P.T.

I call this my pedal machine. My physical therapist encouraged me to try it, since we usually start our sessions with me on an exercise bike. I started pedaling for 5 minutes each day, and have slowly increased my time. I'm now up to 10 minutes daily! Generally, I use the time to read.

I have lived with chronic illness and chronic pain for almost fourteen years. 

During this time, I have tried physical therapy. Many times. 

It never worked out for me. For instance:

–   One of my first attempts at physical therapy ended shortly after it started. The physical therapist told me he would no longer work with me, because, “There’s no point. Nothing we do can help you.”


–  Another therapist, in a different location, always made me feel as if I couldn’t do much, and what I could do wasn’t anywhere close to being enough. I left our sessions feeling worse than I started. Worse in terms of higher pain levels and worse in terms of self-confidence.

–  There was the physical therapy group with a close-to-my-home location. I quit that one, after having four appointments with three different therapists, each one giving me some contradictory information.

Based on my previous experiences, you can understand my hesitation when my rheumatologist didn’t just suggest physical therapy, he strongly encouraged it.

This time I’m pleased to say my physical-therapy-is-not-beneficial streak is now over. 

I finally am working with a physical therapist who speaks kindly and smiles. A physical therapist who celebrates my effort, who acknowledges just how hard some stretches are for me, who encourages me to try, who modifies as needed. 

Plus, during last week’s physical therapy session, my therapist did something no other therapist has done before — he made me laugh.

Now, most people know PT is shorthand for Physical Therapy. 

But there’s another meaning for that acronym. 

Let me give you a bit of context — my therapist had demonstrated a new stretch, something that would work my quadriceps. It hurt when I tried it, so we modified it, with me not stretching quite as hard or quite as much. 

That’s when my physical therapist told me one of his patients invented a different meaning for PT: Pleasant Torture.

It was so unexpected, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

I have never thought of PT like that before. 

While it’s not torture, physical therapy is hard work. Each time I leave, I am tired and worn out. The following day I’m usually sore. 

Yet even with all of that, overall, the process, this time, is pleasant.

Readers, do you have any physical therapy experiences you want to share? Have you been fortunate to work with someone who makes the process pleasant? I hope so!

Book Birthday: The Things We Don’t Say

The Things We Don’t Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths is celebrating its four-year book birthday this month.

This anthology is unlike any other book I have found — and I’m not just saying that because one of my personal essays is included in this collection. (My essay is called “Chronic Contradictions.”)

I’m saying that because it’s true. 

From the back of the book:

“Spanning different ages, ethnicities, genders, sexual orientations, and diagnoses, forty-two authors from around the world open up in fifty true stories about their chronic illnesses and their search for answers, poor treatment by doctors, strained relationships with loved ones, self-doubt, and more.” 

This is the book to turn to when you’re searching for connection. Because though the medical details may vary, many of the emotions and experiences written about are shared by many in the chronic illness world.

This is the book to turn to when you’re trying to help someone else learn a bit about what your chronic illness life is like. This is the book you hand to someone and say, “Here. Please read this story. This is what I mean. This is what it feels like for me. This is what I have been trying to explain to you.”

Readers, have you discovered any other chronic illness-related books that you find helpful and/or resonate with you? Please share! 



Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Stick-To-It-Ness

Image credit: Wishbone Words

“I am no longer an educator, and haven’t been a kindergarten teacher in many years. For the last seven years of my career I taught fourth and fifth graders. I no longer think of perseverance in quite the same way as I once did. However, more than ever, I feel like my daily life requires a lot of perseverance. I’m not relying on perseverance because I’m learning a new skill or am faced with one specific event that requires more ‘stick-to-it-ness.’ It is not at all like the period of time when my eighteen-year-old self was learning to drive a stick shift — without popping the clutch or grinding the gears or stalling and having the line of cars behind me start honking when I didn’t immediately get going on a green light. Back then, each practice session ended with me in tears. I remember looking over at my mom in the passenger seat, telling her it was hopeless and we should just stop now, because I would never master driving a stick shift. I was convinced there was something fundamentally wrong with me, since my parents could drive a manual transmission, and I obviously couldn’t. My mom patiently reminded me that driving a stick shift wasn’t easy, and I would definitely learn how, if I kept at it. It was a skill which required time and patience and lots of practice. Perseverance. She was right, as moms tend to be. 
“But that was then.”

This excerpt was taken from my recently published personal essay, Stick-To-It-Ness, which has to do with daily perseverance as it pertains to living with a chronic illness. However, a high level of stick-to-it-ness is also required when you’re writing for publication. This personal essay was rejected by two other online literary journals before finding a home at Wishbone Words, Issue 13

You can click here to find out more information about Wishbone Words

The Power of Little Words

For my birthday (a couple of months ago), one of my closest friends gave me four bracelets. 

