By Kerrie Smyres – January 30, 2012
Pure pain best describes the migraines I’ve had this week. My entire head, including the roof of my mouth, throbs in time with my heartbeat. I hear blood whooshing in my ears.

They demand my attention for hours until, if I’m fortunate, two Midrin let me sleep. When I awake my head is usually still throbbing.

Those who have never had a migraine tend to think of it as a raging headache. While sympathetic folks may understand that the pain is awful, even they don’t realize that a migraine is not only a headache. While it is certainly a major aspect, pain is one of many symptoms of migraine. Personally, pain was a primary concern until I started taking indomethacin last June. Nausea, dizziness and fatigue were often present, but were overshadowed by the pounding. Now, indomethacin generally controls the pain well enough that I’ve been able to see just how debilitating the other symptoms are.

This recent bout with high pain levels has me thinking about how misunderstood migraine is by the general public and even by migraineurs and health care professionals. The pain is a big deal, but it is only a small part of this neurological disorder that impacts the entire body. Migraine: The Complete Guide, a book published by the American Headache Society in 1994, has the most comprehensive list I’ve found. Though the book is old and no longer available this list is invaluable.

Visual Aura (before the pain begins)

a bright shape that spreads across the visual field of one eye and appears to block some or all of the vision; can be seen whether the eye is open or closed
flashes of light and color
wavy lines
geometric patterns
blurred vision
partial loss of sight
Sensory

numbness or tingling on the face or upper extremities
a sense that limbs are a distorted shape or size
heightened sensitivity to light, sound, and smells
smelling odors that aren’t actually present (like natural gas or something burning)
skin sensitivity and intolerance of being touched (allodynia)
Motor

partial paralysis
weakness or heaviness in the limbs on one side of the body
Cognitive

mental confusion
disorientation
inability to concentrate
difficulty finding words
problems understanding spoken or written language
Digestive

food cravings (particularly for carbohydrates, candy and chocolate)
stomach rumblings
constipation
Fluid disturbances

increased thirst
frequent urination
bloating/fluid retention
Mental/Personality

fatigue, lethargy
mood changes
irritability
high energy
irritability
depression
anxiety
nervousness
euphoria, feeling of intense well-being
Digestive

nausea
vomiting
intolerance of food odors
loss of appetite
diarrhea
constipation
Skin

paleness
cold, clammy hands and feet
facial swelling
goose bumps
bloodshot eyes
black circles around eyes
sweating
Respiratory

frequent yawning
sighing
hyperventilating
nasal congestion
runny nose
Circulatory

changes in blood chemistry
changes in blood pressure
blood vessel dilation
difficulty regulating temperature
changes in heart rhythms
Though quite detailed, this list is by no means complete. I can add dizziness and trembling. What about you? Which of these symptoms do you have? Do you have other symptoms not listed here?

NOTE FROM JUDI – Since I hear at least once or twice a week “it’s only a headache!” (Cue music from “Psycho!”) This article bears posting over and over again! Thanks Kerrie! Much love! 💕

January 12, 2016

Our caregivers are a valuable and necessary part of our health care team. Without their help with day-to-day needs, our lives would be so much more difficult. Have you ever wondered what would happen if you lost your caregiver? Does the thought fill you with panic? Do you know how you would cope? Recently, that very thought caught me unprepared.

My turn as caregiver

In October, my husband needed outpatient surgery. We were scheduled to check in at 5:30 am. Knowing I might be waiting for several hours, I stocked a backpack with water, snacks, and entertainment to occupy my time. At 9:30 am the surgeon informed me that he was in recovery and should be ready to go home in about 30 minutes.

Hours passed without any news. I started to worry that something might be seriously wrong. A nurse finally called me at 12:30 pm. She explained that my husband was having trouble waking up from the anesthesia and estimated he would be ready to leave within the hour. I was relieved to hear that he would be able to go home soon. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning.

Ninety minutes later, the surgeon reappeared asking me to follow him. I entered a tiny room where my husband was sitting up. A nurse was encouraging him to take deep breaths. She explained that although awake, he was still struggling to keep his oxygen levels high enough. She urged me to keep him awake and breathing deeply as he would not be released until his oxygen levels stayed high for at least 2 hours.

That is when things got scary.

