Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I've had a bad hair day for about five years now, or has it been more like ten?  Regardless of how long, the fact of the matter is that my hair is noticeably thinner and I'm not liking it.

Lupus requires my taking a cocktail of medications that include Methotrexate, Plaquenil along with  Prednisone and cortisone injections on and off for as long as I can remember.  Those combined with the reality that I'm in full blown menopause and my stress level has been through the roof with the sad passing of my step-father 4 months ago, and, well,  it's clear my hair is paying the price.

For the record, I'm 53 years old with dark brown hair but do not color my hair yet--  Because I only have 17 gray hairs, and yes, I've counted them.  Despite my older and younger sisters all requiring the assistance of Miss Clairol, I'm still far from the monthly hair color ritual (knock wood).  So, that's not contributing in any way to my hair falling out.  Phew.

It is my understanding that on average a person loses 50-100 hairs per day.  I'm waaaay past that level so my Rheumatologist and I discussed the state of affairs--  Overall, my lupus symptoms (fatigue, joint swelling, shortness of breath) are cutting me a break in the past several weeks except for the alarming amount of hair on my pillow, in the sink and on my brush.  I prefer not to rock the boat by changing any of my meds so a more natural approach was my chief topic of conversation.

Biotin, specifically Vitamin B7, was the suggestion.  I stopped at the pharmacy on my way home and asked the Pharmacist which brand was best and of course he recommended the store's brand.  I bought a bottle and started taking one small table a day.

Three weeks later I can't say I actually see a difference in my hair.... yet-- But I'm hoping I will.  I have, however, seen a significant improvement in my finger nails-- They're growing like crazy and are stronger too.

Have you had any luck with more natural options for hair loss related to your lupus or other auto-immune disease?

Until next time...

Joanna J. aka Lemon-Aid

Photo Credit: © .shock - Fotolia.com

Acceptance

This time of year is a tough one for me.  Thanksgiving is my all time favorite holiday and in my past life (translation: before being diagnosed with lupus and everything that goes with it) it was filled with recipe planning, list making, grocery and Farmer's Market shopping, baking, slicing, dicing, basting, simmering, roasting and cooking, cooking, cooking.  I loved it!

All that changed in 2004.

I was ten years into my diagnosis and, despite some major health ups and downs over the years, had always managed to dodge being sick during Thanksgiving.  I'm a big foodie and got great pleasure out of preparing a huge traditional dinner with all the trimmings for my husband's very large family-- usually more than 30 people.  Nothing made me happier than to see his smiling face at the end of the dining room table surrounded by all of his loved ones.

That Fall had been a rough couple of months filled with extreme fatigue-- the hit-the-wall-crash-and-burn kind of tired, along with significant pain in my joints that left my hands and legs weak and sore, and a few other sinister ailments rearing their ugly heads.  

My rheumatologist had just given me his best "skip the holiday cooking" speech trying to convince me to put myself first-- (I despised that speech) and as I drove to meet my husband for lunch I cried all the way.  I had 32 people coming for dinner in 9 days and I didn't know how I was going to make it all happen.

And then Frosty The Snowman started playing on the car stereo and that pushed me over the top.  I had to pull the car over to the curb and cursed to high heaven, crying and slobbering the whole time.  It's a silly, harmless holiday song but man-oh-man, I was a crazy woman.  I had no idea how I was going to manage Thanksgiving and here some bozo radio station was already playing Christmas caroles.

Truth be told, I'm sure the massive dose of Prednisone I was on at the time helped jack up my drama, (or at least I'd like to blame it on that) but I was a wreck.  Eventually I sucked it up, applied a massive amount of make-up to cover my red nose, put on a happy face, and headed over to our favorite coffee shop to meet Husband.

The minute he saw me the look on Husband's face was proof I wasn't fooling anyone.

We've been eating at this family owned coffee shop for years and know the owners and staff well.  My husband and I huddled at a corner table holding hands as I once again cried-- The staff instinctively knew to just leave us alone for a while.  After about 15 minutes, I vaguely remember the owner slipping a stack of napkins on the corner of the table as I was clearly out of Kleenex.

