Tag Archives: Relationships

New Workout Plan- Getting Over Myself

Friends, I’m going to be entirely honest with you. Sometimes my biggest obstacle in living with chronic illness is me. I stand in my own way sometimes, and I’m trying to learn how to stop that. I’m trying to learn to get over myself- my ego, my plans, my wishes- and enjoy life as it is.
Getting over myself at the gym.
Today, I was at the gym (it’s not official unless I tell someone on social media, am I right?), and I had one of those moments. You know, those moments when you’re completely aware that you’re struggling and no one else is. There was a young woman in the gym who based on my observation must be training to be the next Ninja Warrior or planning to fight dragons. She lifted weights, jumped with said weights, hopped like a frog, leaned, and grunted. It was an impressive sight. Meanwhile, I was chugging along on the treadmill at a snail’s pace. Was she doing her best? Obviously. Was I? Yes. That should be the end of the standard for success, but it’s not for me. You see, I kept thinking about how embarrassing it was to not be able to do anything but walk on the treadmill. I played out scenarios in my head where someone asked why I wasn’t doing more. None of those things happened. The others at the gym did their thing (including Super Woman doing her ninja training), and I did mine. I had to repeatedly remind myself that the judgment I was feeling was all imaginary. Everyone has a different best effort, and that’s okay. I know that. It’s just easy to forget when it seems like everyone is way more impressive than I am.
Getting over myself in my marriage.
You may have noticed, but I tend to take things personally. I swear, Joe could say, “It’s a beautiful day outside,” and my insecurities would immediately lead me to believe he’s trying to hint that he wants to be outside away from me. I’m working on it; I know this is a weird character flaw, but it’s part of me. So . . . sometimes, I have exactly zero patience with Joe’s complaints. I get it. I’m being a jerk. Don’t worry- I’m self-aware. You see, Joe has aches and pains as well. This shouldn’t be a surprise to me, but sometimes it is. In my own struggle with chronic pain, I sometimes forget that non-chronic illness folks (muggles, as I like to call them) have their own struggles.

At my worst, I’m almost offended that Joe has the audacity to tell me he hurts. I’m irritated when he tells me (to be fair, he’s telling me for the zillionth time- sorry, snark attack) that his shoulder hurts from an old weight lifting injury or that he has a headache. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. I have no desire for him to ever hurt or be uncomfortable. If I had the ability to take all his pain on myself I would- but I would probably act like an obnoxious martyr in the process. Being sick puts a strain on any relationship. Being perpetually sick basically gives your marriage/ relationship an eternal toothache. It’s not easy. As much as I love my husband and never want him to be in pain (misery does not love company- I have no idea what kind of sadist came up with that idea), I’m sometimes offended that he is so brash as to tell me about his “muggle maladies.” I feel as though he is disregarding my struggle if he tells me his shoulder hurts. I feel like I’m being minimized if he feels bad on a day when I’m also struggling. Again, I know I’m wrong, and I’m trying to grow. However, we sometimes show our ugliest self to those we love the most. (If you don’t believe me, think about how we all acted to our parents when we were teens.)
Getting over myself online.
As a person who spends a lot of time isolated because of chronic illness, roughly 70% of my life occurs through social media. I’m not ashamed by that, because my support groups and online friends have helped me find strength for this fight, and I’m very grateful for their support. However, there’s a tendency in online forums to want to be sickest. I feel like I have slayed this particular dragon to some extent, but it seems worth mentioning. Often, as people with chronic illness, we go to social media forums seeking understanding. I would venture to say that no one in an online support group got there while thinking, “I have all the understanding and support I need in my life.” Everyone there wants understanding. However, sometimes in the quest for understanding, we can get a little competitive. In our desire to have others understand why we struggle, we sometimes try to eclipse each other. I remind myself frequently that while it’s great to empathize with others, there’s no need to share my personal experience all the time. Some friends just want to be heard, and that’s valid as well.
Ultimately, I’m a work in progress. I have worked through some of the emotions of being chronically ill, but there are new feelings and mental dragons to slay every day. While my own physical workout plan isn’t exactly impressive, I’m adding the mental feat of getting over myself to the list. It’s not easy- and some days it feels almost impossible- but my health, my relationships, and my happiness are worth it.
(I’m stopping here, because the All-Star game is coming on- Go Braves!)
What about you? Are there areas where you struggle to get over yourself? It’d make me feel way better to know that I’m not the only one.
Peace, love, and health.

