SharonIllumined
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Retiring (?)
2 min read
So, with all that's going on, plus my complete loss of enjoyment in art, I am "retiring" from it for the time being. Maybe one day in the far future when the kid is grown and the husband gets out of my way and stops discouraging me at every turn, and when my health, both mental and physical, is a little better, I will revisit my old soulmate art and attempt to rekindle the flame. For now:
I'm selling my artwork originals and some fine art supplies kits (oil paint kit including my full supply of brushes and half used bottle of linseed; chalk and oil pastels, a huge array; Derwent and Prismacolor pencils; etc). These will all be listed on Etsy.
www.etsy.com/shop/IllumineArtBySalazar
For the clearance price, use code OctOVER for 50% off your order. I'll see if I can get it to take half off shipping as well.
Money gained from this clearance sale will go to buying me sneakers (in my only pair my toes are already poking out the side and they're ungluing), a bra (I literally have only 1 and it's 2yrs old), and whatever leftover will go to the James Mission in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
I'm selling my artwork originals and some fine art supplies kits (oil paint kit including my full supply of brushes and half used bottle of linseed; chalk and oil pastels, a huge array; Derwent and Prismacolor pencils; etc). These will all be listed on Etsy.
www.etsy.com/shop/IllumineArtBySalazar
For the clearance price, use code OctOVER for 50% off your order. I'll see if I can get it to take half off shipping as well.
Money gained from this clearance sale will go to buying me sneakers (in my only pair my toes are already poking out the side and they're ungluing), a bra (I literally have only 1 and it's 2yrs old), and whatever leftover will go to the James Mission in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
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When Your Hands Fail You
9 min read
At only 11 I began my first apprenticeship. She was my middle school art teacher. My files were fresh from the previous school, in another state, and all the teachers had seen them already: PTSD, behavioral problems, issues with authority, "highly intelligent, refuses to cooperate with school work", a long history of health problems. She saw me wandering in the library often, or reading at my desk during lunch with nowhere to go, and she decided to mentor me.
She fed my interest in art, and grew it into passion. She gave me guidance and extra assignments when needed. She started a lunch-time group just for me, to foster my love for art and gain friendships through other artists in the school. She sat and talked with me when I was frozen in sudden anguish with migraines or flashbacks, shaking and crying silently. When my hands failed me, she inspired my heart to move them again. And I improved my art.
At freshly-turned 14, new in high school, completely out of place, I began my second apprenticeship. He was my 9th grade art teacher. I was exceptionally ornery, now facing a new breed of bullying. New people and new teachers usually meant bad news. I hated him. And I had his classes for two hours surrounding lunch break.
He sent me to the office dozens of times for dozens of refusals and outbursts. He told me my writing was sloppy, my shading was weak, he told me to practice only the techniques he showed me. No other student endured the same.
One day it changed. One day... my hands... began to fail me. Another outburst from me, now to the solitary desk at the front corner of the room, now tears. Lunch bell rings and I don't move. My hands are numb and I can't feel the tips. My arms are weak and shaking. I hide them under the desk and cry, lamenting. He comes out from his office and pulls a chair up to my desk.
"Oh What do you want now?", I screamed in my tears.
For the rest of lunch we discussed art. Tears of frustration turned to tears of relief and then to contentment. He told me to sit and relax and eat my lunch. "Rejoin the class whenever you are ready." As much time as I needed.
From then on I spent lunch in his class. Classmates would join me. He'd sit there with us, often working on whatever personal art project he had at the time. I skyrocketed in improvement. All the while, my hands began to fail me.
The following school year, the migraines returned with a vengeance. Dizzy spells began to occur, and I began to experience frequent heart palpitations outside of the PTSD attacks. Even my breathing was affected by frequent bouts of bronchitis. My parents consulted the family doctor about the mold in the building and our previous history with mold infestations, and I was given a home schooling voucher... on the conditions by the school admin that I remain until the end of the semester when their funding came in.
