Worst Hangover Ever

Hint: It wasn’t a hangover.

It wasn’t what they thought it was, either. But I’ll get to that point later.

I thought it was a hangover. But I started to doubt my thoughts when a doctor at a rheumatology clinic handed me a post-it note with these three words scrawled on it:

Systemic lupus erythematosus.

It was the fall of 2011. I’d drank a bunch of beer for the first time since having my baby in 2010. She’d just quit nursing, and I was READY. 

My college besties and I met for a bachelorette party at the beach. At some point during our holiday, I declared myself to any and all who would listen, the “Mayor of Delaware.” 

(“Hangover” legit checked out.) 

Except … this was lasting weeks. And even though my life was much different post-baby, I grew up in rural Iowa in the 90s. I can hold my beer. So I saw my primary care doctor. My low grade, constant fever concerned her, so she sent me to a specialist. 

I was glad. I felt like hell. Imagine your worst hangover EVER. With a one-year-old. And a new business you refused to let fail. And a husband whose uber-demanding job required long hours and caused significant stress. 

The rheumatologist was a kind man. He explained how my strange assortment of symptoms could be an autoimmune response.

For those unfamiliar, autoimmune responses happen when your body goes haywire. It attacks healthy cells and tissues, wreaking all kinds of havoc. For me, it was rashes, unexplained joint and muscle pain, and insurmountable fatigue.

The first time I saw him, I reported my symptoms. He did a physical exam noting joint swelling and redness. My reported symptoms sounded “autoimmune in nature.” I’d need to have bloodwork. They took 12 vials of blood. He’d call me with the results. 

I knew they’d found something when his medical assistant called me and scheduled me to come in the next day. 

That’s when he gave me the Post-In note. He told me to Google it. 

I’m going to be real with you. Again, I was relieved. There was a name to what I had. Surely that meant they could fix it. 

Back home, it took me about 5 minutes consulting Dr. Google to learn this would NOT be the case. 

While my bloodwork remained “inconclusive” for a diagnosis, there were abnormalities. Further investigation was required.

The rheumatologist suggested further genetic testing. He also referred me to a neurologist. Soon enough, I had a whole team of doctors working on me. I had X-rays and MRIs and nerve tests that included shocks. 

Meanwhile, I hurt. I hurt, badly. I realized I’d never known true exhaustion. The brain fog was the worst. It threatened my work and my ability to feel confident parenting. 

Autoimmune diagnoses are typically ones of exclusions. Some carry hallmark signs that shuttle people into a definitive diagnosis, such as MS or rheumatoid arthritis. The doctor told me the average lupus diagnosis takes five years. Once we determined that my brain and heart were not being targeted, he rested a little easier. 

My bloodwork, genetic findings, and physical presentation presented as “undifferentiated connective tissue disorder.” I was at higher risk for stroke. Baby 2 was taken off the radar, indefinitely.  In part because I felt awful. In larger part due to the high-risk to baby and me. 

I started new medications. They helped my bloodwork return to normal and kept me out of the hospital. But my brain remained foggy. Tired and exhausted became my only truth. I stopped any and every activity that wasn’t required. I was stuck at home before 2020 made it cool. My body still hurt and required days upon days of bed rest. 

For a hyperactive person like me, this experience was more than a mindfuck. And for much of my 30s, I was physically and emotionally very unwell. 

I fell asleep, night after night, crying about how my life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Until one day, I surrendered. I looked honestly at the hand I was dealt. I quit bitching. From a dark, scary, hopeless place, I screamed into the void with all of my energy:

NOW WHAT?

Soon enough, I discovered meditation. From this foundational practice, everything changed. 

In the coming weeks, this middle-aged lady is going to share how she got healthier and happier. No gimmicks. Nothing to buy. Nothing for you to do at this point but suspend your disbelief (I say this with humility, knowing how impossible this can be when all you know is pain and hurt.)

If you, or someone you love, is dealing with or has dealt with a life-changing illness, please share. I may have taken the long road to better physical and emotional health, but I promise you this: I know some GREAT shortcuts.*

Signed,

🤘 The Mayor of Delaware 🤘

* Shortcuts that are, in fact, applicable regardless of being sick or not. Anyone who is moving through any level of change or uncertainty or even stress will find these helpful. Everyone is welcome to this party! ✌️

2011 when I crowned myself Mayor of Delaware after a few too many 🍻