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I’m not always Pollyanna.

So, I’m not always Pollyanna. Don’t get me wrong. I try to look on the bright side. I remind myself that this exact moment of emotions and self-pity won’t last forever. Joe and I are known for being the people who have figured out how to make the best out of bad situations. That’s who we are- and that’s what we do. But, some days it doesn’t happen.
Some days I’ve been awake most of the night with aching joints and tingling arms and legs. I’ve slept fitfully at best. New neurological issues haunt my body- some which I’m not comfortable enough to even write about yet. I feel like I am begging for help that isn’t coming, and I’ve been down this road enough times to know that it’s a long one. Today is a day where I’m aware that even if my diet is perfect and I combat all my inflammation issues, my body will still be affected by this disorder at the most basic cellular level. I know there aren’t enough trips to the gym to enable me to enjoy Disney World in a couple of months without the aid of a scooter. I even realize that holding my body together for a week of vacation is going to require an effort of epic proportions.
I’m not trying to be negative. I don’t write this for pity. I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to encourage me to keep going on (though I appreciate all those who have done that in the past). I won’t quit. I know this feeling won’t last forever. However, today I’m sad. I’m so pitiful, in fact, that Joe is cooking lunch and bought me surprises at Walmart (a Frozen toy, Saved by the Bell t-shirt, and chapstick- I have simple taste, friends.).
My point is- it’s okay to be sad sometimes. You can’t live in the valley of despair forever. I’m not suggesting anyone live a life of self-pity, because that requires more energy than any of us possess. However, give yourself permission to mourn your losses sometimes. Tomorrow, I start with a new physical therapist. Wednesday, I get a haircut. Friday, Joe and I have a date night scheduled. This week won’t be a waste- I won’t let it. But, today, I’m tired. I’m a little sad. I need girly movies and puppy cuddles.
The Braves come on in less than hour. The lunch Joe is cooking smells highly edible. Today won’t be the worst one ever, but it’s a bit more complicated than most. (Even this blog is short, because my fingers refuse to do what my brain is telling them. What the heck, body?) Occasionally, I feel like a fraud, because I encourage everyone to try to make the best of living the chronic life- and, to be honest, occasionally, days like today happen. So, here I am. I’m being totally honest with you, and letting you know I’m drowning in self-pity today. I promise I’ll return to your regularly scheduled Crazy, Chronic programming soon. But, today stinks, and sometimes making the best of it means admitting that and having the best sad, lazy day possible.
Peace, love, and health, friends.
Does anyone know if “Pollyanna” is available on Netflix or Amazon Prime? I need an outside, sunny disposition.

Diagnosis: Christmas Brain

Y’all, it’s hit. I officially have a full-blown case of Christmas brain over here, and it’s not pretty. I’ll be honest, I’m making Clark Griswald look like a laid back guy in comparison. Here’s the thing- I thought I was prepared for Christmas. Two and half weeks ago, I would have told you I was right on pace to have everything finished early. Nope. Just nope.
In case you’re wondering what on earth “Christmas Brain” is, you’re friendly, neighborhood health blogger is here to give you a full symptom list. Please be aware that symptoms exist on a spectrum, and you may feel these symptoms to a greater or lesser degree than others with Christmas Brain. Also, I’m fairly certain that “Christmas Brain” can be experienced by a wide range of people- not limited to those who celebrate Christmas (See also, Hanukah Brain, Kwanzaa Brain, etc.).

“Famnesia”
Those presenting with Famnesia are likely to completely forget the friends and family closest to them regarding gift exchange. For example, one sufferer of “famnesia” has been known to wake up one morning and suddenly realize she’s married and her husband probably expects a Christmas gift. Famnesia may occur regarding one, several, or all friends and family. Sufferers typically have bouts of regaining memory- when their friends/family show up with a gift.

“Click-itis”
Others with Christmas brain may notice pain or discomfort in their “buying finger”- or the finger(s) used to click “Add to cart” on Amazon Prime. Click-itis often resolves when the sufferer finishes their holiday shopping; however, it is likely to resume when cases of Famnesia result in last minute gift giving needs.

