A glimpse into my future...

Today was the last day of my physical therapy program at Cardinal Hill. Since it is a 45 minute drive and school is starting back, I am transitioning to independent therapy and will continue in Richmond on my own. After my last exercise, I went into the locker room to shower and change and a lady followed behind me. I had seen her many times before, but we had never really spoken. While I was changing in a stall, she let me know she was borrowing the sink area where I had plugged in my straightener to use her hair dryer.

When I emerged from the stall, I saw this lady drying her short blond hair. Sometime during the five minutes I was changing clothes, she had managed to get dressed and do her makeup. She wore a black and white striped shirt, jeans, and a maroon pashmina scarf, an outfit I often wear. I often get ready in the locker room, hair and makeup included, since I drive such a long way and usually have other activities or appointments in Lexington. The older ladies often stare or make comments about me getting all dolled up. Not this woman. We chatted about the weather, doctors appointments, and then she mentioned to me and another lady in the room about visiting Gatlinburg with her family this spring.

None of this seemed out of the ordinary until she said that she will probably take her wheelchair along to make her trip easier. Not many conditions allow you to choose when to utilize certain equipment - either you're wheelchair bound or you're not. But with connective tissue disorders like mine, some days you need a brace, cane, or chair, and some days you don't.

As she picked up a cane, about to leave the locker room, I wrestled with myself about whether or not to ask what medical condition she has. But my encounter with Deborah briefly entered my mind and so I asked. "MS and mixed connective tissue disorder." As this woman spoke of her issues, symptoms, doctors, and medications, I nodded in agreement and my eyes brimmed with tears because this woman standing before me was my future.

I wasn't crying because I didn't want to be her. The opposite, actually. This woman was strong, brave, and happy. She had struggles. Just that day she had been to the doctor for several hours, followed by physical therapy in the pool. She uses a cane when needed. But she was there. She wore makeup, she fixed her hair, she looked happy. She looked like someone I would like to grow up to be.

Her name is Melissa and she is my mom's age, making her the first person I have met with a connective tissue disorder that is over 25. Being a relatively new diagnosis, not many middle-aged people have been diagnosed with these issues or if they have, it was after years of suffering.

Melissa spoke with such wisdom and understanding. She is obviously a woman of faith and that was evident in the way she talked with me and of her medical journey. She told me of the struggles and scares she has had and of how she was revived after dying from a reaction to a medication. She said, "I still feel like God had a job for me to do here. I don't what it is - maybe it is witnessing to you today."

As tears streamed down my face, Melissa wrapped her arms around me and told me that everything will be okay. But she didn't leave it at that. She told me it will be hard, that sometimes it gets worse before it gets better, but to never give up the fight or let other people, even doctors make me feel bad about who I am and what I have been given. She gave me her contact information and promised we could talk if I ever needed anything, had questions, or just wanted to talk to someone who understands and has made it through.

With this condition, I often meet or hear of people who are on this journey with me, but very rarely do I meet people who have already surpassed where I am and won the battles I am facing. Melissa put a smile on my face, tears in my eyes, and wisdom in my mind, but most importantly she filled me with hope. A hope for a future, an uncertain future, a future with maybe a cane or wheelchair, but a future of happiness, love, and life. That's really all I could ever want.

Meet my therapy cat, Tigger.

For approximately three years, I have begged my parents to get me a kitten. Their response was that I already have a cat. While there is a cat who lives in my house, everyone knows she loves my dad the most and is, therefore, his cat. Her name is Cassie and she has lived here for about seven years, since she was a kitten.

Ironically, I was the one who asked if she could live inside. I would run down the hallway and she would chase after me. She would curl up in my lap and sleep. Her first night in the house, she slept in my bed. That was when the warning occurred. When I woke up the next morning, my sheets and pajamas were covered in cat poo. I still adored Cassie, but that may have been her first time telling me that the feelings were not mutual.

