miss usa kara mccullough answering the question 'do you think affordable healthcare for all us citizens is a right or a privilege and why?'

Dear Miss USA Kara McCullough, From a Chronically Ill Woman

Dear Miss USA Kara McCullough,

You stated you believe healthcare is a privilege, then went on to give an example about how you have a government job (which I’d like to remind you means you also have government-funded health insurance). Not everyone is lucky enough to have a government job that guarantees outstanding health insurance. Some of us were born too sick to get a job that guarantees us health insurance.

You were right when you said that health insurance in the US is a privilege. A privilege for those who were fortunate enough to not have medical challenges. It shouldn’t be that way though.

It is a privilege for those who can get a job that guarantees health insurance. There are thousands of people out there who have a job or even two but still can’t get health insurance through their employer. A privilege for those whose families don’t have small businesses. A privilege for those who are employees of the government. A privilege for millionaires.

But just because it is a privilege now doesn’t mean it should stay that way.

Health insurance should be a right because all people – regardless of economic or health status – deserve to live. A child born into poverty deserves to live just as much as a child who has a trust fund. And before someone says, “Poor people shouldn’t have children if they can’t afford them,” this isn’t just a problem for people who are poor. There are everyday middle class Americans who go bankrupt because their child was born or became sick. You can plan accordingly and save up enough money to have a healthy child. But it is nearly impossible to plan for or save up enough money in advance to have a child that is born or becomes sick.

My life matters.

Becca Atherton


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illustration of a woman sitting on a swing under a tree in autumn

Accepting There May Never Be Recovery With Chronic Illness

Recovery is a interesting word. What does it even mean? Does it mean you are cured for good, or is it an ongoing process? The dictionary defines it in the following two descriptions:

1. a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength

2. the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost

The second definition caught my eye.

“Regaining possession of something stolen or lost.”

In life there are times when we experience losses. Losses sometimes of great value. Losses one may question if they can ever get back. Losses one may question if they will ever truly really recover from.

Can a chronically ill person ever regain possession of the health that was stolen or lost from them?

Can an adult ever gain possession of innocence they lost at a young age due to childhood trauma?

Can a person ever recover from losing the love of their life? Whoever that was, can they feel whole again?

Can someone who feels broken ever really be fixed? Or will they always be slightly “broken” in one hidden way or another?

That’s a question swirling in my head these days.

I don’t want to be “broken” anymore. Not that I ever wanted to be broken in the first place. But how I wish I could close my eyes and open them and have everything suddenly be all better. I wish I could pretend everything away. Trust me, I’ve been trying super hard to forget I am sick. I push my body further than it is meant to go; I think I won’t feel the consequences because there won’t be any. I think I can talk my body out of being sick. I tell it I am going to act as if I am not sick. I tell myself  I am going to live the life of a healthy person. I’ve found myself stuck on this carousel that won’t let me off. I feel like an old school VCR stuck on fast-forward mode and I am waiting to hit the end. What happens next, I’m not really sure – but I feel as if I am catapulting towards it quickly and I’m a bit worried, to be honest.

But then I ask myself – if one thing hadn’t led to another and I wasn’t sick today, would I really be who I am now? Would I be able to understand when people are hurting and spot it from a mile away? Would I want to help others the way I do? Would I even be me? Sometimes though, I wonder who that even is.

I’m a blur of struggling to not fall off the edge and positively fighting the negativity.

So what does recovery really mean then? Does it mean going back to the person one used to be? So the next question would be, do I even want to? My eyes are so brightly opened now to life as it truly is. There are no rose-colored glasses here. There’s the truth as it exists. For some people, one day they wake up and are forever changed. There is no going back and for many that is a difficult pill to swallow. And I see that. I see it and I feel their pain. I watch as they transition through the various stages of grief. I watch as they experience loved ones judging and questioning their battle.
The saying that you can’t understand what a person is going through until you walk a mile in their shoes is 100 percent correct. Everything we think is based on our one-sided perspective.

So how could families or friends understand an illness that refuses to go away? After all, they had a cold, they went to the doctor, the doctor gave them a pill and they got better. They recovered. But their ability to recover from a common illness might limit their compassion, empathy or simply understanding when it comes to chronic illness. Why can’t their friend or family member get better? Thoughts slip in like “They must be bored or want the attention,” “They’re a hypochondriac” or “They spend too much time on the internet playing doctor with Google.”

So in an effort to prove to everyone that despite illness you are still worthy, still deserving of acceptance and understanding, you may travel down a dangerous road of proving this to yourself and to your loved ones. A never-ending push to be enough, to get it all done, to not let anyone down. Walk through the store with those body aches, go to work and maybe secretly cry through the longest ever shift, watch your children sing and dance to yet another song because going to bed and taking your pills can wait.