Lack of Flying Candy Canes
Now, this particular symptom is often described using other (perhaps more colorful) wording. However, some sufferers have been known to say, “I do not give one Flying Candy Cane whether these gifts have bows on them or not.” When there is an overall lack of Flying Candy Canes, one may find themselves wearing yesterday’s socks, using an obscene amount of dry shampoo, and feeding one’s family from Papa John’s. (Because, at this point I don’t give one Flying Candy Cane about proper nutrition.)

Sugar/ Caffeine Cravings
Many sufferers of Christmas Brain notice they’re existing on little more than Christmas cookies and coffee (with frosted sugar cookie flavored creamer). When other symptoms hit their peak, sufferers will often self-medicate with more coffee, Christmas treats, and the occasional 5 gallon drum of popcorn. While these cravings offer little sustenance to help alleviate symptoms, sufferers are often incapable of and/ or unwilling to do anything other than indulge these cravings.

Impossible Expectations
Sufferers will often imagine themselves making homemade Christmas candy, assembling a 3-story gingerbread house, caroling with the neighborhood children, ending world hunger, and achieving world peace (and a puppy for everyone). These are illusions. The sufferer will do none of these things. He/she may babble incoherently for days regarding accomplishing these tasks. Caregivers should be aware that while the Christmas Brain sufferer is making plans to do these things, he/she will not make it around to them. Do not buy ingredients, scarves, or puppies in preparation.

This (quite tongue-in-cheek) list is not exhaustive, but it certainly covers a number of the symptoms felt by this exhausted elf. I love Christmas, and I am looking forward to spending time with the people I love most in this world. I also know (beyond a shadow of a doubt) that none of them expect the level of perfection that I tend to put on myself. However, the Christmas Brain struggle is real, and I’m secretly looking forward to December 26- the magical day when everything is half price, and I’m way too tired of shopping to care.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year, you Cotton-headed Ninny Muggins!

May our symptoms resolve by 2018.

Peace, love, and health.

 

Sleep.

I’m really tired. I’m always tired- this is hardly a revelation. But, if I’m being entirely honest, I have the absolute worst sleep habits ever. I don’t apologize for my strange relationship with sleep, though, because I have done everything within my power to help the situation- to absolutely no avail.
Here’s where I get around to making a point. Please, (please, please, pretty please, with melty cheese on top) do not cast judgment on the sleep patterns of those with chronic pain. Occasionally, I hear my chronic illness/ pain friends commenting about how their family/ friends have told them they would feel better if they would sleep on a normal schedule. While I agree that would be super fabulous- are you actually kidding me? Do you truly believe anyone chooses to stay up all hours of the night? Of course not. When you don’t/ can’t sleep your mind becomes victim to all the “what ifs” of your condition, relationship, and general life. Who would choose to do that? No one.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think chronic pain patients are the only people who can’t sleep. I know mental illness and hormonal changes affect sleep patterns. I’ve heard that my parents of newborn friends are rather sleep deprived as well. Joe has sleep apnea, and sleeps with a CPAP. It’s a sleep disorder. That’s another legitimate concern. I’m truly not trying to act like I’m the only person with a sleep concern up in here. (Although, Joe sleeps like a sweet angel baby once he dons that CPAP mask- as if there’s never been a sin to enter his blessed life, and I’m a little jealous.) I’m sorry. I really am. I feel your struggle, and I’m not trying to detract from it.
But, seriously. To all the people who feel I- or my other chronic illness/ pain friends- should just go to bed at a reasonable hour, please keep this in mind:
When I go to bed at night, I am quite literally putting myself into a device of serious discomfort. If I lie on my left side, I have to worry about my left shoulder dislocating. More specifically, I know my left shoulder will dislocate if I don’t move to another position quickly enough. If I lie on my right side, I’m lying on the hip that dislocates. Even if it doesn’t dislocate- it hurts. It really hurts. If I lie on my back, I lose feeling in my arms and legs- which makes my 37 nightly restroom trips almost impossible. (Seriously, you try walking on numb legs.) I don’t even try lying on my stomach, because my back spasms to the point that I literally can’t move to sit up. (Again, seriously inconvenient for the whole 37 restroom trips situation.)
I am a human rotisserie. I spend my nights spinning in place- hoping I will find a place that is comfortable enough to doze.
So, please. If you have opinions about what time sick people should go to sleep, keep them to yourself. It’s not easy. I assure you- we have tried every supplement, sleep aid, magic ointment, and tea. We are trying. We are combating pain, adrenaline surges, and the general fear of the unknown. It’s not easy, and I assure you- your advice about going to bed at 9 or turning off devices at 6 do little, if anything, to help. Please, give us some grace to figure all this out. It isn’t easy to live like this during the waking hours, and it when it’s dark, it gets even harder.
Chronic illness/ pain friends, please keep in mind that not everyone keeps our strange hours. I’ve found solace in online support groups during the wee hours of the morning when it’s impossible for my husband to be awake. I’ve had to learn that it’s okay if Joe is resting well during the hours that I’m trying (without success) to sleep. Joe has had to learn that it’s okay to let me sleep well past the hour that functional adults typically sleep. If you are living in a relationship that is juggling chronic illness/ pain, you have to learn to be patient while the other one sleeps. There are typically 6-8 hours of the day that one of us is awake and the other is not- just because our bodies run on opposite schedules. We are often quirky ships in the night. That is not only okay- it’s part of the balance of this life.
While we’re being very honest here, I’d like to also mention that my dog wakes me up for a drink of water (in which she must actually be walked to her bowl because she’s scared of the dark) at least three times a night, and Joe is a blanket hog. Those are very real situations in which the advice of healthy people is always appreciated. I’m considering making both of them sleep in the bath tub.
Peace, love, and health, friends.

