table 70 degrees. Now I’m strapped in but this is not fun. At 122 bpm is when I can feel my blood pressure freak out. We get there quickly. So I said out loud, “Hey guys, I am not having fun”, I wanted their mercy and got nothing.

Taking vitals minutes 1, 2, 5, 10 is standard but I started getting really sick minute 5 so they began taking my blood pressure every thirty seconds. Have you ever held a sand timer? That’s how my body felt. Like granules draining down into a different chamber. To be fair that is what is happening but there’s a heaviness to it. It feels like someone is pouring sand on me while poking my entire body with the ends of uncooked spaghetti. It’s weird but that’s how it feels mmmk? I haven’t stood upright for 10 minutes this whole year so it is the worst I have felt in a while. It took me a while to recover so Jeff and I just hung out in the room and he told me the woes of having three girls and doing their laundry and figuring out whose underwear is whose. After an additional 10 minutes of recovery, he walked me back and I found my mom in the waiting room and I chugged a large Gatorade.

I rallied and we took Mayo pictures, got the shuttle to the hotel, and I now have every intention of sleeping off this terrible feeling for the rest of the day.

The worst is over so I’m a happy camper. We start all over again tomorrow at 7:10. LOL at rhymes.

(If there are errors, I’ve had a long day.)

	Getting Married with… on Getting Married with POTS Part…
	potsiemouth on Siete de Mayo
	cordero barkley on Siete de Mayo
	Travina on The Good Days
	kimberlystevens9093 on The Good Days

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I’M DONE FASTING!

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