He was upright, but certainly not alert. He kept falling asleep and resisted my attempts to wake him up. I watched the monitor as his O2 level dropped lower and lower. I reported this to the nurse and she called the doctors to recommend admission overnight for supplemental O2 and monitoring. I knew he would not like that idea, but still agreed with her assessment. I was really scared for him.

A respiratory specialist was called in to evaluate him for admission. By the time she arrived, he was a lot more awake and talking. After a chest x-ray and exam she determined the problem was undiagnosed sleep apnea. He would need a sleep study in a few weeks, but otherwise he was okay. After 10½ hours, he was finally going home!

It’s easier being the patient.

Even in the middle of a bad migraine attack, I am still in control. Sitting on the sidelines, watching my husband struggle, and being unable to do anything about it was nerve-wracking. I felt so helpless. Instinctively I started breathing deeply as if my breath could somehow give him the oxygen he needed.

My mind wandered to that unthinkable outcome: “What if he dies?”

He is my rock, and quite practically, my caregiver when things get bad. The thought of living without him is difficult to imagine. In addition to the emotional loss (which would be unbelievably horrible), there are practical matters – things that he always does. I like to think that I am pretty independent, but the reality is that I depend on him a great deal. The transition to living alone would be difficult.

Just the thought of it is scary. Thoughts spun out of control…

Who would give me those precious injections when migraine spins out of control?
Who would drive me to the ER at 3:00 am when nothing else worked?
Who would fetch ice packs, a drink of water, or something to eat when the pain weakened me?
Would I be able to take care of our dog and cat alone?
How would I ever keep up on the house?

To everyone else, I appeared calm, self-assured, and in control of my emotions. I was his rock, steady and solid. My nightmarish thoughts never broke the surface. I locked them away and let my subconscious catastrophize at will. There wasn’t time to process that mess. I was needed in the real world.

Making a plan

A few days later, I gave myself permission to unpack the mental box where I had stuffed all that worry. Examining my thoughts and emotions, a realization emerged. The odds are good that I will someday be a widow. It probably won’t be for decades, but women do have a longer life span than men. It doesn’t hurt to think about how I will cope from time to time. This won’t be the last time I sit in a hospital, worried about him.

When he was fully recovered, we talked openly about the possibility of his death, my fears, and then created plan. We scheduled an appointment with our insurance agent to discuss changes to our life insurance. While nothing can ever replace him, we now have a plan to ensure there are funds available should I require hired help. We’ve never avoided discussions about death. We just never thought about migraine in that context. Thanks to my temporary panic, we were able to plan for that possibility. Should he ever get sick again, I will be much better prepared to deal with any outcome, including my own irrational thoughts.

If you haven’t planned for your medical needs in the event of your caregiver’s death, please think about it. Just having a plan can make the fear of his or her death a lot less scary.

NOTE FROM JUDI: Tammy hit on one of my biggest fears in this article. In my case, it’s my Mother. I pray daily for her continued good health as we take care of each other. As hard as it is to think about, we must have a realistic conversation and a plan for the future. Thanks Tammy for touching on a subject so near and dear to all of the chronic pain warriors in our lives. Continued good health and happiness to you both. 💕

I’m not a cruel person. I don’t wish harm or pain on anyone. I am empathetic and compassionate. I value health and happiness above all else. I want that for everyone. Myself included. In my case, the health part has hit a snag. I have Chronic Daily Migraine, chronic pain, and Fibromyalgia. Most mornings, after little or no sleep the night before, I struggle to get out of bed. Some mornings I’m successful,, others not so much. I take pills when I get up, more at lunchtime, midday, dinnertime, and before bed. Rough nights, I may need something overnight. These pills are my only option right now to allow me to function. Depending on your idea of functioning. Most days I can’t leave the house. If I must, you know, it’s doctor appointments for me or Mom or vet visit for my emotional support furbaby Samantha. Pharmacy and grocery store are my other fun outings. I have to plan a day in advance to try to leave the house. Depending on the time of day, my pain level, when I took pills, side effects, weather, and many other outside forces that impact my ability to drive or even walk. I’m in Pain Management and my doctor assures me even though we haven’t exhausted all options yet, even with treatment, I’ll still likely be dependent on pills to get through the days. I have many doubters. I know I do. “It can’t be that bad.” “It’s just a headache.” “I’m sure you could work if you really tried.” “Be stronger and fight harder.” I’m the nicest person you’ll meet. Like ever. But I want to knock these naysayers and deniers on their collective asses! If they could only see my daily struggle to act normal. To do normal activities. To BE normal! And these comments are from colleagues and “friends.” Now I’ve got the government and CDC getting involved and lumping me in with drugs abusers and addicts. Trying to take away my access to the legal, prescribed pills that are my only source of relief right now. I resent the implications that I am a poverty stricken, low class criminal. I am without a job and unfit to work due to my medical and emotional issues (the emotional comorbid to the medical). I have never committed a crime and have worked full-time since I was seventeen years old. I EARNED my benefits. I am relying on Medicare and Social Security to LIVE or at least get by. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before they try to take that away too. BTW, I had to fight for almost five full years to be awarded those Benefits, none of which I’ve actually seen yet. I won my Disability appeal hearing in October and still have seen no monetary payments. So, in conclusion, for now, the fact that strangers (laymen, NOT doctors) are going to decide if I can keep taking my prescribed pain medications is beyond insulting. I wish they could all spend a day with me or better yet, take even a few steps in my shoes. (If I can bend down to put them on.)

