Since I’ve gone public with my health journey, a lot of people have been asking me about my specific illnesses and how they affect me. So, this week, I’ve decided to make a blog post about it!
My hope is that maybe I’ll help steer someone toward a correct diagnosis, which as many of you know, was difficult for me to obtain.
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The first thing I remember about being diagnosed with Dysautonomia was feeling bad for everyone but myself.
Knowing that I’d be unable to do the things that I once enjoyed, or having to find adaptive ways of doing those things, just seemed like too much, and having to ask other people, specifically my husband, to make those adaptions with me felt like a nightmare.
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It’s a typical morning in the Spring of 2016. I wake up, and after petting my cat, Carmine, for a few minutes, I get out of bed and walk the short distance from my bedroom to my bathroom. Once there, I notice my heart pounding so hard it’s as if I’ve just run a marathon. I know I’m out of shape, but my heart rate SHOULD NOT be over 130 beats per minute.
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