 

What on earth am I supposed to eat?

Around Christmas last year, I realized a painful truth- I had fallen victim to leggings. How does one become victimized by leggings, you ask? I put on jeans and realized that without the comfortable stretch of elastic, I could no longer get into my normal size. Given that I truly hate shopping for jeans, I decided I would lose weight rather than buy more.
So, I began researching diet plans. I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Why don’t you cut back on junk food and start working out?” Well, it’s a little more difficult. First, my exercise possibilities are seriously limited by joint dislocations. Also, I needed a diet plan that allowed me to eat the sodium I need to maintain a sensible blood pressure. So, after a lot of research (and by research, I mean I consulted Dr. Google- not an actual nutritionist), I decided to try the low carb diet. It was great. I ate eggs and butter and bacon, and I still lost weight! My jeans fit. My husband was thrilled that we were eating meat and eggs for almost every meal. It was a beautiful thing.
Then, at the end of February, I had labs drawn and realized my cholesterol had almost tripled from December until then. After a fairly one-sided discussion with my cardiologist (where he reminded me that EDS and POTS are not exactly compatible with strokes and heart attacks), I started cholesterol medicine and committed to no longer eating meat.
Poor Joe. He went from eating meat at every meal to trying soy hot dogs (which he actually prefers over “real” hot dogs) and lentil shepherd’s pie. One week I was preaching about how our bodies need animal fat- the next week, I was telling him how pigs are slaughtered. This poor man has been the real victim in my dietary indecision.
Here’s what I’ve learned- everyone seems to have strong feelings about how we’re supposed to eat, but I’m not sure anyone actually knows what they’re doing. A few days ago, I posted in an EDS forum asking for advice for recent digestive issues. First, let me say that I was thrilled with the number of responses I received. Everyone was so kind and genuinely trying to be helpful based on their personal experience. However, I couldn’t help but laugh at the range of answers I received. Go vegan. Eat meat. Eat more bananas. OMG, don’t you dare eat bananas. Potatoes are evil. Eat all the potatoes. Eat some yogurt. Dairy will kill you. Eat low carb/ high fat. Eat high carb/ low fat. Then they started using words and non-words like “histamine, alkaline, and FODMAPS.” What in the world? Is everyone as confused as I am?
Remember a few years ago when we were convinced that everyone should be gluten free? I tried that for 5 months with very little success. But, at least that sort of made sense. Now, I’m clueless. Twenty-five years ago, I had to drink milk every day. I think there was some part of Parenting 101 in the 80s that said children had to drink milk or you had failed. Now? Milk is frowned upon. Get your milk from an almond or a coconut, people. But, as with all things nutrition, I can’t actually tell you why you shouldn’t drink milk/ eat dairy. It’s just a thing we’re saying.
I say all this silliness to make this point; no one has all the answers. There are those who will blame your illness, symptoms, mood, or hair color on poor eating choices. But, in fairness, I doubt that any two of those “food blamers” would actually agree about what is/ isn’t healthy. I’m trying to fuel my body the best I can. My jeans currently fit. (Okay, I’ll try them on again at Christmas to check.) I don’t eat meat- even though I just made a pot roast that smells delicious. The only thing that I can eat without getting nauseous right now is a baked potato. I eat too much cheese- even though it makes me feel awful. (But, seriously, y’all- cheese is delicious and worth the sacrifice.) I’m headed into football season, and I know that game day food options for a vegetarian will consist mostly of French fries. We’re doing our best- even when the “best practices” for healthy eating seem to be changing daily.
Peace, love, (organic bananas) and health, friends.

