One of my mom’s coworkers at the hospital, Dawn, has TOS. She told Mom that she’d received chiropractic treatment for it and that it did help. She also told Mom that she feels like the symptoms are coming back, and that it doesn’t ever just go away. It’s all about managing the pain. She said she tries to be as ergonomic as possible, and always has to be aware of her body’s position.

Dawn also suggested yoga. Mom said she (Dawn) does a lot of it and that it has really helped her.

I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. I mean, I never exactly expected any kind of way to fix it or make it go away, but hearing from someone else that it doesn’t is an entirely different thing. I worry about it a lot. I mean, someday I want to try to have a baby and if it all works out — I’m so afraid it won’t — I’m terrified that I won’t be able to carry the diaper bag and car seat. I guess I shouldn’t be worrying about these things now, but it’s bad enough that I can hardly type or carry things at times. I wake up constantly in the middle of the night because I’m in pain. When my godson Konner was born I could barely hold him. It’s just these things that bug me, because I want to have kids more than anything and it terrifies me that I might not be able to be a “normal” mom.

My aunt has rheumatoid arthritis and Crohn’s disease. I guess if she can be a “normal” mom, then so can I. I guess I just need to concentrate on getting as better as I can right now.

I am going to try the yoga, though. Ever since I met Alex (who loves yoga) in my Communications class, I’ve been wanting to try it. It couldn’t hurt, right? I was on the phone with Mike the other night and I told him about Dawn.

“I’m thinking about trying the yoga,” I said.

“Yoga makes you fart.”

I asked him how he knew that, and he told me his sister had taken a class. “You lay on your back and raise your butt off the ground so you can put your legs up, and it’s supposed to let out all the bad gases and stuff.” Apparently everyone in the yoga class was farting.

I couldn’t help but laugh; I’m the type of girl who will laugh her ass off when her boyfriend (or dad) farts.

“That’s why,” he said, “there’s a gay dude walking around spraying Febreeze.”

I love my boyfriend.