You don’t want to disappoint, you don’t want to be the reason they are let down, again. You don’t want to be the reason your family is held back for one reason or another. But in the end, sometimes you are and you will be. Maybe there might not be recovery.

The final stage of grief is acceptance.

Maybe you will be ill until further notice. Maybe you feel “broken.” But don’t let it define you, whether by fighting it or giving up to it. Accepting it is just that. You take the illness as it comes and enjoy it while it is gone. Don’t let it harm you by trying to prove it wrong and don’t stop living and dreaming your dreams because you have this new part of you.

But getting there is easier said than done. It won’t happen overnight. As I write these very words I have them on repeat in my mind. Some days will be darker than others and some days you’ll think you have finally accepted your circumstances totally. So take one day at a time. One hour at a time if you need to.

Breathe, close your eyes and breathe again.

You’ll get there. We will get there.

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Thinkstock photo via Grandfailure.

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Why I Believe 'Radical Acceptance' Is Important With Chronic Illness

It’s time for some serious talk. This is going to be a topic that will likely be controversial among this community of people because we all have widely varying opinions, but I am going to step up on my soapbox and give y’all my two cents. Acceptance of our conditions and struggles is critical in being able to live a life coexisting with chronic conditions. Why is acceptance critical for existence when you are faced with chronic conditions?

First, I want to tell you my definition of what acceptance is – more specifically, what radical acceptance is. Acceptance is basically acknowledging where you are, what you’re doing in the moment and being OK with it. Not judging it or yourself. Just acknowledging it. Simple as that.

Radical acceptance is very similar, but it is acknowledging who you are, where you are, what you’re doing in the present moment and you accept it with you heart, mind and soul. This is me and my journey with chronic illness and acceptance:

I have been diagnosed with a chronic condition that will likely affect me my entire life. I have simple, daily tasks I struggle with every day. But this is my life, and I am at a point where I am OK with the hand of cards I’ve been dealt.

My life may not be ideal, nor will it ever be what I had once expected, but I have learned a lot and it has shaped me to become more than I would have ever thought. It has brought me new friends, a chance to come across and begin writing for this wonderful site and overall it has given me a new perspective on life!

This is radical acceptance. I know who and where I am in life in this present moment, and I accept it with my entire being. I also accept my past and how it has shaped me into the person I am today. For a long time I struggled with trying to justify why I was going through what I did, but acceptance has allowed me to just take my life as it is and find new ways to be “successful” in it.

My life is far from easy, and my road to recovery is just beginning, but I am OK with this because I have learned radical acceptance, and I am able to live my life with what it is.

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Thinkstock photo via Poike.

20 things people with chronic illness want to tell their friends, but don't

20 Things People With Chronic Illness Want to Tell Their Friends, but Don't

When you are diagnosed with a chronic illness, you might meet and instantly bond with other spoonies who understand what you’re going through. But what about all your healthy friends? When one person’s lifestyle changes due to illness, it can become more difficult to relate to each other or even stay in touch. You might spend your days at home in pajamas while they’re constantly out and about. How do you maintain a meaningful connection?

For those who are healthy, it’s often hard to really “get” what your chronically ill friend is going through if you haven’t been there yourself. And being sick can cause us to worry about being a burden and bringing other people down – so we don’t always speak up about what’s bothering us, physically or emotionally. In order to start breaking down this communication barrier, we asked our community to share what they want to tell their friends about living with a chronic condition, but don’t. Let’s help others better understand what it’s like to be sick.

Here’s what the community told us:

1. “I feel lonely a lot. It’s very isolating being sick and in pain all the time. I’d give anything for you to just stop by with dinner and a movie or a board game so I wasn’t alone with myself.”

2. “Please keep inviting me out, no matter how often I can’t make it. It can make my day just knowing you thought of me and want to spend time with me, even if it isn’t always possible.”

3. “I mostly wish they would remember I’m a person. I need friends, someone to talk to, someone to be silly with, someone to hang out with. Someone who won’t make empty promises.”

4. “That it’s more than just the physical symptoms. That it caused me to leave my job and put me in a horrible financial situation. That the guilt I feel is overwhelming since my husband and I can barely pay our bills. The mental side of chronic illness can be just as difficult.”

5. “I miss the way things used to be, like it was before I got sick. I’m still me. You’re still you. Why should our friendship change just because I’m sick?”

6. “I wish you would learn about my diseases and illnesses, and understand they aren’t going to go away. I’m not going to ‘get better.’ I can only handle my illnesses as best I can.”

7. “I tell most things to my closest friends, but I really try to downplay the level of pain even though they know it’s bad. I couldn’t imagine having the ones I love the most (friends and family) know the true extent of what I feel. No one should have to feel what I feel and the idea that my loved ones even have to know I have pain at all is hard for me.”

