"Interstitial cystitis is one of those mysterious chronic illnesses that many doctors have a difficult time treating. The reason being is that when patients get tested for urinary tract infections, more often than not, nothing turns up. Hence the name "non-bacterial cystitis".

There is no known cause and no known medical cure for IC. There are medical treatments and procedures, such as bladder instillations, hydrodistensions, and Elmiron, but they only work for a small percentage of people some of the time, and often have strong side effects.

Interstitial cystitis is considered to be an "immune system breakdown disorder" because it typically appears when immunity has been compromised. It often occurs in tandem with other immune system breakdown disorders, namely chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, irritable bowel syndrome, and vulvodynia.

In fact, IC patients are 100 times more likely to have irritable bowel syndrome than the general population, and a large percentage suffer from the aforementioned disorders as well. This is not surprising, since a compromised immune system can and does affect many areas of the body."

The urologist said my CaT scan showed I have diverticulosis, so I'm going to pass along those test results to my gastroenterologist. Fun, fun, fun.

I learned from this post on definatalie.com this week is National Invisible Illness Awareness Week in America. I'm inspired by Natalie's post to fill out my own questionnaire here. I invite you to fill out your own in your blog & link me in the comments.

1. The illness(es) I live with are:
Hashimoto's Thyroiditis (aka hypothyroidism), Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (aka PCOS), and Seasonal Affective Disorder (aka SAD) manifesting as depression.

2. I was diagnosed with it/them in the year:
thyroid: 1989 (age 11)
PCOS: 1998 (age 20)
depression: 1990 (age 12)

3. But I had symptoms since:
thyroid: age 9
PCOS: age 12
depression: age 8

4. The biggest adjustment I've had to make is:
I've been sick since I was a child, so I don't really know what it's like to NOT be. There's not really any adjustment to make, as this is normal to me.

5. Most people assume:
I don't know what people think, really. I'm very headstrong, willful, and impatient, so I tend to not listen to them. I'm afraid people think I'm a hypochondriac for always saying I'm sick, or that I'm weak for complaining about pain. I *do* know that when I'm depressed, whoever I'm with often assumes that I'm upset with them.

6. The hardest part about mornings is:
Lately, I've been battling some sort of anemia, so my energy levels have been lower than usual. If I don't remember to take my thyroid pills as SOON as I wake up, I'll feel like I'm swimming underwater or floating in a fog the whole rest of the day.

7. My favorite medical TV show is:
M*A*S*H

8. A gadget I couldn't live without is:
My lightbox for cloudy & overcast days.

9. The hardest part about nights is:
Sometimes I get really painful leg cramps from wonky thyroid hormones.

When I menstruate or have PMS, overnights are the WORST. Even though for over ten years I've been on birth control pills to diminish ovarian cysts that caused me seven-ten nights of heavy flow, I loose sleep because I'm still scared I might bleed through and make a huge mess on my bed.

If I'm having a bout of depression, I have trouble sleeping. Since I purchased a lightbox two years ago, my insomnia has all but disappeared. It was TERRIBLE when I was a kid. I lost almost all of my junior year of high school -- I seriously don't remember what happened.

10. Each day I take [?] pills & vitamins.

That there is only half of 'em. Not shown: three before-I-wake-fully 60mg of Armour thyroid hormone, after-lunch glucophage, and after-dinner glucophage, cranberry supplements, multi-vitamin, and birth control pill.

11. Regarding alternative treatments, I:
I've tried chiropractic & therapeutic massage treatments for my chronic pain, but I ended up feeling WORSE, not better. Supposedly, if I had stuck to them for months/years/whatever/forever, I'd be MIRACLE CURED OMG. I don't have the money or the time for that, sorry.

As pictured, I take several herbal supplements in addition to chemical pills. When I hear about something that could help (i.e. cranberry for UTIs), I try it. If it helps, it stays. If not, I toss the bottle and eat the cost. Sometimes I suffer from terrible side effects (iron pills, I'm looking at YOU), and that fucks my shit up for days...even weeks.

I hear TCM, such as acupuncture & nasty-tasting teas, could help, but once again, I can't afford the time or the cost. And I am one of the few who have access to EXCELLENT health care & insurance, fortunately. Ironic, isn't it?

12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness and a visible one, I would choose:
AS IF! anyone can choose their lot in life. What a foolish question.