That's when I was given my first set of pastel chalks and pencils. The pastels were far easier on my weakened state, and I was able to continue coloring and drawing. This is also when the rigorous testing began, and symptoms took a turn for the worst.
I was 15 when it happened the first time. It certainly was not the last.
One night, as I rose from bed to use the restroom, I collapsed. My mother, luckily the night owl, ran in to find me sprawled on the floor. I was not seizing. I was semi-conscious of what was happening and was attempting to speak. I had no feeling in my extremities, could not speak more than grunts and light sobs, could not move even my lips or eyelids, and my eyeballs were moving rapidly without my control. My breath and heart-rate were so low and erratic-seeming it was as if I was dying. I might have been. Within minutes I arched and gasped. Mom was on the phone with the doctor, who was walking her through how to deal with fainting. She checked my vitals and finished the call with the doctor, who scheduled an appointment that week. Then she helped me up to my bathroom.
Life continued, but more complicated. Every trip to the doctor included lab work, blood panels, sleep studies, MRIs, and EEG/EKG's. One week I was sent home to wear a heart monitor 24/7 for a MONTH. I was to press the record button any and every time I felt dizzy, about to faint, or had "chest pain". I was not allowed to get my driver's license until my fainting had subsided for a decent amount of time, and I could drive on my permit but most days I was not able. I could walk. I could color.
The doctors assumed I had narcolepsy and there was little they could do. So my mom went back to researching.
At 16, with the added encouragement of online friends and of my doctor, I found a martial arts class nearby who would train me. They welcomed me as a friend. It turned out the instructor's wife has a mild form of narcolepsy, and they were very open to training people with disabilities or chronic disease. The training made me stronger, and improved my control over my movements, but it didn't fix me.
Now with martial arts and daily walks, I had no reserves for other activity. My hands failed me daily... as did my feet, and whole body. On days I did not "faint", I was wracked with numbness in my hands and migraines that would blind anyone who wasn't used to them. Since I had them every day, they became a foggy nuisance. It made it difficult to paint or draw on a daily basis like I had done for years. I would forget simple facts or basic techniques. I would forget how to spell words I had used daily since age 8. Fine motor skills became a monumental task... meaning my hand strikes and kicks were more like intentional flailing, and drawing basic shapes required about 50 tries. I cried myself to sleep every night, for my hands continued to fail me.
When would they stop failing me?
Then, at 18, after years of consulting every doctor my mother knew, every specialist in the Mayo and several researchers overseas, one of them sent her an article from London. It was in the British Journal of Medicine. Someone had discovered a "new" genetic disease several years before. The symptoms were the closest match yet! Could this mean... my hands could make art freely again?
The study was on the neurological effects of Coeliac Disease. The doctor was dubbing it "Gluten Ataxia". I thought it a long shot. I was not giving up my pasta after everything else had been taken. But I conceded to trying. At our next doctor's appointment, my mother gave our doctor a printed copy of the study and they took some more blood samples. He told me to go two weeks without wheat, spelt, rye, or barley. I did, and it was not easy. The results were undeniable, even with their limited ability to test for this new thing, and my doctor added it to my record.
After two months, I lost 20lbs and my barely-adult body was down to a Women's dress size 10 US down from a 15 (I could see my RIBS and so much MUSCLE), and the paralytic episodes were sparse. I was full force back into art; I was painting and drawing and walking my dog 4 miles a day. After 6 months, the paralytic episodes were gone, and only minor motor dysfunction to this day remain!
I had my hands back!
Well, mostly.
You see... the neuropathy, the forgetfulness, the difficult motor movement, the occasional numbness, they never REALLY go away. I have good days and bad. But it turns out I'm one of the lucky ones. Many people with Gluten Ataxia, undiagnosed with symptoms for so long, are fully or partially bound to a wheelchair. Some have no use of their legs at all, or complete permanent loss of feeling in their hands and feet. It seems like something so silly, really, and yet it potentially ends lives.
