It’s been a week, let us tell you. After a CLUSTERFvCK of misdiagnoses and unnecessary pokes, thousands of dollars in co-pays we will have to deal with fighting through Cigna for imaging never even correctly ordered, here we are.

The video will say what happened at the most local hospital we barely trusted before. No idea how excruciatingly shameful that hospital made me feel. I was “full autistic,” and unable to do a darn thing to turn it off.

For hours, I was violently ill with tachycardia running into the 150’s for decent stretches of time. We can barely talk about it, minus shaking our heads and begging our beloved NP never to send anyone there again.

The photos of relief are relief because of a provider going above and beyond for her patient and former peer who she trusts. Even when I was in her office (see the picture with the visible spasms in my neck) and couldn’t open my eyes, had a HR of 157 from pain and the lights just being excruciatingly too bright; she remembers who I am and WAS before life shit on our chests in EVERY SINGLE CAPACITY in our house in 2020 and we’ve barely gotten to breathe.

I respect her and she values me for who I am when I’m more capable of serving others. She knows and she cares for a broken hearted former nurse who can’t do much now but cheer strangers on on social media. I so appreciate her. She’s wonderful and I now make sure she treats my husband and baby girl.

Christina Husemann, NP saved my husband and I from being forced to keep begging God to make it stop. Once I’m asking God if He is mad at me for not letting me breathe, literally; the pain is past the point of reckoning.

I have panic attacks now. That’s fairly new. It happens pretty easily so when your entire chest from your jaw to your iliac crest in your hip are locked, it pulls your diaphragm and pulls your obliques so tight that your gut motility stops. Add vomiting to esophageal rupture and it was more pain than 64 hours of labor with the cute girl I made.

This week, I’ve lived in the tub. Our water bill will be ridiculous and it will have to have been worth every overpriced penny. It was the only relief I got. After the bath, I’d sit in front of a space heater for several hours to keep my muscles hot. My fingers are raw from massaging myself. Timmy does it, but I’m SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much better. My daughter is amazing, too. I digress …

I have internal and external whiplash, autism that a troll on social media keeps saying I’m lying about for some damn reason 😂 and the anterior part of my neck is so spastic, I can’t speak well because just the movement of my vocal chords triggers a ripple effect of tiny spasms that lock up entire muscle groups. It’s maddening.

My family grew together this week in spite of exhaustion, pain, failed Christmas breaks, rage, terror, prayer, my husband physically laying on top of my back for HOURS on Saturday because I couldn’t stop shaking from pain and fever.

I couldn’t take Propanolol safely so he, a man who barely breathes when he is tense, helped remind me that I DO know how to breathe and meditate very well. He carried me into the tub we didn’t have last year because our house drowned and we had no bathroom.

I asked him if God was mad at me, and his relatively agnostic heart told me my Father was not and He was there, too. He then put on my Bluetooth speaker so I could listen to Brandi Carlile sing to me that if I just layed in the tub and went somewhere else, I’d breathe soon without trying not to panic.

I don’t know why I wrote all that, but since I cannot speak very well; I use the one voice I continue to only have. I use social media to connect, find work, make friends, feel like I am saving lives again; there’s SO MANY reasons why I am everywhere.

Someone said I was attention seeking, once or 1,000,000 times. I told them I had notifications off on my phone for about a year and I missed two phone calls from the same person, ONLY. I don’t know what my voice out there is, but I know it matters because I have been, and will ALWAYS be an advocate. I’ll fail at doing it and I’ll say, “fvck,” too much.

It doesn’t hurt very much, however, when someone you know is invested in you being a more whole human says, “Oh my word. Do I ever fvcking love you?!” ♥️

Be kind. It’s an order from the “fake” Queen Buttercup.