Instead of complaining about the bad things in my life, it’s time to be grateful. I’m sitting here with my furbaby Samantha in the dark at 4:00am on a Sunday. It’s so quiet. The temperature is surprisingly warm for January in Virginia so the windows are opened partway. All I hear are birds chirping. Samantha lightly snoring in her window seat. Last Sunday I was stressed and anxious about Sam’s upcoming surgery. Looking at her now, you’d never know it happened. She’s back to her playful, always hungry, always entertaining self. This time last week, I was so worried about Mom and her health issues. She is upstairs sleeping basically soundly, with a little medicinal assistance. She has a bronchial infection. We can deal with that. I had thoughts of pneumonia and hospitals and who knows what. They’re both healing and doing well. The two most important presences in my life. Mom, who has always been my biggest supporter, best friend, shoulder to cry on, strength to lean on, my constant. Mom doesn’t let me get too dark and withdrawn. She forces me to see the good things and stay positive. And Samantha, my emotional support furbaby. We rescued each other when Sam was 10 weeks old, almost eight years ago. Sam purrs away my chronic migraines and distracts me from my chronic daily pain. She makes me laugh through the depression and anxiety of not being able to work and my neverending search for relief and hopefully a cure. Between them, they are a formidable pair. I am so lucky and grateful to have them in my life and can’t imagine life without them. I realize that not everybody has a support system like mine and that’s heartbreaking. Reach out to someone, start a conversation, join a group, seek professional help. Do whatever you must to assure yourself that you are NOT alone and that YOU matter! Have a beautiful day! #AlwaysKeepFighting

Another rough day. I took Samantha to her vet at 8:00am for preoperative bloodwork and an ECG. I didn’t go back with her this time, hoping she wouldn’t associate me with the needles. (I know, pet parents!) I dropped a very hissed off Samantha at home and then Mom had doctor appointments, errands to run, and a couple of quick stops to make. We left around 9:30, so I couldn’t take my normal pain meds. I hadn’t eaten and my pet migraine (let’s call him Luci) was screaming in my head. He also has gotten very good at knowing just where to stab me with his pitchfork. I made it through Mom’s first visit reasonably well. Walmart was next with a time limit before Mom’s next appointment, so of course there was only one checkout lane open. We made it in time and we’re seen on time. Doctor decided Mom needed tests so we went to schedule and actually got a time on Wednesday. Samantha’s surgery is on Wednesday and I have to drop her to at 8:00am. I typically like to stay busy during her surgery procedures, so I was glad we had several things planned. By the time we got back home, it was 3:30. I hadn’t eaten, drank much, or had any pain meds since 6:00am. Hat trick of migraine “what not to do.” Luci laughed as I stumbled into the house. Pain 10+, nausea, dizzy, disoriented. Got food put away. Made quick lunch, ate, drank, and took pills. Sat down and started to cry. Samantha sat with me, which made me more upset, knowing what was going on with her tomorrow. I didn’t want her to pick up on my stress, but hey, that’s what she does. She laid down under the blanket with me, warmed me up, and started to purr. I eventually calmed down, meds kicked in, purrs helped relieve anxiety. My psych from years ago had told me repeatedly that my biggest enemy was anticipatory anxiety. Worrying about things when I have no control over the outcome. I try to catch myself, but I still do it quite often. Instead of considering everything I had gotten done successfully that day, I stressed about the few things I didn’t do. And it was nothing urgent for sure. I was very concerned about the following day. I had a dentist appointment that I had already postponed once. I had to get there. The dentist is 30 minutes away by interstate, which makes me nervous to drive with pain and meds. I had to plan my timing of meds for the rest of the day and the following day. I had to play catch up for the pills and dosages that I missed today. Needless to say, Luci and I were up the entire night. We could’ve played cards, but he cheats. I’d call him on it, but I was already in enough pain. This morning, I had the coffee on at 3am. I felt hungover from lack of sleep, strange pill doses, and that damn Luci. I had the dentist appointment at 2:00pm and then was going to stop with Mom at Trader Joe’s. Well, I certainly didn’t expect snow, 20° temps, and Arctic winds. I don’t drive often or well on icy roads, so there went my stress level sky high. (Satan is laughing hysterically in the corner!) More tears (which are my go-to for anger, stress, anxiety, depression, and panic) and decisions to make. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom, I didn’t want to cancel on Dentist again, I was confused about what meds to take, how much, and when so I could safely drive. I gave I  to the tears and just said, “Screw it!” Another lost day. I stayed in bed again. Hopefully better luck tomorrow. I fell asleep to Luci’s laughter.

