Roosting in Shame

No matter how much I followed some Wiccan beliefs, I could never truly let go of God and the church, and this was a huge struggle for me. Not only was I having a child out of wedlock, I didn't even know for sure who the father was. I hid my pregnancy for as long as I could. I even drank fake liquor with my pregnant cousin, hoping no one would know. By morning everyone knew. Then the speculation began. I had people questioning who his father was everywhere, and every time I had to admit I didn't know I died a little more inside.

I spent a few months with my parents as I looked for an apartment, and in April of 2010, 2 weeks early and dramatic as hell, my reason to keep going was born. I wasn't sure how but at that point I was determined to give him the best life I possibly could. When he was old enough for daycare I registered at Cambrian to go back to school. A marketing background in Sudbury was useless at the time. There were very few companies with positions, and most were still in traditional marketing. I took math upgrading, and enrolled in the civil engineering program.

Then what felt like a miracle happened, one day I’m walking out to the smoking section near trades and there he was, my best friend. He was at the school doing his apprenticeship training as a carpenter. To say my heart dropped is an understatement. We caught up in that smoking gazebo, and regularly met up for smokes over the year, and I even once got to take Liam to meet his Mom and Dad. For me it was such a special moment that I don't think anyone who hasn't been in that situation can understand.

I got to watch the reason I was alive to have my son, holding him and smiling at him like he was God’s gift to the world.

That was the last time I saw Them, and shortly later the last time I saw him. After a year in the program I realized something was wrong, I was having cognitive delays, I was exhausted beyond what is normal for a single mom, and I was losing the use of my hands, my grip would randomly let go or just trying to take notes was excruciating

The Decline

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This started what ended up being years of tests and hypotheses; nothing ever quite met all the criteria. I was diagnosed with Raynaud's Disease; in some trades, they call it white hands. It explained some things but not everything. I was put on medications to help get blood flow to my hands and feet while I did more and more testing. Blood draw after blood draw, MRIs, ultrasounds, nothing was ever conclusive. The medication didn't work, but it lowered my blood pressure so much that one of my clients found me passed out on the sidewalk a block from work.

Things got worse from there; it felt like my body was giving out. The pain and achiness were constant. I would spend days in bed, barely able to move. They did neurological testing to rule out MS and similar conditions, then by some miracle, my RH factor spiked. My physician got me an assessment with the arthritis society here in Sudbury so they could do a proper joint count to see if I actually had signs of autoimmune arthritis.

Every joint in my hands was swollen; to be honest, my entire body was just a skin sack of inflammation. I never thought a chronic illness would be a celebration, but at least I had a diagnosis.

Before that, I had to find ways to make sure we survived; my pain made it hard for me to care for myself, let alone a small child. Making sure Liam was fed and cared for even when I wasn't able to do much became a focus. Precooking meals we could just reheat, keeping easy quick things that could be microwaved. We would spend the evening cuddled in bed watching TV together because I was in too much pain to play with him.

It broke my heart that I was failing him. He deserved so much more, a mom who could take him skating, teach him sports, and take him to the park. I sank into a functional depression; day in and day out, I just went through the motions. Men came and went, but nothing really stood out.

Treatment was a double edged sword

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I started treatment for a diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis but was still sent for testing for psoriatic as well. I started with a routine treatment of Methotrexate injections, and if you know, you know what I am going to say next. This was the end of any self-worth I had left. I started to feel better, but I had gained back the weight I worked so hard to lose. After I had Liam, I managed to lower my body weight to 245lbs. I had spent hours in the gym while I was going to school to lose it. The stagnation and lack of movement kept adding it on.

Then we add in the most dreaded part of Methotrexate: I started to lose my hair, and let's be real, with how thin it’s always been, I didn’t have any to spare. I honestly probably would have completely shut down and given up if it hadn’t been for Liam. He deserved more, and I had to give it to him; I just didn’t know how. I applied for ODSP; I needed to support us somehow. It was a fight; the criteria for getting ODSP back then made it very difficult to prove how a disease like arthritis would affect your day-to-day life. The way the questions were asked essentially left you telling them you were perfectly okay or lying. There was no understanding that chronic illness is not a daily illness; it's an unpredictable illness, it's an illness that always appears when it’s most inconvenient. Yes, we are always in some baseline of pain. Those of us that choose to work to overcome it, come to see that once you can manage your baseline pain, once you have some level of stability, you can begin to grow again, and although all of these terrible side effects were there, I kept going because the drugs were helping. Continue Owl's Story