Ode to the PANS Window
In small glimpses, when the sun is shining through, in bits and pieces, I get to meet the real you.
Months since the last window opened, you’re there, just trapped inside. I’m grateful for these visits— four days, maybe five.
Big sister starts to cough, your immune system feels the strain. That’s when it fights the invaders and stops attacking your brain.
Suddenly you can dress and brush and do chores without even being asked. Suddenly all these simple things don’t make your system feel taxed.
Speech and thoughts flow like water, you can even write and read. Things that normally take an hour now take 10 minutes with ease.
In just a few days, this window will close and you’ll feel 10 times worse. I’ll lose you for months, and that’s why getting sick is a blessing and a curse.
Like a toddler again, we’ll take steps back, but make it through somehow. I try not to cry when big sister coughs—embracing who you are right now.


The calm in the storm.
Sometimes the most healing thing for me is getting some quiet Roo time in my own back yard.
The birds are singing after storms passed through. Sun breaks through the clouds as critters come out of hiding—Roosa’s favorite time to prowl.
There is a calmness in the air that you can’t find indoors. We were out in the sprinkles, out in the showers, out in the damp sunshine. Breathing in negative ions, feeling the positive boost. Rebuilding myself after a long week.
Just like chronic illness doesn’t happen overnight, neither does healing. It’s a gradual practice of undoing years of damage and trauma while integrating new information as I acquire it.
“Healing is not linear” is one of my favorite mantras when the unpredictability of our day-to-day functioning drains me.
I never imagined I would spend hours chopping pig hearts and mackerel, using an ice cream scoop for liver / secreting organ mash as I make dog food from scratch every couple of weeks. But just like the many pets and children that came before Roosa, I attract creatures that need healing—myself included.
This is my work. This is Full Spectrum Healing.
Roosa’s allergies still flare in the spring, but it’s far better than before I started making her food—when her face, ears and paws swelled up for months. The itching lead to constant sores, hot spots and managing her wounds many times per day.
The best part of this work is the information I discover to heal them, in turn heals my own body and soul. ☯️
Nutrition is our best medicine.
Nursing her sore webbing in an epsom salt soak, Roosa patiently allows me to tend to her paw. I was an animal mama long before human babies finally came into our life. I am still in awe at the calm, connected state pets embody when I am helping them.
Human kids: not so much.
It’s been a minute since I’ve found time for a self portrait. Fortunately yesterday on the trail, time found me in this Solitude Sandwich Selfie.
The Power of a Power Outage
A power outage in the wee hours Thursday morning urged me to pivot our routine. We take breakfast seriously, usually starting the day with a full plate of scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes and juicy apple slices. I glanced around the dim kitchen with a dead stove… A banana for breakfast was not gonna cut it, and cereal is only for snacking around here—not fuel for high-octane brains and bodies after a 14-hour fast (dinner may as well have been a week ago in my family).
Thankfully I had a few logs left in the wood stash, so I decided to make breakfast on the fire. The girls declared it an “olden times” day and got their old-fashioned dresses on, because priorities: dress the part.
They helped me start the fire with lint-filled toilet paper rolls, kindling, and the ferro rod (though our rumbling stomaches lead us to a box of shoddy matches alongside the sparkling rod). It took some time and patience to get going, but soon enough I had a cast iron pan warming over the fire. The girls set up a picnic area while I fried eggs and sausage through teary, smoke-burned eyes. Those crispy-edged eggs were so delicious, reminding me of the ones my mom used to fry in a mini cast iron pan with bacon grease when I was Ava’s age (until one day there was a bit of undercooked slimy egg white and I gagged, hence shunning fried eggs for a good 10 years…). They paired well with apple slices and pecan cookies on this special occasion.
Instead of our morning routine involving computer work (which was technically still possible with some finagling), we stayed outside to read a story and do writing practice by the fire.
It was an empowering morning and we decided to do it again sometime for fun rather than necessity. Thankfully the power was back on by afternoon, but we had a memorable morning. I also enjoyed tinkering around with Adobe Express to create an IG story of the day, so I fed my creative development in the afternoon.
The time had come. My beloved Reduce Everyday tea mug was shedding so much paint, it had to go. In the beginning I hand-wash it and take gentle care. But at some point I start putting it in the dishwasher... This marks the beginning of the end. I swore to not buy another like this.