8. “You don’t mean to make me feel guilty, but you do every time I hear how disappointed you are when I have to cancel our plans last minute for the umpteenth time. I constantly feel like the bad friend, and I’m so lonely. I miss being the me I was before my illness, but I’m still a good person!”

9. “Keeping up with you intimidates me. I love you and value you, but I’m afraid to hold you back.”

10. “That I’m really, really scared because of it. I’m scared of what my illnesses are doing to my body, of what they could do to my body, of what my future will look like, of losing my friends if I admit how scared I am and if I admit how much more help I need than I ask for.”

11. “Just because I can’t physically spend time with you doesn’t mean that I don’t need you. Just one text message can brighten my whole day.”

12. “I wish you would just ask me what it feels like to be me. Ask what it’s like living my life in pain and exhaustion day after day after day. I wish you would care enough to ask me to explain what I go through, rather than judge me for canceling plans or for being slow to commit to plans.”

13. “Please don’t assume that just because I am up and walking around means I am fine. It probably just means I have things to do regardless of the pain.”

14. “That while I know they think it’s funny to make fun of people who have to run to the bathroom all the time, it really isn’t that funny to me. It’s hard to feel like you fit in when everyone is laughing at a problem you face daily.”

15. “When a friend says, ‘You know you only have to ask for money,’ they don’t realize they’ve set up a power struggle that reinforces my feelings of the illness victimizing me. It makes me an outsider: me vs. them. My friends love me, I know that. They know I can’t work regularly, that I use the food banks, that I don’t own a car or go on vacations. But somehow they can’t internalize the relative poverty I live in. If they feel led to, just surprise me once in a while with a gift. That would make me feel much more like a peer and better understood.”

16. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I’m sorry I constantly change or cancel plans. I don’t mean to be ‘flaky’ or seem like a bad friend. I’m just trying to get through each day.”

17. “I’m very scared you’ll leave when you discover the severity of my illness. We’re very young, and I understand you may not be ready to have someone this sick in your life.”

18. “I may be sick most of the time, but that doesn’t mean all of the time. Not being invited to things is worse than not being able to go.”

19. “Please talk to me about more than my illness. It has consumed my life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about anything else. I still like to talk about how you’re doing and that funny video on Facebook. It’s a relief when someone can talk to me about ‘normal’ things.”

20. “I wish you would remember I do need your help. I can’t always be independent anymore. Please don’t act like they don’t exist. I’m still learning to accept my weaknesses. I need your support.”

What’s something you want to tell your friends, but don’t? Share in the comments below.

two friends lying in the grass and smiling

5 Things to Know About Supporting Your Chronically Ill Friend

The diagnosis of a chronic illness can be difficult for many to grasp. The concept that the person isn’t getting “better” in the next few days or weeks is foreign to many, particularly young people. The classic condolences, “Feel better soon” or “I hope you get better soon” don’t seem to do justice to the enormity of what lies ahead.

Remember, looks can be deceiving. A bit of make-up and a smile can cover a world of pain hidden inside. Beware of the comment “you don’t look sick.” Often it can invalidate the struggle hidden inside.

Instead, take the time to really listen. To ask questions and show you genuinely want to understand what their body is experiencing. Ask them how it impacts a typical day. You don’t need to be a medical expert or have a clue what the acronyms, tests and treatments all mean. Just showing an interest will be incredibly validating.

You may feel way out of your depth, confronted by the dramatic change in your friend. It may be harder to connect to them as their experience is now so different than your own.

Here are five key points I think your friend with chronic illness would love you to know:

1. They might feel like a burden.

Due to the chronic, unknown nature of the illness, they might wonder if/when you will eventually give up on them. They might be terrified that you will get “sick of them being sick.” Consequently, reaching out for support, prayer, etc. can be exceptionally challenging. You can help with this. Simply taking a few seconds out of your busy schedule to send a “How are you honestly feeling today?” message can make the world of difference. To your friend stuck in bed, battling incredible pain or vomiting in the bathroom, your message will be a reminder that they aren’t alone. A glimpse of light in the darkness. It will mean the world that you took that time not only to think of how they were doing, but to act on that thought. (I am in tears writing this because I know just how powerful this act of kindness can be.)

2. They are still the same person as before the illness.

Chronic illness presents a challenge to the dynamics of relationships. Your friend may not be able to go out like they used to and their personality may be altered. However, despite the external changes to their circumstances, underneath they are still the same. They still value the relationship incredibly (actually more now), they love you and they care about you and what’s going on in your life. You don’t need to walk on egg shells around them or keep your struggles from them as a way of protecting them. I think you will find that your friend has become a great listener and more empathetic than they were previously. They will likely delight in you sharing your life with them – it’s like tasting a piece of normality. Chat with them normally, like you would any other friend.