A drug named WHAT? How migraine and headache drugs get their names?

29 Things Only Someone with Severe Migraines Would Understand

Written by Delaney Ashdale and Ralph Bardeaux | Published on February 26, 2015
1. You know it’s way, way more than just a “bad headache.”

2. You heard about how doctors used to drill holes into patients’ heads and thought: “Maybe that’s not a terrible idea…”

3. A bird chirping is not your idea of a pleasant morning.

4. You don’t need a near-death experience to “see the light.”

5. You don’t need to ride the Tea Cups at Disneyland to feel horribly dizzy.

6. You’ve spent enough time sitting in dark rooms alone that you feel like a less exciting Batman.

7. You blurt out “No!” before someone can finish asking “Are you sure it’s not —”

8. That dog that won’t stop barking next door sounds like it has a gateway to your brain.

9. Just looking at a jackhammer makes your head bang.

10. You often struggle to concentrate, but don’t have ADHD.

11. There are painkillers, and then there are pills that actually kill the pain.

12. Unlike granola, migraines are the worst when they come in clusters.

13. It’s like giving birth without any joy, just pain.

14. There’s nothing silent about a “silent” migraine.

15. Drinking to dull the pain only makes your head hurt more.

16. Coffee is not the best part of waking up.

17. You know how exhausting it is to run a marathon, even though you’ve never actually run one.

18. Smells can make a severe migraine worse, so don’t even THINK about coming over here with that popcorn or salami, pal.

19. Then again, migraines can sometimes make you crave weird food and – Hey, where are you going with that salami?!

20. They sometimes start with a euphoric feeling, which is like being handed a lollipop before being hit by a truck.

21. A severe migraine can make you so tired that … oh forget it, I’m too exhausted to think of a punch line.

22. Your face can go numb when you have a severe migraine, so now your head hurts and you’re drooling. Great.

23. A really bad one can make you turn as pale as a vampire. Only you won’t live forever or run really fast.

24. You’re pretty sure a bomb shelter isn’t quiet and dark enough.

25. Someone has suggested an orgasm as a cure. Nice try, Don Juan. Now pull your pants back up.

26. A severe migraine can bring on speech disturbances. And your co-worker’s laughter at your sudden Cajun accent really doesn’t help things.

27. The auras get so bad that you feel like you’re hallucinating. And not in the fun, Burning Man kind of way.

28. Severe migraines can last a week or more, so when you feel one coming on, you know that you can write off the rest of the month.

29. After a really bad migraine, you always suspect another one is hiding right around the corner, like a sneaky, uncool ninja.

