We were advised on how to stand, how to behave, what not to touch, (especially that), and where to remain so we’d not be in anyone’s way. I remember perching on a tall block step, well back from the operating field but wanting desperately to get closer. It was hard to see, even with the benefit of added height.

This was during my surgical rotation in nursing school. In my excitement, I nearly leaned on a tray of sterile instruments. Needless to say, the surgeon wasn’t thrilled with me. But I didn’t care. I was standing in an operating room! I was witnessing an actual surgery! Not looking through my anatomy and physiology textbook, staring at one dimensional pictures. It was amazing.

I’ve always been a visual learner. Although I didn’t know the term until my own child was in school. My mom had come back from a continuing education course and explained the various types of learners. It clicked for me that I need to see things to better understand them. I also need to be able to lay out the pieces and manipulate them, like a puzzle. I simply do better with problems that way. Whether it’s dealing with an issue inside of my sewing machine or anything else, I do better when I get my hands on the parts and actually see what’s what.

The same goes for getting my medical test results. Reading the reports doesn’t truly help me understand what the heck is happening to me. I mean, I comprehend most of the words – looking up the ones I’m unclear about – but it’s not the same as having someone walk me through it, image by image. So that’s what my doc did last Friday at my monthly follow up. AND he actually brought the spine model – aka Spiney, as I’ve called it in my Instagram stories – over and explained exactly what the results showed.

But looking at the real time images of my spine was incredibly cool. Scary, as soon as I stopped detaching myself from the whole thing. But really, really cool. I’m a science gal. It’s astounding to me to see all that happens inside our bodies in the tiniest places – each bone, muscle, and nerve. My neck has SO much going on and it takes up a minimal amount of real estate in my body. I can’t help but want to understand all of the details better. Even if those details aren’t good.

We talked about each vertebrae, what’s affecting what, and what could be done to alleviate the pain. Or at least try to accomplish that. It’s easier said than done. He’s hoping that an epidural will calm the nerves near T11-12, possibly doing the same for the nerves below it. If nerves aren’t flaring, then the surrounding tissues likely won’t spasm. It’s a win-win. None of it addresses the neck, but it’s where we are for the time being. And I’m okay with it.

Back in that O.R., I’d started to think about becoming a surgical nurse. This was before my stint in maternal fetal medicine. Once I got there, it was all over. I knew I wanted to be involved in women’s health. Seeing ultrasounds, working on bone density tests, all of it….. I wanted to be a part of the whole spectrum. And, for a time, I got to be.

Now, the only tests I get to see are my own. Not so fun anymore. But I’m glad I have a doctor who’s willing to review things with me. Finally. They haven’t all been like this. I was once told, “you don’t need to know any of this. Just show up on schedule.” Are you kidding?? I don’t need to know?! Exactly who did they think they were? My response was, “actually, I’m a registered nurse. Maybe you don’t think I ‘need’ to know, but I want to know. And I’ve got a right to know.” I didn’t stay long with that person or practice. No way.

As a visual learner, I can honestly say that if you’re not explaining in serious detail what the heck is going to happen, I’m not allowing you near me with a scalpel. Or wires. Or anything.

Not going to happen.

What I see makes me scared for what’s next. What I see makes me wish it wasn’t my test result, or anyone’s for that matter. What I see excites the student, the science fan, and the nurse in me. It makes me want to learn more. What I see reminds me that I have decisions to make and that denial won’t work.

What I see makes me feel. It brings me back to reality.

Here’s to what we see, what we can’t, and whatever’s next. Much of it is out of our hands, but we’ll do the best we can. It’s this knowledge that propels me forward.

Here we go…..

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

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Wednesday was my birthday. I’ve been thinking a lot about these years and the difference between my 25th and 48th.

When I turned 25, I had so much ahead of me. I had a new job that I loved. I was the first registered nurse in a long-thriving women’s health practice in New York City. I even had my own office – commencing my big shot status, at least in my own mind 😂. Everything seemed very bright.

