A Very Lucky Girl

I've been back in the States since May 27th and I've been to the dentist's office four times in the span of those 17ish days. In my book, that's rather excessive. The result of these appointments was a wisdom teeth extraction surgery on Tuesday morning..."oh hey welcome back to America! We'll be ripping open your gums and viciously stealing your teeth."  So that happened and I'm currently in recovery mode, which has been a roller-coaster ride of extreme pain and Netflix bliss.  I was a little nervous about going under anesthesia. The only surgery I had before was the gall bladder removal when I was about 5 days from death and mostly unconscious. I was afraid of what it would be like to be fully aware of being put to sleep.  This was also a new stressful experience to combine with Addison's Disease. I asked my trusty FB forum for their input and called my endocrinologist. I spoke with the oral surgeon about any of her previous experience operatin...

Confession: Sometimes I feel truly blessed to have Addison's Disease. For one, it's fairly manageable, and for two (the best reason), I have met some amazing people through this connection! I use "met" loosely because I have yet to physically meet any of these women, but they all sound so wonderful on social media! And I hope one day I can hug each one and compare drug prescriptions and medical alert jewelry while swapping ER stories. Alycia: I found Alycia on Instagram when I scrolled through the hashtag #addisonsdisease last year. After wading through endless pictures of dogs (fun fact: dogs get Addison's Disease and I swear the world knows more about the canine disorder than the human one. Nope, not bitter), I stumbled upon a picture of a race to raise awareness for Addison's Disease. Being a runner, I was instantly intrigued and decided to creepily comment and ask Alycia about it. She informed me that it was in Australia, where she lives, so that was a ...

I found a paper that I wrote last fall about Addison's Disease for my Modern Monsters writing class. I have a hard time describing or admitting to this autoimmune disorder. It's hard to see myself as less than perfect and not be able to change it. And it's especially difficult to let others see this weakness, as it's not easily understood.  I panted up the stairs, dragging the last of the suitcases, and wiping the Texas heat from my brow with “riff ram bah zoo, give ‘em hell TCU” emblazoned across my purple shirt. It was August 17, 2010, and this was move-in day. I had finally graduated that May and my parents were sending me off into the real world at Texas Christian University. I could not wait to start this independent portion of my life and lounged across my newly lofted bed in anticipation of my roommate’s arrival, rushing a sorority, and the first week of classes.  Fast-forward two months. I was a habitually messy roommate, initiated Alpha Delta Pi member, and...