Not just any bracelets. 

Bracelets from Little Words Project

I didn’t initially realize the connection between Taylor Swift, Swifties, and friendship bracelets. So while my right wrist may look like I’m part of a trend, that’s not the reason for my bracelets.

My friend knew things have been hard for me lately. Actually, things have been hard for a while now. She also knew I’m quick to offer encouragement and words of praise to others, less quick to show myself the same support.  

That’s where the bracelets come into play. They are a daily reminder — of who I am and how I choose to live my life.

J chose four words for me. 

Teacher. I taught for twelve years. I’ve been retired for eleven years now. And I still miss teaching. (A portion of the proceeds from this bracelet go to AdoptAClassroom.org)

Breathe. Because sometimes I need that reminder to slow down and take a deep breath. 

Resilience. When you’re saddled with a chronic illness, there isn’t much choice. You have to demonstrate a combination of toughness, adaptability, and strength. 

And my favorite word — Badass

“I know it’s not usually a word you use, but you are a badass,” she said.

She’s right — I wouldn’t ordinarily think to describe myself as a badass. I am generally inclined to think of myself in other terms — such as polite, punctual, organized, neat. If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you may remember a post I wrote last year about  how difficult it was for me to think of three adjectives to describe myself. (In case you missed it or have forgotten it, you can click here to read the post.)

But it means so much to me that J sees me in this way. She not only sees my spirit, she celebrates my spirit. And she wants me to do the same. 

Which is why you’ll find me wearing these four bracelets each day on my right wrist.

Readers, do any of you wear friendship bracelets? What words are on your bracelets? Or, if you don’t wear them, take a look at the Little Words Project website. What words would you choose for yourself?

Chronically Parenting

I don’t listen to many podcasts, but I do make a point to listen to Jean Meltzer’s monthly podcast, Chronically Fabulous. (I wrote about her podcast back in January. If you missed that blog post, you can read it here.)

Her third episode featured special guest, Heidi Shertok. Like Jean, Heidi is also a Jewish author, writing rom-coms, and living with chronic illness. Their conversation focused on parenting when you’re chronically ill. 

Jean, Heidi, and I all have different perspectives based on our different life experiences when it comes to parenting. Jean and her husband made the decision not to have children. Heidi entered into marriage and parenthood as a chronically ill woman. And I become ill when my son was two years old. 

There were several moments when I paused the podcast so I could jot down a note, because I knew I would want to write about their conversation and share it with you, readers. Because finding your community is so important, especially when your body doesn’t behave the way you’d like it to. And when I come across something — a podcast, a book, a line in an article — that allows me to feel seen and understood, it’s something I want to share with you as well. 

With that in mind, here are just a few of the highlights from their podcast conversation: 

– Jean and Heidi spoke of the idea of “masking.” I’ve always referred to it as putting on my game face, others might say it’s like having your poker face on and not letting your true emotions out. It’s the idea that on the surface no one can tell how you’re really feeling inside. You keep your pain, your discomfort, your worry out of sight. You present as healthy — because, at least for me, sometimes it’s just easier. It’s easier not to have to explain why I can’t sit on a tall bar stool, for example. (It’s really painful for me.)

– Something Heidi said really stood out to me. She said she believed her kids were lucky, growing up with a mom who is chronically ill. Her kids have learned/are learning there are all sorts of “normals” within families. There is not one right way for a family to be. Likewise, I hope that by growing up with a mom who has an invisible disability, my son has learned that you often can’t tell what someone is going through just by looking at them; that many people are out and about in the world, dealing with pain we can’t see. 

– Heidi also shared something her rheumatologist told her when she was young: A lot of people are like most flowers, you can put them anywhere and they’ll thrive. While people like Jean, Heidi, and myself, and others with chronic illness, are like orchids; we can only thrive in very specific environments. I love that analogy. 

Dear readers, any podcast recommendations you’d like to share? I also sometimes listen to The Shit No One Tells You About Writing (such a great title!) or an episode of Moms Don’t Have Time to Read Books when I’m doing my daily physical therapy exercises/stretches at home.

Flowering

Image Credit: Coin-Operated Press

I am pleased to share more publication news with you!

My personal essay, Flowering, has been included in the Gardening Zine produced by Coin-Operated Press. 

Here’s a snippet:

“Gardening is a part of who I am. The person who will always save the slices of avocado in a salad to eat after the rest of the salad, believing the best part has been saved for last. The person who will always describe a body lotion in terms of a “flavor” rather than a “scent.” The person who will yell at Rosemary Clooney’s Betty in White Christmas, urging her to talk to Bob, before she leaves Vermont for New York.
“I don’t know where my love of plants and flowers came from. Growing up, flowers were only in our house when my dad bought them for my mom on special occasions. Small houseplants died off, one-by-one, and were replaced with artificial flowers. Maybe this love I have for gardens is a result of the years I spent working in a high-end flower shop during my last year of high school and first few years of college. Or maybe there is no explaining it, and I can enjoy gardening without figuring out how it all started.” 