The summer after I graduated from NYU, everything changed. Everything medically that is. I am very lucky to be happily married to my best friend for almost 26 years. He has seen me through the literal very best and worst of everything for the last 28. But that summer – right around my 25th birthday – I became very acquainted with my immune system. It was the summer I was diagnosed with Lyme disease and – mere weeks later – lupus. Obviously, being the very dramatic person that I am, I thought I was going to die. When I went to tell my family about it, I was pretty sure things were as dire as could be. I couldn’t believe that they sat there calmly and said, “Okay, so what do we do? What’s next?” I think I expected them to be rolling around on the floor and wailing with me, not boosting me up right out of the gate! And definitely not calmly encouraging me to plan what to do next. Have I mentioned how dramatic my inner monologue is?? But they were right. I had to get my act together and keep moving forward. I needed to regain my fighting spirit. And I think I’d done a pretty good job, at least until the spring of 2003.

I was being treated for heel spurs by – how shall I say this kindly – an idiot. I was working evenings at the hospital, had a young toddler at home, and I trusted him. Starting over with a new podiatrist would have been difficult. Looking back, I wish I could kick my younger self. Things really fell apart when he didn’t believe in my pain. He simply did not believe me. And by then it was too late. Being dumped on another doctor, having unavoidable foot surgery to save the nerves in my foot, and being diagnosed with CRPS in about a 6-7 month period was very hard. Brutal, in fact.

And so began the next leg of my medical life.

Fast forward 18 years. I’ve been in this game for 23. In some respects, it has gotten easier. I feel like I trust myself more. I still compartmentalize and avoid hard things every chance I get. Now that I’m in what I consider to be a medical upswing, (meaning I have to do more tests/procedures/whatever’s), I have to actually deal with things as they happen. Plus, I’m also not getting any younger, as evidenced by Wednesday.😂

I have a not-so-unique life theory. I believe that we all carry around imaginary backpacks filled with rocks. Our “life backpacks.” I believe that our burdens get heavier or lighter, depending on what’s happening in our lives. We shouldn’t compare our backpacks with anyone else. Why? Because we all perceive our pain, our struggles, and our situations very differently. So, I never imagine mine to be worse than anyone else’s.

But, as things happen, we can sometimes take rocks out of our bags. We leave them on the figurative “side of the road” and just keep going. In sharing our burdens with others, the backpacks get lighter. It’s different for every person. I’ve been trying really hard to take toxic things out of my life. Toxic ideas, my own behaviors, and even people. It’s much easier said than done. It takes work to change a lifetime of behavior. But the payback is that it makes breathing easier. It takes the anxiety away. Or at least lessens it.

Having CRPS groups to lean on – friends living with the same things I have – makes my life infinitely better. Our lives are not exactly the same, but it really helps to know that I’m not alone. And I try to make sure others know that they aren’t either. I’m pretty sure everyone can relate to that.

So, each of us is traveling with a life backpack. It doesn’t matter how old, young, wealthy, struggling, etc. we are. The weight of it may fluctuate, but a weight will always be there. It’s part of being alive.

There have been years I was convinced I was dragging boulders along for the ride. Now? It’s not so bad. Don’t get me wrong, it gets heavy some days. But I’m glad for it, believe it or not. Because here I am – at 48 years old – still here and still fighting, laughing, loving, reading, sharing, and so many other things. I get to simply “be.”

Do I wish I could ditch it sometimes? Heck yes! I wish I could dump all of the rocks out and start fresh. Since I can’t do that, I’m playing the hand I’ve been dealt. I’m hopeful that, even in the smallest way, that I’ve helped others to bear their burden. Whether it’s through these posts or through my videos, I’m happy to be there.

One of the things I wished for, back in 2003, was that I could find other CRPS patients. That wish wasn’t granted until much later, but I’ve since met the most extraordinary people along the way. I’m so very grateful for each of you.

I’ve got a lot to be happy about, so much to be grateful for. I’m extremely thankful to have this page and my YouTube channel. Having a voice matters. Having an outlet matters. Telling our stories matters. We all need that.

Here’s to the coming year. Here’s to what’s next. Here’s to sharing the burden. Here’s to lighter life backpacks. And here’s to each and every one of you.

Thank you so much.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

Link to yesterday’s video:https://youtu.be/Dt23lGTANfI

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If I wasn’t already a well-established homebody of the first order, this might be easier. But I am…. so it’s not.

When lockdown began, I was only too happy to stay home. It wasn’t that much of a stretch for us, the being at home together part. Since we were already doing that, quite comfortably.

But, as things have shifted, my feelings have not. There are so many things I want to do. So many things to be a part of. But my concerns are holding me in place.

I’m not sure how the world at large perceives me – through my weekly videos and blogs, my groups, even in public. Regardless of those perceptions, I am – at heart – an introvert doing an impression of an extrovert. I’m sure some people will disagree, but it’s the truth. And I love to lay low and just be home.

