March 8, 2016



Dear Life,



I am going to be real honest and quite frank with you.  You think you’re funny, but you’re not.  Giving me POTS and making me pass out almost every time I stand up was quite enough but mixing that with having to run to the bathroom to prevent accidents is just too much.  Losing consciousness multiple times a day is sufficient chaos you didn’t need to add in the Mast Cell Disease and make me go anaphylactic constantly. Trust me when I say I appreciate the fact that my limited diet keeps me from being an obese ogre due to sitting and laying down all day, but, breathing is really my friend, so I’d love it if I could do more of it, freely.  While I have your attention, I’d also like to mention this whole new aspect of reality that is a paralyzed vocal cord.  The best part of having to be monitored 24 hours a day so that I don’t die is being able to communicate when indeed I am having a major incident. However, much like how you must find humor in me passing out running to the bathroom, you apparently find extreme humor in me laying on the floor yelling for help in a high pitched breathy screech.


While I am incredibly appreciative for still having you, dearest life, I would really love it if you could cut me a break from your nutty humor for maybe even just 24 hours.  I would be grateful for it and I am sure all those around me would as well if I could have even a few hours in which I am not the butt of your jokes.  (PUN INTENDED.)


Thanks from the bottom of my tachycardic heart,



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