Overcoming the Fear . . . of New Places

I’ve talked a lot about how chronic illness has changed me. It’s changed everything from my physical appearance to my patience. One thing that continues to surprise me, however, is how much more nervous I am about new experiences now. There’s just so much that could go wrong. It may not- it typically doesn’t go quite as wrong as I imagine it will- but there’s always the very real possibility.
Let me explain using a real-life example from today.
Joe and I decided to visit a church where some local friends attend. Now, before this whole chronic illness and rapidly deteriorating joint situation began, I would have never thought twice about visiting a church. However, I’m a hot mess on any normal day of the week. Add to my normal hot mess having to dress like a real adult (you know, something that isn’t a Disney tshirt and athletic shorts), having to be ready by a certain time, and actually leaving the house before noon (I don’t really get a functional blood pressure until later in the day), and I’m an accident looking for a place to happen.
Today, while walking up the ramp into church (Shout out for an accessible entryway!), my knee quit doing the whole “knee thing.” I crashed into the side of the church to keep from falling. Joe, who is totally used to such shenanigans responded with, “You okay, Margaret?” I, of course, am now convinced the entire congregation thinks I came to church drunk and my name is Margaret. The second faux pas is way worse though. Today was Lord’s Supper/ Communion day at the church. It’s a beautiful service that I’m always humbled to participate in, but leave it to me to turn it into a debacle. As the deacons were passing out the communion wafers, they motioned for me to pass the plate to Joe on my left. Cool . . . except holding anything is complicated with EDS. I overestimated how hard I needed to hold onto the plate, my hand jerked awkwardly, and I spilled the symbolic Body of Christ on the floor in front of the back pew. Joe and I tried to clean it up- but those little wafers fall apart like chalk. And, you guys, it was just bad.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Church was great. No one asked me to leave- or even to stay behind and vacuum under my pew. All in all, I’ll call the day a success. However, that story brings me to this point- taking a chronic illness into public is a bit like taking a rambunctious toddler out among non-toddler humans. You have no clue how it’s going to behave. Yes, we all have socially awkward moments, and today’s mistakes could have happened to an able-bodied person, as well. However, the fact remains that the combination of chronic illness and me has turned me into a one woman wrecking crew.
There was a time when today’s events would have humiliated me. I would have told Joe I was never going back to that church again. However, at this point, I’ve accepted that these things just seem to happen to me. My body is unpredictable, and I doubt that’s going to get better with time. Here are a few things I remind myself to keep from hiding under my bed when social interaction turns into social embarrassment.
I’m not a celebrity.
I’m a somewhat normal 32-year-old woman living in Campbellsville, KY. Paparazzi could not possibly be less interested in me. I’ll never be featured on the cover of US Weekly (Thank goodness.). So, why on earth, do I think that anyone is enormously preoccupied with how I act? You see, in my mind, everything I do is amplified times a million, and I’m convinced the whole world is offended by me. I spend serious time stressing over my inability to sit and stand at the appropriate times during church. I just know that someone is hurt by my seeming irreverence. The truth? Most people probably don’t notice, and those that do are probably more worried about whether anyone is noticing that they’re singing off key or that their breath smells funky. I’m really not that big of a deal.
New experiences are worth the risk.
Today I participated in a beautiful church service. I met new people and visited with others I already knew. I even got a sucker after the children’s service. (I’m not sure how the minister knew I would really enjoy a sucker, and I’m seriously hoping I wasn’t staring at the candy box as though I’d never seen such delicacies before.) The experience of worshiping with other believers, sitting beside my husband during church, and seeing welcoming smiles on the faces of friends and strangers far outweighs any embarrassment I felt. I have yet to have an embarrassing public experience where I felt that my embarrassment wasn’t worth it to do something fun or new (although there have been a couple close calls).
People are generally great.
We hear a lot of stories about the mistreatment of those with invisible disabilities. I get it. There are people in this world who are jerk faces. However, for the most part, people are good. The deacon whose plate of communion wafers I threw in the floor? He chuckled good-naturedly and waved his hand as if to say, “Don’t worry about it.” The people sitting around me who noticed that I didn’t stand for all the opening music? They smiled and nodded and shook my hand when it was the time to do so.
The moral of the story? I’m a mess. That’s okay. People are cool. Keep taking risks- and learn to laugh at your failures along the way.