Cassie was sweet and playful for awhile. After about a year, she had a tragic accident with a recliner. Her little neck got caught in it, as the recliner was lowering back down. We thought she wouldn't make it. We put her on a little pillow, surrounded her, crying and praying during what we thought would be her last moments. The next morning she awoke and acted as if nothing had happened. Except that the nice sweet cat was no more and instead we had a little hissing and growling machine. We like to say the niceness got knocked out of her that day.

Don't get me wrong; Cassie has her moments. But you must love her on her own terms. Pet her when she wants to be petted and only for how long she wants to be petted. Play when she wants to play. And never, ever, under any circumstances do you touch her tummy. But despite all this, she is our dear pet and we love her. Especially Dad.

When he goes to bed, she runs down the hall after him and sleeps under the bed or near the window. When Dad wakes up in the morning, Cassie runs into the bedroom again and lets dad pet her while she plays with his socks. When she hears the Windows computer shut down noise, she gets up because she knows Dad is about to change rooms. They have this routine together and nobody else seems to understand what Dad did to receive all of Cassie's love.

So it is understandable that I wanted a kitten. I wanted a cat that was mine. One who would let me pet it whenever I wanted, pick it up and carry it, play with it, and have it actually like me. I used every possible thing I could think of to get my parents to buy me a cat. I reminded them of each of my medical conditions several times... I mean if playing the heart card won't get me a kitten, what will? I begged, pleaded, tried to convince, and each holiday I just pretended like I was getting a cat. Dad told me to keep dreaming and Mom always said I was making her feel badly for not getting me a kitten.

But the beautiful and magical holiday season of 2014 brought wonderful things to me. The kittenless hearts of my parents were melted and somehow through the magic of the season, a kitten appeared under our Christmas tree.

I immediately figured out that it was for me. His little orange face was poking out of the cat carrier, a bow laying on the floor that had been tied around his neck. He was small, only 5 pounds, and had such a sweet face. My parents told me that he was a rescue, who had been abandoned by his mother, and had been hand fed the first few months of his life. He had been given the name Tigger and I decided it fit him perfectly.

We quickly bonded and once he got comfortable, the purring started... and wouldn't stop. This cat has the loudest purr I have ever heard. The only time he doesn't purr is when he is eating or sleeping. Sometimes when he curls up next to me at night, I can't fall asleep because he is purring so loudly. Tigger is also a patient little guy. I can pick him up and carry him around the house with no complaining. He will play with me, let me hold and pet him, and he even takes naps with me. He has just the right temperament to be a good fit for me.

Individuals with certain medical conditions often have service or therapy animals. Recently, I had been telling my parents that I want to get a therapy dog when I am living on my own. Therapy animals visit places like hospitals, schools, nursing homes, and colleges to help people with emotional support and stress relief. For those in the nursing home, having a furry friend come to visit can provide some joy to their lonely day. As a college student, I love when the therapy animals visit us during finals week. It is so nice to take a study break and relax by petting a dog.

Once I got Tigger acclimated to our house, I began to realize that he has the type of demeanor needed by therapy animals. I looked up information on how to train to be a therapy team. We have to wait until Tigger is older, but we then can attend classes together and complete an evaluation and training. For now, I bought a harness for him to practice wearing, since that is a requirement. I have high hopes for this little guy.

Until he can help others, he is my own personal therapy cat. He is already bringing me so much joy. Today, after a particularly hard day at physical therapy, I scooped up little Tigger and we took a nap together. Just relaxing next to a furry friend can make you feel so much better.

Oh and for those of you wondering, Cassie and Tigger aren't quite best friends yet. I think we may get there eventually. For now, they can be in the same room without a fight breaking out and I am grateful for that. Tigger is determined to play with Cassie and although she protests with hisses and growls, he just keeps on trying. As I said, he is a very patient cat, and apparently wants to be everyone's friend.

"What greater gift than the love of a cat."

-Charles Dickens

Debora.