Finally my waterworks stopped long enough for Husband and I to have a meaningful conversation about how to feed our gaggle of family on Thanksgiving.  The thought of a supermarket prepared turkey dinner reduced me to sobs again.  The idea left me completely defeated.

Then over my shoulder I heard the magic words...  "Do you want us to make your Thanksgiving dinner?"

Paul, the owner of the coffee shop, which by the way, is only open for breakfast and lunch, was offering to not only make us a huge dinner, he was also offering the entire restaurant to our family.  He would rearrange the dining room so we'd have one big family table and serve all the food family style so people could eat as much of whatever they wanted-- just like at home.

Did I mention it is very rare for my husband and I to meet on a work day for lunch?  I have no memory of why we had arranged it that day after my doctor's appointment, but there we were.

The thought of Paul's generosity and kindness makes me cry again just thinking of it-- And honestly, I'm not a big crier, despite all the crying mentioned in this post.  He truly saved me and our Thanksgiving.

I've never cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner since.  Each year, we're back to the coffee shop for Thanksgiving and our family loves it-- The turkey is delicious and moist, there are two kinds of stuffing and potatoes, a river of gravy, multiple vegetables and on and on...  The food is all "homemade" and lovingly prepared.

That Thanksgiving was a significant turning point for me.  To some degree I "surrendered" and finally accepted my health limitations realizing I didn't have to be Wonder Woman" all the time.  It was a hard one to swallow, but ten years after my diagnosis I'd finally learned to actually respect the illness and that there are times I have no control over it.... No matter how hard I may try.

This time of year I am reminded of the true meaning of Thanksgiving and in many respects I owe it to Paul and his coffee shop.  I am thankful for the kindness and generosity of people around me and for the understanding I receive when my health limits my participation in life.  I am thankful for my doctors and the medical community and their quest to keep me well.  I am thankful for my husband who never once has complained about the limitations my illness can sometimes place on me and I am thankful for my family.

This year may you all be blessed with good health, great family and friends and lots of leftovers to enjoy!

Until next time...

Joanna J. aka Lemon-Aid

Photo Credit: © GeraKTV - Fotolia.com

Back-up...

Living in Southern California means being prepared for earthquakes.  I learned that lesson the hard way when we got hit, big-time, in 1994 with a whopping 6.9 quake that left me more than shaken.  In short, I was not prepared and that was the last time I'll ever let that happen again.

To say I've purchased an abduance of emergency supplies is an understatement.  I have copious amounts of water, *nasty* dehydrated food, clothing, blankets, candles, batteries, blah, blah, blah-- all the usual stuff one would need should you lose power, clean water or god forbid, your home for a short period of time.  It's kept in our garage and in a storage area in the back yard.

Honestly, my family and friends think I'm a bit over the top *borderline hysterical* with my "natural disaster supplies" but I remember vividly in 1994 that ours was the house they all showed up to after that earthquake and my supplies were limited to what I had on hand-- which wasn't much!  So I'm prepared-- for one and all.

By the way, it was the 1994 earthquake that rattled my nerves and health so badly that I had a gigantic flare up and was finally diagnosed with lupus.  It was a scary time and I ended up sick as a dog.

Call me slow, but it just dawned on me to gather an extra stash of meds for an "emergency", because  the ramifications of missing doses in a time of crisis is the last thing I'd want to happen.  I bit the bullet and paid for them myself since insurance wouldn't cover "emergency supplies".  Ouch.

But now, I'm not sure what to do with them.

If we're hit with an emergency of some sort, what happens if I can't get to the bathroom my supply is stored in.  I can't keep them in the car-- Los Angeles heat would surely melt them, and outdoors with heat and mositure isn't a safe place either.  I'm kind of at a loss...

So since all parts of the country have "emergencies", my questions is-- Do you have an back-up medication supply and if so, where do you keep it?

Thanks for your input.  I really appreciate it.

Until next time...

Joanna J. aka Lemon-Aid

Photo Credit: © flucas - Fotolia.com