While I was working towards my BSN, I was asked to help the university recruit students like me – adult learners returning for another degree. It was such an honor and I was thrilled. I was also terrified because it involved a lot of public speaking.

At each recruiting event, I would wait my turn to talk about why I loved the program, why I recommended coming to the school. When they called my name, I would give my speech – literally shaking the entire time. If there was a podium, I was grateful. It gave me an anchor so no one could see my hands trembling.

It was the same when I served on the parent board at our gal’s school. It was nerve wracking. But, to each audience, I simply appeared as an enthusiastic participant and cheering section for the programs I discussed. No one really saw my fear. At least I don’t think they did.

Even when I was singing! Whether it was at church or in the school musicals – I was up there, giving it my all, because I LOVED it! But it didn’t change how petrified I was. I got through it because I loved the music and the feeling of being onstage.

Why tell you this? Because I want you to see where I’m coming from, how I feel. I want to be the “me” who has loads of confidence and courage all the time, but that takes a lot of energy.

So as numbers get better, as offices/stores/museums, etc reopen, as life returns to “normal,” I find myself in a holding pattern. I was beyond relieved to discover that a concert lineup I’ve waited 30+ years to see moved their shows to next summer. Hopefully, by then I’ll be less paranoid. 🤦🏻‍♀️ I’m a mixed bag of “nervous to be out in a big group post covid lockdown” and “I’d rather be home reading & comfortable.” I worry about the numbers going back up, the what we don’t know yet, the what’ll happen down the road. All of it.

Is anyone else feeling like this?? Sometimes, I feel like I’m out on this shaky limb by myself. Seeing pictures of crowds – indoors and without masks – makes my shudder. As much as I want to run towards a covid-free existence, (please let that be what happens in the future), I am cautious. Maybe too cautious. But I can’t help it!

Plus, my years as a patient have molded me into my current self. A person who stays close to home or at home simply because all of my comforts are there. Someone who needs 80 pillows to get through every day. (Hey! I haven’t mentioned pillows in a while! Well, until just now, LOL). Someone living with pain, who needs all of those pillows and home comforts I can’t get anywhere else. Someone who probably worries too much. I know that and I’m working on it. (I am!).

Whatever impression I’ve given you, I hope you know that I strive to be the best version of myself. The me who’s brave, who wants to help others, who wants to have confidence. Whether it’s for five minutes or the length of a video, I can at least give that to myself. And, hopefully, to each of you.

I’ll get there. I’ll work towards breaking out of my safe space for longer periods of time. I’ve made some inroads, but it takes time. Each of us has to make that call for ourselves, (no matter how many people roll their eyes at me for wearing a mask). 😂

Please let me know what your thoughts are on this. Where do you fit in? Have you resumed your pre-lockdown life like you never left it? Have you stayed cautious, but resumed a few things here and there? Or have you not gotten back out there yet?

However you feel, wherever you land on it, please let me know. I don’t think there’s a wrong answer here. Maybe hearing from folks with more courage than I have will send some to me!

Wishing each of you a safe, calm week. And a beautiful weekend.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

Link to yesterday’s video, please like/share/subscribe: https://youtu.be/nHY4cWs-D9g

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I was searching for a book the other night. As I looked through each shelf in our bookcase, I came across a picture frame.

I’ve had it forever. It’s a simple, sweet frame that has my name in the bottom right corner and flower trim drawn along the edges. For some reason, I’ve always stored more than one photo in it. Wanting to see which pictures currently live behind the visible one, I took them out of the frame. It surprised me when my first grade class picture slid out of the pile.

The haircut, the collar, the bow, the winter background! It’s a classic. And it is clear evidence that I could have joined “The Partridge Family.” 😂 I’m certain of my age because of my haircut, since I didn’t start growing it out until the following year. The second picture was taken close to Christmas and my style game was still going strong.

When I was a child, I loved reading mysteries. I read “Nancy Drew” and “The Hardy Boys,” wanting to be a detective when I grew up. At some point, when I was a bit older, I read Edgar Allen Poe and Alfred Hitchcock stories too. They scared me, but not enough to stop reading them. I wanted to be like Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes, solving the unsolvable. How could I have known that, years later, my medical life would be the unsolvable case??