Peace, love, and health, friends.

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Blooming Where I’m Planted

tiffatvandyDo you see that girl? That’s me- four years ago. (Do you see my awesome collection of stuffed animals? Yeah, my husband specializes in fluffy gift giving.) Four years ago, I participated in an inpatient research study at Vanderbilt University Medical Center (Clinical Research Center) during the 4th of July. I knew that I would never be well enough to participate in cook outs or fireworks, so I spent 11 days in the hospital doing experimental treatment for autonomic disorders. I was new to my POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) diagnosis and not yet diagnosed with EDS (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome). I was confused and angry. I had left my career as a middle/ high school Spanish teacher nine months prior to this picture. I had no clue who I was or where I was going. In my mind, I had lost my worth as a professional, wife, and friend. But, during the same hospital stay when this picture was taken, there was a faint bit of inspiration that flickered amidst my desperation. I have no idea where I got this phrase- but I’m not especially creative, so I probably read it or heard it on television. But, the phrase that echoed in my mind and heart was, “You have to bloom where you are planted.”

I, like so many others, did not choose to be planted in current circumstances. I did not study to become a sick person. I didn’t marry my husband with hopes of being his disabled wife. However, if we’re all being honest, there are few of us who have written our own way. Life has planted us in some less than ideal places, and we have to decide what to do with the situation. Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. I’m not going to tell you that all you need to do is smile or have a good attitude. Not at all. There are days when life isn’t a greeting card. There are days when I cry and complain and whine and eat all the junk food. However, in spite of a difficult situation, I choose to bloom.

Yesterday marked four years since the first picture was taken. I can still remember the emotions and pain of that day. I can remember trying to force a smile for a picture- but feeling like the gifts I was posing with were little more than a sympathy offering- little more than flowers at a funeral. Yesterday, I took a new picture- at my first ever book signing. My symptoms hadn’t changed (Has anyone else blacked out when they heard a fire truck’s siren? That was new for me.), but my perspective had.

I’m not handling all this perfectly. I won’t ever be the great inspirational story of the person who overcomes adversity. However, I live my adversity; I accept it, but I also choose to laugh and smile and advocate in spite of it. I’m blooming exactly where I’m planted- even when I wish I could uproot and move to higher ground.

So, how did I get here? I didn’t wake up one day and decide I like chronic illness. I didn’t adopt my “Bloom where I’m planted” mantra and immediately become a blogger. Heck, I didn’t even start giving unforced smiles at that point. But, I started laughing. I started looking for the hilarity of my newfound life circumstances. I slowly changed my thinking from, “I can’t believe this is happening to me” to “You won’t believe what’s happening now!” Regaining my sense of humor and finding my voice, allowed me to bloom.

The past four years have been the most transformational of any I’ve experienced. I have hurt and endured more than I would have believed. However, I’ve become more understanding. I have increased my capacity to love. Ultimately, I’ve become a person I wanted to be- but that girl four years ago could have never believed possible.

I will never be grateful for illness. If I had the ability, I would heal us all in a heartbeat. However, I am grateful that my broken heartedness has healed. I am blooming. It’s not always pretty. (Heck, I’m probably more of a weed or a wildflower than a beautiful, manicured rose.) I am proud of the growth of the past four years, and I look forward to continuing to bloom with all of you.

Peace, love, and health, friends.