My Introduction

Better late then never, eh? Well, to be fair, this was orginally my "About Me" blurb, but I found it too long and off-putting for that section. But not that I didn't want it said. So here it is, though since I'm giving myself more room, well, I've expanded.

Hi, I'm Karen. I don't live a remarkable life, and years of low self-esteem and battling depression left me often wondering what there is about me that others like. I'm finally starting to emerge. By that, I mean, "me", who was buried so deep down in my consciousness that I wondered if there was anything about me worth knowing, has finally been able to escape her shackles and came far enough out to say hi, pleased to meet you. And so begun an internal journey of self-discovery as I start to learn about myself.

A few things happened, almost all at once, and have ended up coalescing to form this blog.

I have MCS, which stands for Multiple Chemical Sensitivity. It's a term I've only recently learned. For years, I've lived with it known as a "perfume allergy". A change in job led me to learn more about this. It's actually a known disability, as it falls under Environmental Sensitivities. And while I always thought worst-case scenario was house-bound, turns out it could be having no one believe you and you end up jobless and homeless, with an arm's length list of symptoms that most doctors can't put together, and at best, misdiagnose you and put you on drugs that can harm you if you don't actually have that disease. Oh, joy. And so begins my journey to learn more about this, to find specialists, and find a means to live with it. Heck, maybe even find a husband willing to live with it, live in a home that won't poison me, and have children who won't disrespect it. Ah, dreams...

Last year, I took on my own little campaign to "fix me". It started innocently enough; I was helping a friend move a cabinet that really, I had no rights to think I could do. It fell and smacked me in the head. (I've heard of the universe slapping you upside the head when you get off your life path, but really, this was a bit much...). Well, that got me a concussion, a compression injury to the neck, and whiplash. Yes, all at once. I found myself doing regular chiropractor and massage, and decided, well, heck, while I'm at it, I might as well heal other things in myself too. And so, I've begun to explore what it is that makes me tick, and either embrace it if it's good or get it out of my life if it's bad. This begun with quitting smoking, and then, attempting to eat healthier, and exercise more. Turns out, my MCS may help guide me on a better path of that, and being on a better path may help ease my MCS...

You know how they say you can trust a fat cook? That obviously, they know good food? Well, this is one fat girl who ensures she has the phone handy in case of self-inflicted food poisoning. Ironically, I've been regularly following 2 cooking blogs for years. I've got a few recipes down, but the kitchen is still a place that leaves me confused, concerned, and amazed... But the budget, the waistline, my health, and sodium-induced swelling in my feet have caused me to realize I need to cook most of my meals and not rely on chemical-heavy pre-processed food.

As I start to learn more about myself, and try to research things on the Internet, I've found myself enjoying the Internet. I mean, the days of ICQ and dial-up and BBS's started in my teens. But while friends started swooning over the thing, I sat back and wondered what was so exciting about it. Ok, yah, it had it's uses. And it was cool to see it. But really, who wants to know so much? That was half a lifetime ago. Since then, I spent a few years in the call centre industry helping people get their connections back so they could go online. Other than it having it's uses, it still seemed little more than a glorified mall where girls could shop, men could find themselves porn in yet another method, sports and news could be followed in another form, and people could now see their bank balance other than having it disjointedly chimed off in your ear. And then something just fell into place in me, and now, now I have a favourites list that is long, and growing, as I find yet another thing I want to know more about.

And finally, as I follow more and more blogs, I found myself wanting to create one for myself. After a failed attempt, I went back to the drawing board, and asked: What are blogs? They are personal places where a person shares what they are passionate about. In the past, I've never considered myself truly passionate about any one subject, and my interests vary with my mood. And I also didn't think I was worth knowing. So, I decided that I needed to embrace an ego and simply put it out there what is I find interesting. That I would find ME in the balance between low self-esteem and narcissism.

So, I don't plan for this to be a cooking blog, or a blog about MCS, or a blog about other neat things happening on the web. Instead of picking one subject, I'm going to use this as a place to share all the little bits of things I've learned in over 15 years of customer service, of being the "non-techie tech" computer geek, of the craft work I enjoy, of the books I read and shows I watch, interesting websites I find, blogs I follow, and to share my story of introducing healthier living options, and of my ongoing fight against MCS. As well as anything else that grabs my interest along the way. And while you get to know me, or at least find a few useful things, I'm going to learn what makes me tick, and what makes me worth knowing.

Welcome to my life.
~Karen

Listing the Emotional Response

I've whittled it down to a fine art of which symptoms to talk about when someone asks me what happens when I smell perfumes or colognes. It's a nice pat answer, doesn't make people's eyes glaze over. Though I wonder if by not saying everything outright if I'm doing myself a misservice and keeping them from truly understanding the impact it has on me.

I also must get a handle of the flood of emotions and scattered thoughts that come from exposure. I need to find a way that through it all I can somehow politely tell someone to get away from me with their scent trail, how dare they violate my space, don't you know this hurts me??? Right now, I don't say anything. I can't. If I lose control of myself, it's going to come out as a sobbing mess or with an anger that rivals that of stereotypical red-headed Irish sailors. Both of which can affect far more in my life.

