spoonie community

Stick-To-It-Ness

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
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. 

Chronically Parenting

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

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.

There Is No Magic Wand

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
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.

Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, and Gold Stars

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I am pleased to share that my personal essay, “Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, and Gold Stars,” has been published in a new anthology, Chronic Poetics. “The book contains artwork, essays and poetry written entirely by people who have experience of chronic pain and chronic illness.” Each piece of writing has been “arranged and visually interpreted,” making it possible to create an anthology that tells a “visual story as well as a literary one.”

I’d like to share two excerpts from a section near the end of my essay:

“I wish someone had handed me a manual of some sort. My car came with one. The new little handheld vacuum I recently bought came with one. (I don’t remember the last time my trunk looked so clean.) But no one told me how to navigate living with a chronic illness. No one pointed out that a chronic illness is one thing. A chronic illness causing chronic pain is something else.”

“There are moments I want to cry. Moments I want to scream. Moments I want to throw things and break things. Because this is hard. And it’s tiring. And it often doesn’t feel like it gets any easier or any better.” 

You can find more information about the anthology here.

The visual interpretation of my personal essay.

Unhelpful Advice

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
(This photo was taken a couple of months ago. Different doctor. Dreadful pain chart.)

I had a hard doctor’s appointment last week. 

Maybe “hard” isn’t the right word. After all, I found parking half-a-block away from the building. The doctor was only running a few minutes behind schedule. And because I had blood work done in December, no additional labs were needed. 

In those terms, it was a pretty good appointment. 

But it was still a hard appointment. Because I left the appointment feeling weary, disappointed, and dejected. Angry, frustrated, and pissed. Sad, crushed, and dejected.

Later, I told my husband, “No one knows what to do with me.”

My rheumatologist (rheumatologist number three in my life with chronic illness) cannot explain my increased levels of pain and decreased levels of energy. Because the blood work shows my inflammation is under control. Which means my medication is working. But it doesn’t explain why I feel like “I’m going downhill, fast, and no one is able to slow me down.” (I said that same sentence to my doctor. He nodded his head. He said he understood.)

I should point out that I do like this doctor. I like that he looks at me when I speak and really seems to be paying attention to what I have to say. I like that, during past appointments, he seems thoughtful when suggesting new medications to try and shares with me his reasoning behind those medications. (By the way, I have tried every medication he has suggested. A few made me worse than I was to begin with.)

My doctor said he’s concerned about “structural damage” to my body. Which sounded more like a description of a car than a person. My doctor voiced his concern about feelings of depression I may have. I reminded him I regularly speak with my therapist.

He wants me to try physical therapy. Again. (Readers, I have tried physical therapy multiple times over the years. At different locations. Usually I’m told how inflexible I am. How much less range of motion I have in my left leg compared to my right leg.) I have the phone number; I just need to call and make the appointment. I’m procrastinating. 

But that wasn’t his only recommendation. 

“Do you multi-task?” he asked.

“I’m a mom. Of course I do. Don’t all moms?” I asked.

He didn’t seem amused by my response. Though I wasn’t trying to be amusing. 

My doctor says multi-tasking leads to additional stress. 

So do less, and eat more whole grains (another one of his suggestions).  

But I can tell you right now that won’t help my pain. 

The truth is — there is no easy fix. I know that. He knows that. 

At the same time, no chronic illness patient wants to be sent on their way having been told to multi-task less.