A Chronic Illness Girlie Takes a Weekend Getaway

I spent last weekend in Charleston with my mom and sister, wandering cobblestone streets and weaving in and out of shops trying to find unique pieces for my 70s Halloween costume. I wasn’t planning on going (because three kids), but I decided, kind of spur of the moment, that it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

We ate, we drank, we danced, we laughed — all while my kids’ weekends were meticulously scheduled and coordinated, from carpools to trunk-or-treats. I’d planned on getting back early Sunday for my daughter’s soccer game, and then I opened my eyes to a cancelled flight with no direct options.

Such is life.

I’m usually a glass-half-full girlie, but a weekend away during peak sports season was already stretching it, and thanks to JetBlue, my best-laid plans had gone to shit. I also got my period that morning (because of course I did), and my only way home was Breeze Airways via Norfolk, Virginia, a city I’d never thought about until it stood between me and my own bed.

Then I woke up this morning in a Hashimoto’s flare. Or is it a virus I caught on the plane? That’s the ever-question when you’re living with a chronic illness: is it my thyroid, my cycle, the recycled cabin air, or am I just a woman in my late thirties who went a little too hard in Charleston?

Nearly 80% of people with autoimmune disease are women, so plenty of us are stuck asking which kind of sick this is. Either way, the fun usually comes with a tab, and this one I’m paying off by not leaving my bed (which isn’t easy when you have actual humans to take care of).

Was the trip worth it? Yes. Will I be traveling again anytime in the near future? No.