*Baron & Budd Law Firm published this blog here:
As I was scrolling through my Facebook
news feed, I came across a post from my friend Cheri:
“I was just told I need to take
down my Facebook profile picture because I don't look sick and people
might not think I'm actually sick.”
It is a sad fact that when you suffer from an invisible illness,
people make judgments about your appearance and capabilities based on
how you look. In their minds, if you don't look sick, you're not
sick. That is a damaging assumption to make.
When you “don't look sick”, it's hard to explain invisible
illness and Fluoroquinolone Toxicity to someone. Even when you
explain it, you're still viewed with skepticism or a blank stare. The
lack of understanding can lead to feeling isolated. Not only do you
deal with an invisible illness, you start to feel invisible too
because those around you can't- or won't- understand.
My friend Cheri Haddon, 26, from Conyers, Georgia took Cipro in 2011
for a urinary tract infection. She suffered immediate adverse
reactions to it and has been disabled since then. When holidays come
around, she cannot enjoy being with her family because she is so food
and chemically sensitive. She can't eat the food that her healthy
relatives can eat. She becomes sick for months just smelling
someone's perfume or shampoo. She has endured insensitive comments
from people around her because on the outside, Cheri “looks fine”,
while inside, her body is screaming in pain and rebelling against her
environment.
I took Levaquin in 2006 for a suspected sinus infection. Since then I have ruptured 9 tendons, had spinal surgery, developed peripheral neuropathy, tinnitus, vision changes, seizures, gastric problems, a neurodegenerative disorder, muscle wasting, arrhythmia, brain fog, cognitive dysfunction, tremors, and I was diagnosed with another life threatening disease in November.
I took Levaquin in 2006 for a suspected sinus infection. Since then I have ruptured 9 tendons, had spinal surgery, developed peripheral neuropathy, tinnitus, vision changes, seizures, gastric problems, a neurodegenerative disorder, muscle wasting, arrhythmia, brain fog, cognitive dysfunction, tremors, and I was diagnosed with another life threatening disease in November.
Looking at Cheri's photos, as well as mine, you'll see us smiling,
being social with friends and family. But those photos don't tell the
complete story. Hidden behind the smiles is body-wide pain, brain
fog, nausea, dizziness, neuropathy, flaring tendons, fluctuating
heart rate, and much more that you can't see. For the one second it
took to take the picture, we manage to paint a smile on our face,
masking what is really going on behind those smiles. A photo cannot
possibly open a window into what we are feeling like on the inside,
and what you don't see afterward is that it could take us days,
weeks, or longer to recover from whatever was going on in that photo.
There is a photo of me on Facebook and in it my husband and I are
having lunch with 3 other friends.
What you see:
- I am smiling.
- My hair is done.
- I am wearing makeup.
- I am wearing a nice sweater.
- I'm just another diner in a restaurant out with her friends, cracking jokes, listening to what her friends have been up to.
What you don't see:
- I am wearing enough concealer under my eyes that would rival Tammy Faye Baker to cover the dark circles under my eyes because insomnia has kept me up for 3 consecutive nights.
- The tremors in my hands made me drop my fork 6 times since I arrived.
- All of my joints are screaming in pain and the morphine I took before I left the house isn't touching the pain.
- My left foot is numb and my right foot feels like I stepped on hot thumbtacks.
- My cognitive function is poor and when I ordered my lunch, I switched words and the waitress didn't understand what I was trying to say.
- I am taking slow deep breaths in an attempt to calm my heart rate from arrhythmia.
- I am in panic mode because I couldn't remember if I took my seizure medicine that morning.
- Our table is near the table of the elderly gentleman who made a snide comment to me as I walked up the ramp to the restaurant because I can't do steps and he could.
- I would be bed-ridden to close to a week after the photo was taken.
There is a photo of Cheri on Facebook with her mom and her dog on her
mother's birthday.
What you see:
- She is smiling.
- She is wearing a pretty sweater.
- She looks happy.
What you don't
see:
- She is in pain.
- She is nauseous.
- She took her sunglasses off in the house long enough to take the photo and her eyes hurt because she is sensitive to light.
- She is having brain fog.
- This was the first time she was able to wear “real clothes” in 3 weeks because daily activities can be difficult for her.
- She was bed-ridden after the photo was taken.
Cheri's post about someone telling her to take down her profile
picture because people won't believe that she is sick sums up what we
face, even from people in our close circles. It shouldn't take a
photo of us looking like we are on our death bed to convince people
that we are, in fact, suffering from a terrible illness.
They say that a picture speaks a thousand words. I think it depends
on who is reading it.
To someone who isn't chronically ill, Cheri's picture tells the story
of a healthy-looking young woman bonding with her mother. A healthy
person might say “Cheri, you look great, I'm glad you're all
better”.
When I look at it, I can see the hallmark squint in her eyes which
speak of pain from light sensitivity. I see that she is swallowing
her pain. I see that it took a lot for her to get dressed and smile
and participate so her mother could have a nice birthday. I see that
she feels alone because she can't eat the same foods that her family
can, and I see that she can't be in an environment that non-sick
people can be in because she is so sensitive to chemicals, new
furniture smells, perfume, etc. I see in the one second it took to
take that photo that she is silently suffering. I see it because my
smile in my own photos tell the same story of being chronically ill
with an invisible illness.
In the one second it took to take the photographs of us, we got to
look just like normal people, with normal lives, who are not sick
with an invisible illness.
That's the difficult part of invisible illness. By outward
appearances, you can't tell how much someone is suffering. Asking
someone to take down a photo because it makes it look like you're not
sick negates what we are going through. It implies that we should be
posting pictures of ourselves crying, screaming, vomiting, gasping
for breath, in the throes of a seizure, or limping so people believe
that we have an illness and that we are struggling.
You can't see air, yet we believe you are breathing. You can't see
pain, yet we believe you are hurting. So why is it so hard to believe
that we are chronically ill with an invisible illness and we are just
trying to survive the only way we know how?
The conversation about chronic and invisible illness needs to change. With invisible illness, not everything is as it appears.
Rachel Brummert
President/Executive Director
Quinolone Vigilance Foundation