 

So. First day of the year and I had a breakdown. All of a sudden I started crying uncontrollably. Then the panic set in. Hitching sobs, breath catching, hard to breathe. Nausea, dizziness, sweaty palms, heart racing. I was fine just moments prior. Lightning fast, it came on. As they tend to do. Everything seemed to crash down on me. I was terrified of every thought I had. I was overwhelmed with feelings of loss, fear, dread. The room seemed to shrink right in front of me. The area around my chair seemed to be in a bubble. I was trapped. No way out. It seemed darker, almost ominous. I tried deep breathing, telling myself I was okay, I’d get through this, I’d been here many times before. Didn’t matter. I was in the moment and couldn’t distract myself. Couldn’t calm down. Every breath was a struggle. I was drowning. I saw  black flashes of light, not enough air. I fought my way to my room. Found my pills. Took one dry. My furbaby Samantha jumped up on the bed. I started stroking her soft fur. She laid down next to me as I sat back against the headboard. She began to purr. I tried to match my erratic breaths with her slow, steady ones. As the meds kicked in, and Sam help to ground me, my heart slowed. My crying turned into quiet sobs. The nausea faded. The panic started to ebb. I began to feel peaceful, tired, relaxed. Sam looked up at me and I actually felt a smile on my face. She calms me. I’m so thankful for her presence and our bond. She is so attuned to my moods, emotions, and eases them. She is the other half of my heart and soul. I fell asleep to her soft, healing purrs. 

It can be a frightening and disconcerting experience to speak to someone and realize that what is coming out of our mouths sounds a bit like a golden retriever.

This is one of the many symptoms of Migraine with Aura that sidelined my personal life. It was also breaking news when Serene Branson suffered transient aphasia in the middle of her live news report.
Aphasia is an acquired condition in which the patient loses the ability to do one or more of the following: speak or understand speech, read or write, perform or understand mathematical tasks.

Aphasia can occur suddenly or over a period of time. In the Migraineur, it is usually a symptom of aura and comes on suddenly. It feels a bit like this – One moment you are speaking and understanding a conversation, and the next moment *POOF*you’re in another country, confused and completely out of your element and out of control.

Thankfully unless the Migraine patient suffers a condition called persistent aura, or permanent damage occurs due to a Migrainous stroke, aphasia is temporary. It comes and it goes. Physicians call this Transient Aphasia, because it is not a permanent deficit. It does not require therapy to overcome.

What happens during an attack of aphasia?

It is now understood that Migraine aura is the result of an electrical wave that pulses across the brain called Spreading Cortical Depression. As the unusual electrical wave spreads across the brain, our neurons fire in an abnormal way and our brains can become confused. We see things that aren’t there. We may feel, hear or smell things that aren’t there too. Even our sense of time and space may be altered. As the spreading cortical depression hits the parts of our brains responsible for these and other functions (such as language) we experience strange aura symptoms.

There are two different parts of the brain responsible for language. They are called Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area. Each area controls different parts of language — 1. Function, and 2. Understanding.

Broca’s area is responsible for function — speaking, reading and writing words and numbers. (Words and numbers are all part of language) Aphasia in this area of the brain is often called non-fluent aphasia or expressive aphasia, because the individual has lost the ability to speak words or sentences, although the ability to understand language has not been affected. The patient will struggle to find the right word or number, and not be successful. The reason these patients have aphasia has nothing to do with loss of motor skills in forming words — it is a neurological phenomenon.

Wernicke’s area is responsible for understanding words and numbers. Aphasia in this area of the brain is often called fluent aphasia or sensory aphasia, because although the patient can speak using mostly normal words, they are often nonsensical – as if the words’ meanings had been re-arranged. The person speaking has no idea they aren’t using language correctly and will often be shocked when later presented with a recording of their conversation. They also cannot understand what anyone else is saying to them.

There are many different ways to classify aphasia, but those classifications are usually restricted to permanent deficits. When the aphasia is caused by Migraine, it is usually and simply called transient aphasia. A patient suffering aphasia is called Aphasic.

Migraine patients often may not simply suffer aphasic symptoms from one or the other area, but mixed types. Additionally, one aphasic experience may not be as severe as the next — or vice versa. Just as each aura is different, each experience with aphasia may be different too. Knowing how our brains work normally and during a Migraine is often helpful however, in relieving stress from the unknown.
Knowledge truly is power! I sometimes have aphasia — what can I do?