Gluten Ataxia is a genetic form of wheat/grain/gluten allergy wherein your immune system takes a particular protein molecule found mainly in gliadin/gluten as a foreign invader and then mistakes it for a similar protein found in your brain and nerve cells. My body was attacking my own brain because my immune system is stupid. And my love of pasta would have been my paralyzed, choking death... at maybe 19 years old if not sooner the way it was going.
I want to encourage anyone dealing with a story like mine to speak with your doctor. Insist on extensive allergy and antibody testing. It is better to deal with the expense of the lab work than to deal with years of ever-worsening paralysis and eventual death. If you know someone else with similar symptoms that are not fully, correctly, diagnosed, show them the research and read the research for yourself.
Here are the research articles, and more can be found on PubMed or other scientific journals:
www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/12… -(study on prevalence of neurological symptoms or ataxia in Coeliac patients, basically)
jnnp.bmj.com/content/74/9/1221… -(full study of effects of gluten-free diet on patients with idiopathic sporadic ataxia caused by intake of gluten and subsequent immune response)
Gluten Ataxia SIMPLIFIED... like a LOT
celiacdisease.about.com/od/Glu…
She fed my interest in art, and grew it into passion. She gave me guidance and extra assignments when needed. She started a lunch-time group just for me, to foster my love for art and gain friendships through other artists in the school. She sat and talked with me when I was frozen in sudden anguish with migraines or flashbacks, shaking and crying silently. When my hands failed me, she inspired my heart to move them again. And I improved my art.
At freshly-turned 14, new in high school, completely out of place, I began my second apprenticeship. He was my 9th grade art teacher. I was exceptionally ornery, now facing a new breed of bullying. New people and new teachers usually meant bad news. I hated him. And I had his classes for two hours surrounding lunch break.
He sent me to the office dozens of times for dozens of refusals and outbursts. He told me my writing was sloppy, my shading was weak, he told me to practice only the techniques he showed me. No other student endured the same.
One day it changed. One day... my hands... began to fail me. Another outburst from me, now to the solitary desk at the front corner of the room, now tears. Lunch bell rings and I don't move. My hands are numb and I can't feel the tips. My arms are weak and shaking. I hide them under the desk and cry, lamenting. He comes out from his office and pulls a chair up to my desk.
"Oh What do you want now?", I screamed in my tears.
For the rest of lunch we discussed art. Tears of frustration turned to tears of relief and then to contentment. He told me to sit and relax and eat my lunch. "Rejoin the class whenever you are ready." As much time as I needed.
From then on I spent lunch in his class. Classmates would join me. He'd sit there with us, often working on whatever personal art project he had at the time. I skyrocketed in improvement. All the while, my hands began to fail me.
The following school year, the migraines returned with a vengeance. Dizzy spells began to occur, and I began to experience frequent heart palpitations outside of the PTSD attacks. Even my breathing was affected by frequent bouts of bronchitis. My parents consulted the family doctor about the mold in the building and our previous history with mold infestations, and I was given a home schooling voucher... on the conditions by the school admin that I remain until the end of the semester when their funding came in.
That's when I was given my first set of pastel chalks and pencils. The pastels were far easier on my weakened state, and I was able to continue coloring and drawing. This is also when the rigorous testing began, and symptoms took a turn for the worst.
I was 15 when it happened the first time. It certainly was not the last.
One night, as I rose from bed to use the restroom, I collapsed. My mother, luckily the night owl, ran in to find me sprawled on the floor. I was not seizing. I was semi-conscious of what was happening and was attempting to speak. I had no feeling in my extremities, could not speak more than grunts and light sobs, could not move even my lips or eyelids, and my eyeballs were moving rapidly without my control. My breath and heart-rate were so low and erratic-seeming it was as if I was dying. I might have been. Within minutes I arched and gasped. Mom was on the phone with the doctor, who was walking her through how to deal with fainting. She checked my vitals and finished the call with the doctor, who scheduled an appointment that week. Then she helped me up to my bathroom.