13. Regarding working and career:
I get in trouble for calling out sick as often as I do. I am very lucky my boss let's me work extra days to make up time when I've used up my allocated sick days. However, that means I work more than many. Well, in this economy, I suppose I should be grateful to even HAVE a job.

14. People would be surprised to know:
Some days I feel fanFUCKENtastic! I can muster up the energy to walk or bike all over town, working out is a pleasure, and I'm a thousand smiles. And then SURPRISE! a week later, I'm crumpled up in the doorway, crying in pain.

15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality is:
There's nothing NEW about my reality...but the hardest thing for me to accept is that sometimes, I am simply TOO SICK to attend a social function or fun event. I try to not take the flaky way out & call my friends to let them know what's up, but I'm afraid I appear like a selfish shut-in.

16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness was:
Shop for straight sized clothes. I've worn plus sizes since I was in middle school, so I just have to MAKE IT WORK. /tim gunn

17. The commercials about my illness:
*What* commercials would that be, exactly? Motherfuckers, WHERE IS MY FUNDRAISER?! I want a Thyroid Three-Day, a Polycystic Purple Ribbon, and a SAD Telethon.

18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed:
Uh, recess? Once again, I was diagnosed as a kid, so there's really nothing I miss that's not related to childhood.

19. It was really hard to give up:
Believing that one day I'd be tall and thin. That was a hard fantasy to surrender. Let me tell you, I still succumb to that bad habit. It can be tough accepting myself for who I am.

20. A new hobby I've taken up since my diagnosis is:
See #18

21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again, I would:
I would ride my scooter to NYC, ride all over the five boroughs, and then ride home again that night. Sure, I'd be a bit tired, but as I am NOW, it's impossible.

22. My illness has taught me:
How to be a control freak. (same answer as Natalie!)

23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say (about my illness) that gets under my skin is:
"I have this relative/friend/coworker who has a thyroid disorder, and she's JUST FINE." WELL GOOD FOR THE BOTH OF YOU.

24. But I love it when people:
...are understanding and kind when I explain my limitations.

25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is:
"Everything is going to be okeh."

26. When someone is diagnosed I like to tell them:
"Everything is going to be okeh."

27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is:
I am jealous at how some people are so cavalier about their activities. Fucking eh, if *I* had a normal body instead of this fixer-upper, I'd be out and about every day! Instead, most folk sit around and watch television or post crap online.

28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn't feeling well was:
My boyfriend takes such wonderful care of me when I'm sick. He's constantly doing the nicest things, from driving me all over town to multiple pharmacies when my meds are out of stock, to sitting with me to keep me company when I'm blue.

29. I'm involved with Invisible Illness Week because:
I was inspired by Natalie's post on http://www.definatalie.com

30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel:
Pleased that you are now better informed.

If you grew up A Fair Piece from here, yet find yourself in Philadelphia for more than a few months, you're bound to experience some type of homesickness.

1) Do not be alarmed upon realizing there is nowhere in New York, New Jersey, or Eastern Pennsylvania that sells Shiner Bock. Find yourself a car and drive to Delaware. Even with the bottle deposit and the price of gas, a case of Shiner is cheaper than a case of most any other beer. Exceptions to this include PBR & Lionshead, but I try not to mention those within the same breath as Shiner.

2) When was the last time you went to a rodeo? If your answer is, "When I was a small child in Houston, um, I'm not a redneck," then dress up like a South Street hipster and spend a Saturday night at Cowtown.

3) Work Reading Terminal Market into your shopping routine. It's cheaper than Whole Foods & Trader Joe's, and your corner bodega does not stock staples such as pimento cheese and jalapeño loaf. Acme, the only full-size grocery store in town, frequently stocks old and outdated products, so be careful.

4) Move to South Philly. In my seven years here, it is the closest to diverse as this "City of Ghettos Neighborhoods" gets. You'll rub elbows with Black, White, Brown, Yellow, and maybe even Red. Trust me when I tell you living among Spanish-speaking Mexican neighbors is a soothing balm to these Texas ears.

5) You may have started to suddenly crave country music. If this makes you feel embarrassed and ashamed, stop. Take yourself to Princeton Record Exchange in North Jersey and you'll find CDs by Lyle Lovett, Dwight Yoakum, Tammy Wynette, Jerry Jeff Walker, Reba McIntyre, and Charley Pride, et cetera, for two bucks a pop (or less). Listen to them when it's 65F and gloomy in the middle of June, and dream about beef jerky and lemonade.