I bought and returned a more expensive mug replacement that was too heavy, no handle and slippery while empty—I could not imagine it full of hot tea! After weeks of my daughter nagging me to get rid of the paint-chipping mug, I settled on this powder-coated Tervis and am trying to move on. But this thing doesn’t know how to deliver my nectar (its only job), and being 4oz smaller than my old mug always leaves me begging for those last drops of sweet goodness that Tervis doesn’t want to give up because it lacks a vented lid. It just can’t sip properly and is beyond frustrating having to work for each sip of tea.
My mind wanders to thoughts of getting back together with my old Reduce mug, promising to be more gentle and never put it in the dishwasher to ward off paint-chippage. Can’t we make it work?
When my tea is such a source of grounding and comfort in these challenging times of healing PANS and health flares for both of my kids, my husband, and the dog (now that her spring allergies have sprung), let alone my own autoimmune issues—taking a warming sip of sweet tea with lemon and ginger is the only thing I depend on to go smoothly in my day. Decision made: Tervis is out.
☕️🫖 If you read Put the “Tea” in Comfort, you know I take my tea seriously.
In a season with very little margin for my projects, I am giddy when I get to sit down at an actual computer to do some writing or editing work on a full keyboard! While I greatly appreciate the writing I am able to document via thumbs and voice-to-text in random spurts through days filled with high-priority must-dos, even using my husband’s itty-bitty laptop is a luxury (since it happened to be left near the couch, I snatched it).
It’s funny to think that not so long ago, this laptop was considered practically pocket-sized, and now it feels roomy and cozy. So, too, are my 20-30 minute writing segments that feel like a huge accomplishment compared to snippets of deep thought tapped out on my phone, sitting on a kinder-sized chair in the kitchen with something boiling over or a timer yelling at me. There was a time when I felt I couldn’t make progress without a couple hours dedicated to a writing session. But perceptions adapt so quickly when life pivots on a frustratingly regular basis. I have faith that wider margins and lighter demands will evolve in time, but for now, relishing in this pocket of time.
I’m not a measuring kind of cook. I go by look, feel, ratio. Lately we have been loving pesto with a serious passion.
Tweaking that recipe’s ratios resulted in a dip that is amazing on potato chips and veggies alike, or as a white pizza sauce. It’s so yummy that my husband requested this dip for his birthday in a few weeks. (I can’t make it without hearing Jessica Rabbit scream in my head, but feel like barely anyone else on the planet gets this reference...)
As I tasted this batch of pesto, it occurred to me that it may be hard for me to share this recipe because I don’t measure. But also that I enjoy that it comes out a little different each time. By the time I got to the basil a few days past purchase, some of it was bad, so it wasn’t as basil-y as usual. But it was still tasty and everyone’s favorite dinner night on a wrap with chicken.
Realizing we need to start growing our own basil to support our pesto habit, I found some basil seeds stashed in the pantry. I remember harvesting them from our herb garden when my now 11-year-old was just 2, propped on my lap and picking apart the crusted flowers as tiny seeds pitter-pattered onto a tray beneath her dimpled hands. The herby fragrance from the zipper bag of seeds reminds me of how grateful I was that this task kept her calmly busy and still for a good 20 minutes (which is like two hours in toddler time), sitting in the same spot at the dining room table that I sit now. I’m eager to get some soil and see if these seeds will sprout as strongly as my memory…
So much spinning in my mind,
a web of present, future and past.
Springtime critters no longer hide;
assures us winter’s death won’t last.
Breathe easy until the crashing wave.
On my terms, this flare is to heal.
No shelter from the storm, but saved.
This endless season of life surreal.
(On starting a new PANS treatment regimen)
Dog people need dogs.
There are people who get it, and people who don’t. That’s fine—I would rather spend time with my dog than most people. Some of my greatest love on Earth has been for and from dogs. Some of my most painful losses have been dogs.
People told me when I have (human) children, I will realize my love for them will far surpass my love given to dogs. But here I am, more than 10 years fiercely loving two frisky biped children whom I once in a while accidentally call “Shiloh,” because my love for our first dog comes from the same place in my heart. She died unexpectedly just six weeks before my first birth. But she will always be my first baby—the one that prepared me for mothering.
We were blessed with another great dog just six days later who helped me through the baby and toddler years (Guinness). Now this goofy golden will be the memories my kids look back on the way I remember growing up with Crasher. They are my guardians.
Dog people need dogs.