Life continued, but more complicated. Every trip to the doctor included lab work, blood panels, sleep studies, MRIs, and EEG/EKG's. One week I was sent home to wear a heart monitor 24/7 for a MONTH. I was to press the record button any and every time I felt dizzy, about to faint, or had "chest pain". I was not allowed to get my driver's license until my fainting had subsided for a decent amount of time, and I could drive on my permit but most days I was not able. I could walk. I could color.
The doctors assumed I had narcolepsy and there was little they could do. So my mom went back to researching.
At 16, with the added encouragement of online friends and of my doctor, I found a martial arts class nearby who would train me. They welcomed me as a friend. It turned out the instructor's wife has a mild form of narcolepsy, and they were very open to training people with disabilities or chronic disease. The training made me stronger, and improved my control over my movements, but it didn't fix me.
Now with martial arts and daily walks, I had no reserves for other activity. My hands failed me daily... as did my feet, and whole body. On days I did not "faint", I was wracked with numbness in my hands and migraines that would blind anyone who wasn't used to them. Since I had them every day, they became a foggy nuisance. It made it difficult to paint or draw on a daily basis like I had done for years. I would forget simple facts or basic techniques. I would forget how to spell words I had used daily since age 8. Fine motor skills became a monumental task... meaning my hand strikes and kicks were more like intentional flailing, and drawing basic shapes required about 50 tries. I cried myself to sleep every night, for my hands continued to fail me.
When would they stop failing me?
Then, at 18, after years of consulting every doctor my mother knew, every specialist in the Mayo and several researchers overseas, one of them sent her an article from London. It was in the British Journal of Medicine. Someone had discovered a "new" genetic disease several years before. The symptoms were the closest match yet! Could this mean... my hands could make art freely again?
The study was on the neurological effects of Coeliac Disease. The doctor was dubbing it "Gluten Ataxia". I thought it a long shot. I was not giving up my pasta after everything else had been taken. But I conceded to trying. At our next doctor's appointment, my mother gave our doctor a printed copy of the study and they took some more blood samples. He told me to go two weeks without wheat, spelt, rye, or barley. I did, and it was not easy. The results were undeniable, even with their limited ability to test for this new thing, and my doctor added it to my record.
After two months, I lost 20lbs and my barely-adult body was down to a Women's dress size 10 US down from a 15 (I could see my RIBS and so much MUSCLE), and the paralytic episodes were sparse. I was full force back into art; I was painting and drawing and walking my dog 4 miles a day. After 6 months, the paralytic episodes were gone, and only minor motor dysfunction to this day remain!
I had my hands back!
Well, mostly.
You see... the neuropathy, the forgetfulness, the difficult motor movement, the occasional numbness, they never REALLY go away. I have good days and bad. But it turns out I'm one of the lucky ones. Many people with Gluten Ataxia, undiagnosed with symptoms for so long, are fully or partially bound to a wheelchair. Some have no use of their legs at all, or complete permanent loss of feeling in their hands and feet. It seems like something so silly, really, and yet it potentially ends lives.
Gluten Ataxia is a genetic form of wheat/grain/gluten allergy wherein your immune system takes a particular protein molecule found mainly in gliadin/gluten as a foreign invader and then mistakes it for a similar protein found in your brain and nerve cells. My body was attacking my own brain because my immune system is stupid. And my love of pasta would have been my paralyzed, choking death... at maybe 19 years old if not sooner the way it was going.
I want to encourage anyone dealing with a story like mine to speak with your doctor. Insist on extensive allergy and antibody testing. It is better to deal with the expense of the lab work than to deal with years of ever-worsening paralysis and eventual death. If you know someone else with similar symptoms that are not fully, correctly, diagnosed, show them the research and read the research for yourself.
Here are the research articles, and more can be found on PubMed or other scientific journals:
www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/12… -(study on prevalence of neurological symptoms or ataxia in Coeliac patients, basically)
jnnp.bmj.com/content/74/9/1221… -(full study of effects of gluten-free diet on patients with idiopathic sporadic ataxia caused by intake of gluten and subsequent immune response)
Gluten Ataxia SIMPLIFIED... like a LOT
celiacdisease.about.com/od/Glu…
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