6) Explore New Jersey. Strip malls, farm stands, and cornfields will quickly remind you of Everytown, 'Mericuh. All "Jersey Girl" jokes aside, camping in the Pine Barrens or strolling along the boardwalk down the Jersey Shore can be just what you need.

7) Are you dismayed that it is actually NEVER sunny in Philadelphia? Acquire galoshes, a clear umbrella (black ones make it hard to see where you're going), and a raincoat. Make sure all of your light bulbs are full-spectrum "natural" light. When relocating, you will need to buy more lamps than you had planned on, as most buildings in this town do not have ceiling light fixtures. In extreme circumstances, invest in a light lamp.

I hope these tips help! Have any other tips for the newly transplanted Southerner? Share 'em in the comments.

Know this: I am aware how humorless is this blog. My friend told me, laughing, "I'm so sorry you've had SUCH a tough life." Ha. Ha, ha, ha. Yeah, I know. How egotistical to think anyone would care about what I say.

It feels strange writing about serious issues. It feels strange talking about events that shame, remove from the normative mainstream, draw attention to topics difficult to admit. When I encounter dumbasses, I laugh off their trash. What else can I do? Shall I live my life brooding over every single racist, sexist, ignorant slight?

Of course not. I mostly ignore stupid people. Mostly. This blog is a place of acknowledgment. The pain is real. No, it is not all-encompassing. I have developed coping mechanisms to counteract the daily bullshit. But the pain is real!

Racism still exists, post-civil rights movement. Sexism is real, post-feminism. Fatphobia is real of course, because we are still pre-fat acceptance, and it is still acceptable to fear & loathe the sick and disabled. I deal with all of these, so thank you for acknowledging my struggle.

So. Why should I silence my small voice? So what if this blog is difficult to read? So what if you think I'm whining? Should I stop talking about all this (before I've even really started)?

I am embarrassed to be seen as a whiner, complaining about things beyond my control. I was ashamed when my friend teased and when my brother questioned. What right do I have to blog about personal politics? Why now?

Why not? If you find me troubling, disturbing, uppity, ungrateful, well...to paraphrase Biscuit from the Big Boys, "Go start your own blog." Or hell, challenge me in the comments. You can post anonymously (screened only for spam & viruses), or you can use your OpenID.

I welcome criticism, I embrace discussion, and I am amused by snark. Have at me! And please, be sure to tell your friends.

Welcome.

Welcome home.

Welcome, third culture kids, born in one place, raised in another. One world has an Abuela, the other has a Grandmother. Fresh off the boat. Hot off the presses. Translating American for your father. Explaining Eddie Murphy to your mother. Listening to your classmates ask you, why do they talk like that? No one else's parents roll their RRs.

And why does she look like that? Mami is round every place your teacher is sharp. Teacher is tall, thin, blonde, but Mami is short, round, and dark. No, not dark...olive. It's an olive complexion. It's complicated.

Look at your tan! You must never burn. I'm so jealous. Why does your daddy talk like that? Why does he say 'tree' for 'three'? Does he speak English? Can't he count? It's complicated.

Why does your mommy look like that? Why is her hair so short? She looks like a man. You're so lucky she let you pierce your ears. It's not fair.

Momma, why are they so weird? They eat weird foods. Maybe that's why they're so weird. If I eat beans, will I look like *that*? I don't want her to use my hairbrush. Clean it out, look at her hair in there! I don't want dark hair like that. Crying, crying, it's not fair.

And I cried and cried too, but I was angry, not afraid. Twenty-five years later, I'm still angry, but I've stopped crying. Now I'm the one who's afraid. So, welcome.

Welcome to my new blog where I write publicly and politically about my experiences. I hope you'll share in my discussion about topics such as your hair falling out because of your thyroid disorder, your mother following you into the yard yelling and ready to hit you again with her chancla, your dad's accounting job relocating your family every seven years, wearing men's clothes when your hips spread and your breasts arrive because plus-size wasn't an option, and feeling like no matter what you did or said you'd never fit in.

I'm a fat (yes, FAT. I don't sugarcoat it (unless the recipe calls)) woman with a host of autoimmune disorders, born in Puerto Rico to Puerto Ricans (whatever THAT means) but raised in Texas, living in a segregated "city of neighborhoods" (uh HUH), punk rock anti-capitalist, librarian scooterist.

Who are you? Why are you here? Thank you. You are welcome.