How do I describe this, the emotional roller coaster that I go through? I suppose people who have been assaulted would understand this best. As far as I know, no one's ever been charged with assault for wearing perfume around someone who has sensitivities to that. Never mind that a brick to the back of my head may hurt less sometimes, and at least it's something a doctor can stitch back together.

It's not a matter of the fact that I can smell it. It's the fact that these irritants are being brought into my body. I have no choice in breathing. If it's got a smell it just lets me know what is happening instead of having my body go into revolt on me without my knowing why.

There's initial panic when I smell something. Is this going to hurt me? What's going to happen? A sigh of relief that it was just the alcohol only hand sanitizer and a stern reminder to my head for reacting. Or no, it was perfume/cologne/air freshener. Oh no. Swearing begins in my head. My spirit falls. Responses honed over hundreds of exposures over the years kick in.

So many thoughts start scrambling in my brain, all within a split second. I force control back and take status of what I've breathed in. I force myself to hold my last breath in for as long as I can. Maybe I can get away or they will leave before I have to draw breath again. It's become second nature to me. I assess my surroundings. Can I flee, right now, get the hell away from that, reduce my exposure?

Whether it helps or not is not the question. I have to try. Every time. Regardless that it rarely seems to help if I can. If I'm in the middle of something, I have to keep working on it until I can leave it at a spot I can pick it back up from.

If I'm just chatting with someone, especially if they understand, I can generally make a quick apology and escape. But if I'm having a serious conversation, whether on the phone or in person, I have to stay.

I have to lock down an iron grip on my body. Stay put. Keep a hold of itself, suck it up, buttercup. Keep decent eye contact. Make sure that some secondary system ensures that I'm still listening to what they are saying, somehow. The mouth is giving appropriate responses. At least, I trust this is happening. I cannot spare enough concentration to make sure; I certainly will only remember snippits of this later. Cue despair. Push it roughly aside. If I can, if it's not rude, take a step back. Maybe putting some distance will help. Not likely. Most times I can't take enough steps away without seeming rude, or even worse, the unconcious nature of human bodies, their body steps forward to bridge the gap. I can't keep that up without us finding ourselves in some strange dance. A strange dance where they unwittingly chase me as I try to flee in circles.

Do not let tears well up, certainly not fall. Shallow breathing kicks in. Not too deep and it might help reduce the exposure. I've learned I can't keep that up for long or the reduced oxygen wrecks it's own havoc in my battered body. Don't cough. If one cough escapes, more will follow, and keep following until it finally calms down. Can I grab a sip of water or a hard candy without being obvious? Sometimes it helps keep my throat soothed enough. I can feel the scent clinging to my throat, it tickles, I need to get it out of me, my throat is constricting ready to cough it out. Iron grip. A hand hidden from their sight grips tightly, fingernails digging in, in an effort to continue to keep control over my body.

I can't run away from a coworker or boss that is speaking to me. If I leave a meeting or a training session I will miss that information. I can't run away from a cashier before I've made my payment. I can't pull up my pants and run out of the bathroom when I'm in the middle of my business there.

Before and as symptoms kick in, I wonder what will happen from exposure from this particular cocktail. Can I just have a couple of coughs and then maybe a slight headache at the end of the day? Or even if I start a huge coughing fit and my throat is sore and hoarse for the rest of the day, will the headache wait until later, if it even comes? Or should I be remembering everything I wanted to do today, and while I have the mental capacity left to me, should I start reorganizing my calendar so that when I go home to take some hard-hitting pain meds and fall asleep that I won't be owing an appointment cancellation fee somewhere or be a lousy friend and cancel plans with someone? Oh, and let's make space for tomorrow as well. Too many migraines just seems to become an invitation to weekly or even daily ones.

There's despair, depression, confusion, anger, resignation. This is happening again. Despite the precautions I set up. Despite that I know this person has been told. Despite the fact that I've talked to them and told them how much this hurts me. Are they doing this to me on purpose? Do they really hate me this much? How am I ever supposed to work again? To go out shopping? To eat out? How can I ever take public transportation? Go out to a bar? Go to the gym? Travel? Planes? Trains? Cruise? See other countries? Attend college or university? Take a photography course or french lessons or any other thing I may want to try that involves leaving my apartment? Should I just give up? Maybe there are strong enough meds that I can take that will let me live in a fog when I leave my home. Nevermind that it's not really living. I'm never going to find a guy. Even if I could go out in public enough to meet and date someone, who really wants to marry this? I wouldn't choose this life for anyone. How can I expect anyone to choose to live it with me? Or children? How cruel is it of me to ask them to maintain this dilligence of keeping scents out? Or let them have friends over?

Maybe I should live with a mask on. I hate people staring at me, pointing at me, laughing at how geeky it looks, or crossing the street to avoid whatever it is I must have to require such a heavy duty thing. Obviously I'm the one who's endangering others if I'm wearing the mask, not the other way around. Let's not even talk about completely covering myself in a Tyvek suit to ensure their scents don't seep into my clothes and I take it home and contaminate my home.

And when I wake up the next morning, a sense of dread comes out. Am I going to be hurt again today? Most days I can swallow that thought back down and get up and going. Repeat the lie to myself: I'll be ok today; just because it happened before does not mean it will happen again.