Monday, December 7, 2015

Addison Aliens

I once read that having a child with special needs is like planning a trip to Italy, only to board the plane to be told you are actually flying to Holland. There's nothing wrong with Holland. It's just not what you planned. What about the gelato?

Actually having a special need, specifically Addison's Disease, is like boarding that plane and being told you are moving to Mars. For reals and for good.

Your condition is rare. It likely took dozens of doctors and diagnoses to figure out what was really wrong. There is no cure - although everyone from your mother to her third cousin's cross fit coach to the kindly stranger on the street will confidently suggest otherwise.

Your body doesn't act or react like other Earthlings.

Watch your sodium intake - unless you are a Martian - in which case, you might as well invest in a salt lick.

See a dermatologist for rashes and what not - unless you are a Martian - in which case, you might as well start to think of them as jewelry.

Then there's the serious stuff. All of which boils down to one thing: Addison's can kill Martians.

Like me.

The Earthlings can't quite understand, even the ones who really try. Even the ones that go to fancy schools and get all kinds of letters after their last names.

I'd like to say Addison's Disease does not define me. Doesn't make me a Martian. I can pass for an Earthling very well, thank you very much. But even though to most of the world, it is invisible - this illness is a part of me. To deal with it is infinitely better than denying it.

So here I am: not in Italy, Holland, or Mars. But I have this little internet support group. And it's full of Martians, just like me. 

Welcome Addison Aliens. 

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