I couldn’t help wondering about that smiling little version of me. If given the chance, would I tell her about the future? About our medical life to come? 

What would I tell her?

Would having that warning ahead of time help? I’m going to go with no. Knowing beforehand would have taken too much from me at too young of an age. It was hard enough to start all of this at 25, so 6 would have been unacceptable.

It’s fun to see old pictures though, especially because of the clothes. That blue dress was amazing. It had short sleeves, a giant collar, the pleated skirt matched the bow. And – best of all – I think it had been worn by my older sisters. My memory isn’t always great, but I vividly remember hoping they’d grow out of certain things quickly so that I could finally wear them. 🤦🏻‍♀️😂

What would I tell six-year-old myself? To hold a onto hope, even if it’s just a tiny bit. To find the humor in things, whenever possible. To always be grateful for the good stuff and the wonderful people in my life. And to trust my instincts and advocate strongly for myself.

Wishing the same for each of you.
Here’s to a safe and peaceful weekend.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis #arthritis

There’s a great song “Walk,” by the Foo Fighters from their 2011 album “Wasting Light.” I’ll get to the details in a moment, but I’d love to know that each of you listened to it.

“A million miles away
Your signal in the distance. To whom it may concern, I think I lost my way. Getting good at starting over, every time that I return. Learning to walk again. I believe I’ve waited long enough. Where do I begin? Learning to talk again. Can’t you see I’ve waited long enough? Where do I begin?”

©️Songwriters: Foo Fighters
“Walk” lyrics: 2011, Roswell Records/RCA

I’m just going to leave that there for a sec. Think about the number of times each of us starts over, hitting a reset button, every day. Imagine all of that plus dealing all of the medical issues….. it’s physically and emotionally exhausting. Truly.

I had a very frustrating call with my doc on Wednesday. I talked more about it in yesterday’s video, but I didn’t get the answers I was hoping for. Not until much later in the day.

When we ask our doctors/nurses/specialists the hard questions, we (perhaps unrealistically) expect that they’ll always know the hard answers. If they don’t, it’s upsetting. And shocking, at least it was to me. As we went through the x-ray and MRI results, we came to the part in the cervical spine report that mentions, “unchanged suspected prominent perivascular space in the paramedian left cerebellum.” What the actual heck?!

If he had known the answer, my doc would have given it to me. My question? Would that space in my brain make me at risk for a stroke? Or something else? My doc isn’t someone who would hotshot his way through a half-assed explanation. I’ve met those so-called professionals, he is NOT one of them. He recommended getting an appointment with my neurologist, bringing him into the conversation. My appointment isn’t until August, but it turns out that I might not need it anyway.

Late yesterday evening, I opened my email and found a response from the neurologist. A member of his staff told me to message the doctor directly, let him know about the MRI results, my concerns, and that he’d likely get back to me soon. Well, he did! He alleviated all of my worries. At least about the weird brain thing. Everything else is still in play. Unfortunately. But I’ll take a victory whenever I can get one.

“I think I’ve found my place. Can’t you feel it growing stronger, little conquerors?”

©️Songwriters: Foo Fighters“Walk” lyrics: 2011, Roswell Records/RCA

As for the rest of it, the “neural root cysts,” the degenerative arthritis, and spondolysis? That’s ongoing, as it will be. My choices for how to manage them aren’t what I’d want. Meds, injections, and radiofrequency ablation. No, maybe, and NO WAY.

I can’t be sure that the band wasn’t thinking about living with a chronic illness when they wrote that song. But each of us living with CRPS, arachnoiditis, MS, POTS, cancer, anxiety, depression, autoimmune diseases – you name it – we have to make the choice to GET UP. The choice to adapt. To roll with it. To meet ourselves where we are in the ugliest moments, when we’d rather go the other way. The choice to face the what’s next, the literal pain of moving, the fear of not knowing, the despair of not having support, the despair of not wanting to worry those who support us, the fixing of what’s wrong, the knowledge that there isn’t a fix. THAT is why this song matters so much to me.

I’m not the person I was at the start of my medical life. I want to think I’m a better person. A stronger person. Not necessarily wiser, since – more often than not – I literally don’t want to know. 🤦🏻‍♀️😂 It’s easier to deny and ignore than to face it. Now I’m in the upswing of needing to know. I have to pay attention now.

F$&! you, degenerative arthritis, arachnoiditis, and all the rest of it. F$&! you, CRPS.