A few days late, I realized it has been a bit hectic and a whole week already passed? This captures the nature of our busy (and also my mini peeking over my shoulder).
Sometimes I’m not sure if we are busier than usual or if I just have less capacity right now. Likely a combination of both.
How do you busy?
In my happy place, gently swaying in my lounge swing as I’m suspended above the thumping and bumping.
In my happy place, soaking up sun in the cool springy-before-spring shine.
In my happy place, tearing up while reviewing writer friends’ chapters for our workshop review.
In my happy place, enjoying writing time with my girls singing-n-swinging in the backyard.
In my happy place, hearing the songs of birds calling to mates as they start a new season of growth.
I see the glow of a lamp that I proudly fixed a few weeks ago.
I see glasses on my head, because even with progressive lenses, my 40-something eyes still need to take them off sometimes to see clearly.
I see lines in my upper lip that just live there now.
I see my grandma’s nose and my dad’s chin.
I see a cupid’s bow that is supposedly attractive, but I now recognize as evidence of oral ties, reminding me of the struggles I had nursing my girls with their inherited cupid’s bows and ties.
I see the breasts that still managed to nourish my girls for 3 and 3.5 years, and am grateful for the nursing relationships we sustained.
I see the classic chevron crochet pattern forming that wrapped me in comfort my whole life (from my other grandma), and am eager to see this blanket wrap my child (whom I just snapped at because she has been draining my already drained being since sunrise).
All while sitting upon a recliner that my husband and I invested in decades ago, having shared so many snuggles with each other and the menagerie of pets we loved and nurtured before our human babies came along.
And yes, hamper, I see you in the background, reminding me that there is laundry sitting in the dryer for days.
But for now, I crochet, because it calms me with creative healing, thinking of all the things my grandma was healing as she worked row after row on hercorner of the couch under the glow of her lamp…
Sun-day
A book in my left hand,
hot tea in my right.
Sun soaking my back
fills my cells with D-light.It may be short lived,
just a little bit of peace.
But every minute is healing,
of this sun-day sweet release.
Step into my office…
Aside from sleeping (or whatever you call that time of night when you get interrupted by kids of the two- and four-legged variety and desperately keep trying to get back to sleep), I spend most of my time in the kitchen.
With food intolerances that trigger health issues ranging from eczema to chronic sinus infections, asthma and other autoimmune diseases, my family eats a pretty strict diet free of dairy, soy, gluten, corn, dyes, refined sugar, oats, coffee, chocolate, and limited rice (1 small serving per week), among other toxic ingredients.
We used to eat out a lot. But we haven’t eaten restaurant or prepared food in years and don’t plan to any time soon. Besides the cost, when you get used to clean food that doesn’t make you feel like crap, there’s no incentive to go back. While it can be tiring, we eat delicious foods every day that heal rather than hurt. We sometimes long for a taste we choose not to eat anymore, but we are not suffering—quite the opposite.
Soon I will start sharing my family’s favorite recipes and hope that you’ll try some yourself.
“I’m feeling overwhelmed. I am going upstairs for 15-20 minutes and then I’ll make lunch,” I announce to the girls as I head up with a long-awaited cup of tea. It’s been a rough few weeks and I’m making a conscious effort to express my needs before (or during) losing my $hit… I want to start a series of self-portraits inspired by Natasha Mila so I thought how nice to take one of my quiet tea time—plus squeezing in some creative work always soothes me.
Barely seven minutes in, Big shouts up to me that Little is attempting to take a very large tote filled with Playmobil down the basement stairs. I hollered from my room for her to wait for help, but the carefully timed thumping indicates she chose otherwise.
I cover my gasp with both hands as I watch her take the last few steps, squatting while suspending the tote (she could fit inside) in front of her. I’m impressed by her technique, but also horrified. Did I mention this started with me feeling overwhelmed? This photo was taken when I made it back upstairs, heart racing with a mix of relief and rage and realization that just when the youngest reaches an age when she can be left alone for a bit—she will up the ante on risk taking. So much for that quiet 15 to regulate myself.
Hours later, while cropping this image, I chuckled and showed Big how Photoshop Express can give me a fake smile. “Why do you look like that?! Change your whole face!” 🤦🏼♀️ I explained that I took this after I caught Little on the basement steps earlier, but that was a bit harsh... I guess I captured the feeling of that moment; I’m calling it a successful first self-portrait! (Though I preferred Lightroom Mobile for editing.)