3. Communication is key.

You may have your own emotions about your friend being sick. You may find it really hard to watch them crying in pain or struggling to walk. Perhaps you are unsure whether to still invite them to events. Please don’t avoid what is uncomfortable. You can talk to your friend about how you feel and have a discussion regarding the impact of the illness on your relationship. Communicating how you feel is by far better than silence or distance. If you are going through a rough period or are too busy to keep in contact, communicate that. Your friend will almost certainly appreciate you addressing where you are at and feel relieved you’re willing to approach the “elephant in the room.”

Your friend doesn’t expect you to “fix” them.

Perhaps one of the hardest parts of the illness for you is feeling powerless to do anything about its existence. Perhaps you are the kind of person who likes to offer a solution to people’s problems and cross oceans to heal their pain. It can therefore be hard to accept that there isn’t anything you can “do” to change this situation. Feelings of guilt may arise – guilt that they are struggling so much while your life remains relatively unchanged. The situation may seem unfair to you. Perhaps this is the origin of the condolence “I’m sorry” – I know I have used that one many times before. Again, the greatest help you can give your friend while feeling this way to be present. Either through phone calls, a message or showing up at their house (whatever is easiest for you). Walk with them through the hurt, fear and grief. Actively listen. Please don’t avoid them because of that uncomfortable feeling of guilt – I assure you, it’s not your fault.

5. Stick around. Be consistent. Be faithful.

After a while the flowers will droop, the shock of the initial diagnoses and dramatic life change for your friend will wear off. That person however, will still be struggling, likely with the same kind of pain they were in at the beginning. But the greatest thing you can possibly do in this period – in the weeks, months, years following – is to simply show up. To check in. To be there. Be there to celebrate the moments of victory and also be prepared for the valleys.

Friend, I thank you for being there for my fellow chronic illness warrior. We appreciate you immensely. In fact, tears are building in my eyes as I reflect just how far a little bit of kindness can reach. Never underestimate your impact on their life. How your presence, your smile and support influence their world.

We were never meant to walk this journey of life alone.

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Thinkstock photo via william87.

doctor writing on a tablet

Dear Doctors: All I Ask Is for Someone to Believe Me

To the doctors who doubt me,

I know I’m not the only patient you will see today. I know I’m just another name in a long list of people you look after. I know I might mean little to you and the only reason we came in contact is by fate, because you supposedly are one of the few people who are able to help me. I am conscious of your life being busy and I understand you don’t have all the time in the world to look after just me. I realize my problems aren’t an immediate “life or death” issue and that you probably see people in much more critical condition than I am in.

But what I also know is that you are more than just a name to me. Yes, I may not look forward to seeing you, but to me, you were a sign of hope. (I say “were” because you have let me down so many times I now struggle to see you as being of assistance anymore.) As a doctor, you have the power to make a difference in my life, one that I need so very much, even though I am not dying.

Because I am struggling. I’m alive and will probably (and hopefully) be for a long time, but I’m not entirely sure I’d say I “live” every day. And I don’t recall the oath you took to say you would only show compassion and human decency to those who were dying. Something about your job makes me believe you are there to help everyone who needs your help, and believe me, I need it.

I am chronically ill. I am in pain. I don’t get to live my life to the fullest. I miss out on having fun. I have spent countless nights in a hospital bed. I will probably never get to do many of the things I dream of. Yet somehow, when I speak to you, this doesn’t seem to matter.

In what world would I possibly be lying about my symptoms? How could you possibly think that, as if I find enjoyment in wasting my time and money to see you? Do you honestly believe I would take the time to think up some long, painful story and tell it to you for fun? Because if you think that, I have no clue how on earth you possibly became a doctor.

You don’t have to completely understand what I go through to help me. I don’t expect you to know absolutely everything about my rare and invisible illnesses, but what I do expect is that you treat me with respect when I come to see you. I am seeing you because I want your help and because I know there is something wrong.

If you tell me one more time it’s “all in my head” and I just need to “speak to a psychiatrist” I will hit the roof. I see one every week and have for years. I have tried everything and exhausted every other possible diagnosis you could think of.

And your disbelief quite frankly does the opposite of help me, as you are meant to do.

In fact, it makes me feel like it’s my fault, which I will forever resent you for. Because if managing my physical health wasn’t hard enough as it was, you have contributed to (not solely caused, but still did not help) my anxiety that I now experience on a daily basis. You see, I am the only person who can truly understand what I go through, and when you doubt me, you make me lose faith in myself, which makes everything worse.

So next time you want to tell me that it must all be “in my head,” please think first about how that will affect what is actually in my head.

I needed you and you let me down. Next time, I ask you to look at me as more than my mismatched symptoms. I am just as aware of how confusing they all are as you, but they are real. I promise.

If there is one thing you can do to help me, even if you don’t totally understand, it’s to believe me. I cannot explain to you how much that would mean to me.


Your chronically ill patient

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Thinkstock photo via utah778.

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