I’m angry. And sad. And lucky. And lost. And found. And blessed. And weak. And strong. And so many other things. We all are. We’re so much more than we believe in moments of hardship, of indecision, of fear, of joy. I’ve found a somewhat precarious balance of my so-called “normal” life and my medical life. Obviously, they collide clumsily and miserably throughout the day, I can’t help that. My system of compartmentalizing everything is muddled at the moment, but it’ll be okay.

I’m reminding myself of all of it, as I once again hit the reset button. And hit it again. And again.

As each of you do the same, for whatever reasons exist in your lives – please keep doing it.

Let’s endeavor to be little conquerors. Or big ones! Let’s just endeavor.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

P.S. not that they’ll ever see this, but I want to thank the band for getting me through a hard week. For inspiring me to learn to cope once again. Music saves us, it keeps us going. This song is a balm for me and countless others. So, with that thought in my heart: I send my sincere gratitude out into the universe, to each member of the Foo Fighters. Thank you.

©️Songwriters: Foo Fighters. “Walk” lyrics: 2011, Roswell Records/RCA

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When I was a child, my siblings and I attended an elementary school not far from our home. It was an entirely different world back then and we were able to go home for lunch. I can’t even imagine that happening today. Anyway, we’d meet up outside. Some days, we’d run home – racing along, pausing long enough to meet at each corner, crossing the streets together. Then the race would begin anew.

I loved it. I can’t even imagine running that way now. Now that I think about it, I can’t even believe I did it back then! I’m not an athlete, by any stretch of the imagination. Gym class was not my favorite. E V E R. The truth is that loathed it.

Between dodge ball (hated it and was awful at it. It should be banned 😂), volleyball (hated it and was abysmal at it), and any sport involving a ball being thrown in my direction, I wanted to run and hide. Fake illness to get out of it? Absolutely. Stomach ache? Sure. Cramps? It goes without saying. 😂 Of course it was rare that my complaints actually got me out of the gym, LOL.

My memories were sparked by seeing so many kids playing in our local park. Especially the little league teams. Sometimes, in the evening, we sit in the park and enjoy the beautiful weather. Seeing these kids – and their exuberant family members/spectators – always reminds me that I have zero energy and am soooo out of shape. Kids seemingly have unlimited surpluses of excitement and the ability to run/scooter/throw balls/play ‘til they drop. It’s fun to see how excited they are. After the year & a half we’ve all had, it’s good to see kids just being kids.

Before the pandemic, I was walking at least a couple of miles every day. And standing for hours. And sewing/fitting/pulling costumes for nearly 100 kids, between the drama and dance programs. I loved it.

My energy and stamina are…. well, just about non-existent now. When we walk to and from the park or the store, I feel it in my knees. And my back. Plus, we have stairs in our building, so that’s been fun. But I have to build myself back up. I don’t want to feel sluggish and sore. I’m not getting any younger, obviously.

Forty-eight is about five minutes away. I don’t want to be more tired and more sore on top of the tiredness and soreness that comes with my health stuff. Now that the weather is so nice – and before it gets too hot for comfort – I want to be outside more. Taking longer walks is one of my favorite things to do.

We used to walk for miles on the days when we were in Manhattan. After leaving the museum, we’d walk down 5th Avenue, along Central Park. Then we’d keep going, block after block. It was part of the adventure. Often, after a doctor’s appointment, I’d meander from midtown to downtown – taking in the storefronts and the people. It was calming. I tried it once since the pandemic hit. As good as it felt, I also felt the physical impact of it. And not in a good way.

Hopefully, someday soon, I’ll be walking around the neighborhood again. Like in the old days. The “old days” before 3/11/20. I know I’m not alone in this. We’re collectively feeling the impact of forced inactivity. Or markedly decreased activity than we were used to.

Something I mentioned in yesterday’s video was that I realized I’m noticing – and appreciating – more of the nature around our neighborhood. The flowers planted by neighbors. The trees, wildlife, and plants in the local park. I’ve lived here for my entire life and can admit that I’ve never appreciated all of it more than I do now. The forced shutdown gave us a chance to slow down and just…. see. To truly see what’s around us. I’ll be forever grateful for this time. I’m sitting in the park as I write this – listening to two baseball games being played – and I love it. The cheering. The games being played by younger siblings on the sidelines. Encouraging words by coaches and family members. Such beautiful music on a lovely evening.