Recently, I started pool therapy. You know how you see the elderly ladies at the YMCA doing water aerobics? Well, I am still working up to that. Mostly I do different walks with ankle weights and other resistance equipment. I practice balancing exercises. I step on and off a step/platform. I do bicycle and scissor kicks. And I watch as the elderly patients swim laps past me.

My fellow EDS friend tells everyone she is 80 years old on the inside. The same goes for me, so I guess this is why we both get along with old people so well. Having pool therapy at a place where the majority of patients are 60 years and older makes me stick out like a sore thumb. Sometimes people look at you like "Why are you here? You look perfectly healthy." While I do appreciate not looking sick, I also wish I could more easily explain my condition to others, especially the elderly, so they could understand why I don't look sick, but am.

After my second PT session, I was in the locker room attempting to undress, shower, and change clothes. An older woman sitting in the locker room thought this was a perfect time to strike up a conversation. (I really prefer to be fully dressed when talking with strangers.) The conversation went something like this...

Old lady: You're awfully young, why are you here?

Me: I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, it's a connective tissue disorder that affects my collagen, making my joints unstable and causing a lot of pain. I'm here to work on balance, stability, and manage pain.

Old lady: Ohh, so it is like Arthritis? I have Osteoarthritis.

Me: -Thinking to myself- No, not really. -Out loud- Yes, kind of like arthritis.

Old lady: Well this is the best thing you can do. I come several times a week. I hope you get better.

Me: -Thinking to myself- Not going to happen. -Out loud- Thank you very much, have a good day.

This is how conversations, particularly with the elderly, often go. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE talking with people, especially older people. I have tremendous respect for them and their wisdom and advice. But when it comes to medical developments and rare diseases, it's difficult to get anyone to understand.

Last PT session, I got in the pool and began my walking laps. My therapist wasn't there yet and the pool was empty aside from one woman. She came over to me and said, "Hi baby, how are you?" So welcoming and friendly. We began to chat and I soon discovered that this woman was not only sweet, but had more sass in her little finger than I have in my whole body. (If you know me well, you realize how surprising this is.) She said the funniest things, some of which I can't repeat because of the level of sassiness. Man, was she a character.

But it wasn't all funny, she had some wisdom to share as well. She asked "what I have." As I gave a quick explanation, she nodded, not in understanding, but in empathy. I asked her as well, COPD. Even though we know nothing about each other's conditions, it was as if there was this connection, simply by the fact that we are sick, we were both in PT, and as she said, "We didn't ask for this crap."

She went on to tell me not to let this disease control my life, to maintain my independence, to enjoy my good days, and push through the bad, and to never let people feel sorry for me. Most importantly, she didn't say I shouldn't feel sorry for myself or be sad because I'm sick or different. She said, "When you have a bad day and you feel sorry for yourself, you lay in bed and cry your tears, but then you dry your eyes. You get up out of bed, look yourself in the mirror, and say, 'Alright, girl. Let's go.'"

She didn't tell me I was strong, as most people do. She didn't build me up to be some sort of martyr for withstanding what I don't have a choice in. She told me to deal with it. She told be to be a big girl. She told me I'm normal.

I mentioned to her that I was heading out on a date after PT. As I emerged from the locker room, showered, hair done, and real clothes on, I heard, "Ooooh girl! You look FABULOUS." I thanked her for talking with me, told her I hoped to see her again soon, and finally remember to ask her name - Debora.

I believe that God allows people's paths to cross at just the right time. I had seen Debora at the pool several times, but we never spoke. I always felt out of place in a room of senior citizens, but really my body probably works just as well as theirs. Maybe I just need to make some older friends, that I can keep up with. Or maybe talking with Debora was a one time thing. Either way, I was encouraged by her advice, sassiness, positive attitude, and kindness.

Maybe we should all be less afraid to speak up, to say hi to stranger, to offer a smile. Sometimes the simplest of acts are so important and encouraging to others. Sometimes what you might shrug off as a small gesture is remembered for years. You never know how you might help someone, who you might be helping, or who might be helping you.