Carry a wallet card explaining your condition: These cards can be purchased from various aphasia websites, or you can simply create one yourself that says something like: “Hello, my name is ______ and I sometimes suffer transient aphasia as part of Migraine aura or side effect of a medication I am taking. This means I may not be able to understand or speak to you right now. To help me, please call ________.” Don’t forget to warn the person (or doctor) whose phone number you’re using that they may receive a call. Help them by providing them with instructions you would like them to give the caller such as: How to contact someone for transportation home. Where your medical information is located. Where you store your medications so a helper can get them to you. How to contact your spouse or physician.
Carry an instruction sheet that includes the information above, as well as contact information for significant others who can help you.
Carry a small pad and pencil with you.
Carry a smart phone with GPS tracking enabled. An example of one program that allows “friends” to see where you are is: Google Latitude
Consider creating a one button text code to a loved one that indicates your situation when you’re alone.
Remember to create an auto dial number for ICE on your phone (In Case of Emergency) and direct it toward someone close to you who is usually available. Emergency personnel depend on these numbers and will look for them. Multiple ICE numbers can be followed by #1, #2, etc. May also code APHASIA with an emergency number in your phone too. This will help emergency personnel or helpers to assist you.
Remember — no matter how confused and alone you feel, You. Are. Not. Alone.

What can my loved ones do to help me?

Keep paper and writing tools handy “just in case”.
Use gestures if necessary.
Speak slowly and carefully and give plenty of time for single word responses.
Use drawings or pictures to be understood
Educate yourself about Migraine and aphasia so you can advocate for your loved one when they have lost their own voice.
Plan ahead and practice — what will you do if you receive a call from someone trying to help your loved one?
Be ready with hugs of encouragement. Don’t lose patience. Give plenty of time for your loved one to try to communicate with you.
Be sure to summarize a thought or idea you think they have and give them the opportunity to nod or shake their head to indicate their agreement or disagreement.
Remember this is a temporary situation beyond their control. They are alone and scared.
After the attack is over, review together what happened and make any changes to your plan necessary for the next time.
Aphasia and Migraine medications

Aphasia is sometimes a part of Migraine aura (often mistakenly called Complex Migraine — an antiquated term) but it can also be a side effect of preventive medication you may be taking for your attacks. Be sure you cross check all your prescriptions for this potential, no matter how rare they may list it. Gabapentin and pregabalin are two examples of medications that list aphasia as a potential side effect. Do you know of any others?

If you have recently (last 6 months) changed your preventive and suddenly are experiencing transient aphasia, consider talking with your doctor about it. Any changes in your normal Migraine pattern needs to be discussed anyway. Your aphasia may be a symptom from your medication and changing meds may be warranted to see if the symptom disappears on its own. Your own aphasia may be short and not affect your life much at all. Then again, it may be serious and even necessitate major life changes like it did with me. Either way, it is a severe symptom that you will want to be sure and minimize. This means education and becoming proactive.

Do you have additional ideas for readers dealing with transient aphasia? What is your story?

New Year’s eve. A time to reflect upon the past  year. Remember good times and bad. I’ve had both. A lot of painful days and sleepless nights. Medical tests and medication side effects. New meds. New symptoms. A positive outcome to a nearly five year fight for Disability benefits. Lawyers, doctors, judges, paperwork. Social services. Some assistance there. Social Security and Medicare with less hassle than I expected. Mom is doing well. Good medical reports on her health. Positive (fingers crossed and prayers said) outcome for my furbaby Samantha’s surgery. An unbelievable outpouring of love for me and Samantha from our fundraiser. Thanks again to all of the donors and well wishers. Thoughts about moving back to my home state of Delaware. Not sure just yet. I’d hate to leave my doctors, but there are plenty nearby in Philadelphia. Options. I’ve been homebound more this year than any other. Trying to stay positive and strong. I still have treatments and medications I haven’t tried. I’m pushing myself harder than ever to go out, keep appointments, even just go to lunch. Home is comfortable. I can control my environment. But I can’t let it get too comfortable or I’ll never want to leave. I have to say a huge thank you and I love you to all of my online friends. You’ve been my only link to the outside world for most of this year and previous years. You’ve all been so supportive and empathetic to my issues. I feel the love through your posts and messages and even phone calls from some of you. I’m so grateful to have my online communities and groups where I can open up about my situation and my feelings about everything. Finding people with similar interests and issues and discussing solutions and options with them. Just to know y’all are out there makes things easier. Much love to every one of you. Best wishes for a happy, healthy New Year to all of you and your families and friends. 2016 will be a better year! Carry on and Always Keep Fighting! 💕