Here’s to enjoying the moments, finding our strengths, increasing our endurance, and staying as close to no pain as possible.

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

#thisiswhatsicklookslike #rsd #crps #arachnoiditis #autoimmune #migraine #sacroiliacjoint #facetjoint #backpain #medicalmarijuana #carpaltunnelsyndrome #cubitaltunnelsyndrome #patientadvocacy #painintheBECK #phantosmia #dextroscoliosis #thoracickyphosis #lumbarlordosis

A letter arrived at our home the other day. It was from my high school, announcing that they’d be resuming in person reunions in the fall – that mine would be included with a couple of other classes. I read it, then re-read it twice, trying to decide why my class would be involved. Then I did the math. 🤦🏻‍♀️

It turns out, I graduated thirty years ago. Thirty years ago to the day on June 9th. Talk about a shock! LOL. That’s a lifetime. It reminded me about certain details from that day.

It was the day before graduation and I made the decision to get my hair cut. When I showed up for the ceremony, my friends were stunned. And seemingly disappointed. “Why would you cut your hair?” “What made you do it?” Change. The need for it and acknowledgement of what was to come. That’s what made me do it.

As it happens, this has been my modus operandi for a long time. Before graduation and starting college. Before a new job. At the start of nursing school. Right after I got married. Once I started another new job. When I was pregnant. And on and on. There’s incident upon incident that proves my point. Switching things up helped me cement the changes in my life. New chapters required new hair. I think part of me felt that the changes also cemented that there was no going back. It was also my way of exerting control over myself. Part of owning my independence and autonomy.

My hair has become ridiculously long since the pandemic started. Prior to the shutdown, it was styled in a neat bob with bangs. When I look at those pictures now, I hate it. What seemed like a pretty, easy to care for hairstyle just irks me now. (This is the weirdo that I am. Ignore me).

The texture of my hair has also changed. Since it hasn’t been colored since February 2020, obviously the color is mixed. It’s still mostly brown, but there’s quite a bit of gray there too. I’m not upset about that. I’m more intrigued by it than anything else, to see what it’ll eventually look like.

I think it was in 2018, three of my beloved (and youngest) clients asked me to repair their favorite stuffed animals. Thinking I could make the whole thing more magical, I bought this incredibly cool silver thread. In the end, no matter what I tried to do, the thread kept fraying. It wouldn’t stay on the needle and it also snapped quite a bit. After all of that, I ended up using plain thread. It was stronger and would keep the repairs safe. But I was disappointed that I couldn’t make it work.

Why bring this up? Because the hair that’s grown in, the sections of gray, look and feel exactly like that spool of silver thread! I don’t know if that’s an age thing or all of the CRPS stuff, making the texture so strange. The color, obviously I get. It’s been a year and a half since any color has been added. I just didn’t expect the texture change.

Yesterday, I accidentally found a filter on Instagram that cracked me up. It makes the person being photographed look like their hair is a different color. It made me wonder, (despite my statement that I wouldn’t color my hair again), how fun it could be to have my hair dyed in a wacky color. Wacky for me, that is. On other people, extreme colors look fabulous.

As fun as it was to see myself with purple hair, that won’t be happening any time soon. Or ever. 😂

I don’t know what I’ll do to my hair to mark the changes in my life. I definitely don’t want it to be short, that’s waaaay too much work. Years and years ago, I had it in my head that short hair would make my life easier. Nope. That’s not what happened at all. I had to work longer and harder on my short hair, to keep it in place and not look like I’d slept on it recently. Plus all of the products involved were ridiculous. I kept it that length because it was easier working with my patients. Not having to constantly fix my hair was a blessing.

Now, it’s heavy and needs a trim. In two weeks, once my post-2nd-vaccine time is up, I might get it trimmed a bit. Who knows? It’s not a priority at the moment. I did get something though, that reminded me of my high school days. In the local pharmacy, in the hair care aisle, I spotted hair scrunchies. Although even the word reminds me of the “Sex and the City” episode where Carrie and Berger argue over the scrunchy in his book, I purchased a pack. My hope is that they’ll be easier on my hair than a plain elastic. That remains to be seen. 😂

Here’s to making changes! Whether it’s hair length or color or something totally unrelated. Here’s to making adjustments in our lives that make us feel more like ourselves, more comfortable, happier, healthier. Whatever it may be. Here’s to changing the locks.😉

Peace and painlessness,

Beck ❤️

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