Click here to be re-directed to Coin-Operated Press where you can purchase a copy of the Zine.

My Rebellious Body

“You would think I would have this figured out by now. Figured out how to be me — a wife, a mom, a writer who only became a writer because I had to retire from my teaching career because of my invisible disability. But I haven’t figured it out. There is no manual, no cheat sheet, no YouTube video to watch to give me the summary I need, the way my son watches a YouTube video to review the section of The Odyssey he read for his English class.
“I’m making it up as I go along. Engaged in a fight, trying to rebel against this body of mine that is different now. Will always be different.”

The lines above are just a snippet from my recently published essay, When Your Body Rebels With Chronic Illness. You can click here to read the essay in its entirety. (Note: this piece was originally written a couple of years ago. I must point out that my son is now 16 years old.)

There Is No Magic Wand

Image Credit: Yoocan Do Anything

Back in January, I wrote about my word for 2024: Share.

(If you missed it, you can click here to read the post.)

And so far, I have done quite a lot of sharing — here on this weekly blog, on Instagram where I mostly share about books and my writing-related life, and in the personal essays which have been published in anthologies and journals, both in print and online.

This week, I am pleased to share my personal essay, There is No Magic Wand, has been published by Yoocan Do Anything

Here is a snippet:

I would stop by CVS on my way home and pick up the prescriptions my doctor had called in. I felt confident these new pills would fix the problem because that’s what medication had always done up until that point in my life. 
“I could not have known that when it comes to a chronic illness, such as my autoimmune disease, there is no such thing as ‘fixing the problem.’ There was no pretend magic wand I could wave and make things all better, like I did with my then-three-year-old son when he bumped into a corner of the coffee table. No one could kiss my left calf and make the hurt be ‘all-gone,’ like a Mommy’s kisses often do for their little ones.”

Click here to read the essay in its entirety.

Yes, And

Last week was a time of big emotions. A lot happened in my world and with it came a lot of mixed feelings.

My mom celebrated her 79th birthday on the same day my son celebrated his 16th birthday.

A former kindergarten student, a child I taught during my first year of teaching, looked me up online, found my website, and reached out with an email that made me cry. She wrote, “I wanted to thank you for being a great teacher and setting a solid foundation for my education.” Did I mention she’s now a teacher?

We had a family outing to The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens. A place we hadn’t visited since March 2020, a week before the world shut down because of the coronavirus. Only this time we visited with me in my wheelchair.

Our former next door neighbor, now 89 years old, remembered my son’s sixteenth birthday and called to offer birthday wishes. 

So, it’s been a lot. 

Something I have learned, through the work with my therapist and my years living with my autoimmune disease, is that it’s possible to feel two very different emotions at the same time. In fact, when you live with chronic illness, it happens quite a lot. At least to me.

I am currently reading The Lives We Actually Have: 100 Blessings for Imperfect Days by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie. I try to read one blessing a day, though, I admit I sometimes forget and miss a day (or two).

This week, I’d like to share a bit of Kate Bowler’s blessing, “For Stretching Your Heart,” which I think explains these mixed emotions so well:

Yes, I have so much to be thankful for,
and this hasn’t turned out like I thought it would.
Yes, I feel moments of joy,
and I have lost more than I could live without.
Yes, I want to make the most of today,
and my body keeps breaking.
Yes, I am hopeful, and this is daunting.
Yes, I am trying to be brave, and I feel so afraid.”

Because the truth is — yes, things could be worse, and things could be better.

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

It Feels Like…

“In the beginning, it was easier to describe the pain. Because the pain was new. Because the pain was concentrated in my left calf. And, most importantly, because I truly believed the pain was temporary.”

The paragraph above is taken from my personal essay, “It Feels Like…” And I am so proud to share that my essay has been published in The Mersey Review, Issue 2. 

I have never had so many personal essays published one-after-the-other, like I have recently. (Five of my personal essays have been published between January 2024 and March 2024! My Published Work page has a complete listing.)

You can click here to access the entire issue.

And you can click here to be taken directly to my essay.

Also, be sure to read all the way to the bottom. After my bio, you’ll come to a statement that says: “You can read Wendy Kennar’s Few Words here.” Click on the link and you’ll be taken to another page which includes my answers to a few questions the editor asked me about the writing process. Plus, I answer that “eternal question” — hardback or paperback?

Dear Readers, feel free to share your preference in the comments: hardcover or paperback?