Juan de Fuca :: Day 2

 

Our second day on the Juan de Fuca trail is an ode to my naivete. You see, I knew it would be strenuous, I knew it would be muddy, I knew there would be logs and roots to avoid but I foolishly thought it would be those things at different times at different spots along the trail. The reality is that it is all those things at one time at any given time on the trail. I grossly overestimated my own body.

Our plan for day 2 had been to pack up and hike the 5kms to Little Kuitshe campground. We woke to rain and clouds. I had almost no sleep the night before and F was down to his last pair of dry socks. After a cup of hot chocolate and some granola, we did as planned and packed up. We trekked along the beach back to West Sombrio where we stopped for snacks. Here we encountered our first suspension bridge (and as it would turn out, our only suspension bridge). I think everyone enjoyed crossing the bridge except me. 

The mud began on the other side of the bridge. It was slippery but doable. We passed several mushrooms and banana slugs (F loves to look out for slugs. He would guard them to make sure they were not stepped on during our hike.). Then it was back on to the beach. I think this was the beginning of my downfall. I have chronic joint issues and inflammation in the tendons of my heels. I wore good supportive boots and used a hiking pole to help steady myself. However it was still raining and the rocks were becoming slick. I frequently slipped and wobbled causing those tendons to ache. We reached a spot where the tide was too high to pass. We stopped for lunch in the hopes we could pass soon. 

After an hour and some crab hunting, the tide was still too high so up and over we went. It was slippery, steep and muddy. The steps of roots and logs to help up the slippery hill were meant for someone taller than me. I really struggled to clamor over them. Surprisingly the children seemed to do better with some help from the adults. I could feel the ache in my ankle worsen. Descending down the other side to the beach again did not help. 

We stopped at the marker for 3kms to Little Kuitshe for water and rest. I was feeling this crushing sense of defeat. I know I am fat and I have joint issues but it has never stopped me from hiking before. I just go slowly and take breaks as needed but I carry on. I was feeling concerned that I may end up pushing my ankle to the point of injury. Little Kuitshe campground is only accessible by foot so I would have to walk out if I walked in. I was determined to carry on. I tried to push the pain to the back of my mind and get on with it. Not more than five minutes into hiking again and the pain turned to weakness. It was becoming harder and harder to bear weight on that ankle. I couldn't keep up with my kids and I was feeling defeated. That was the breaking point. We turned back.

I limped back along the beach and over the bridge to our car. I was crushed. I didn't even complete one section of the Juan de Fuca trail. I kept thinking "what if I had taped my ankle?" and "what if we started at the other end of the trail?". I tortured myself the whole night after we returned. I decided to use my defeat as motivation to strengthen that heel and go back. I see my physiotherapist this week and I'll ask her to help me come up with a plan. Juan de Fuca; this isn't over.

Chronic

 

Do you ever feel as though your brain and body were not meant to go through this life together? For a long time I've felt like my body is letting my soul down. My brain and soul craves adventure and nature. My mental health is always at it's best when I'm immersed in nature. I feel such growth within myself when I'm experiencing new places and engaging with new cultures. I feel fulfilled when I'm teaching and guiding, I love sharing information with others and expanding my awareness.

My body isn't on the same page. My body, since childhood, has been overly sensitive to almost everything. I would get chronic ear infections, rashes, catch every virus going around. I developed asthma that, in contradiction with the disease itself, only got worse as I grew up. As a teenager I began getting chronic migraines. In my early 20s I started getting pneumonia regularly. Now in my 30s I still have fragile lungs and killer migraines but now I also have chronic joint swelling and pain.

It feels like life is slipping by me. I limp behind my children as they run to explore new things. I miss out on new things because they are "too loud" for my migraines. I've lost my job because I can't work under fluorescent lights. Trips are cancelled, timelines altered, easier paths chosen because my body is chronically letting me down.

This month my children both celebrate their birthdays and this month I've spent 3 weeks in bed due to pneumonia (how fun is it to have a respiratory infection at a time when coughing triggers fear in everyone who hears it) and labyrinthitis. The vertigo is the worst part. I feel like a complete invalid. I can't get my own food or drink because I can't walk without help. I can't take care of my kids or pets. Even my plants are dying from neglect. 

I know everyone will have suggestions but trust me I've explored everything. I've tried chiropractic, gluten free, dairy free, turmeric capsules, acupuncture, botox, physiotherapy, aromatherapy, special glasses, UV therapy, medications, IV therapy, grounding; you name it, I've tried it. I've been chronically unwell for twenty years. 

I guess the point of all this is a note of solidarity to anyone living with chronic illness. As well as a reminder that even going to a walk outside is a huge deal because that's not something everyone can experience at any given time. Your vessel is important. Your mind and body don't always have to align but they are two parts of the same system. Give your body the maintenance it needs. I would trade anything in the world to never have to use the word "chronic" when talking about my health again.