On Sunday, October 2, at approximately 1:11pm, in a tiny airport in Arkansas, Addison's Disease tried to kill me again. It lost, I was saved, but only by the name of JESUS. This time was different. So different, I am having a phone conference tomorrow afternoon with my Endocrinologist, while he is out of the country, to talk about palliative care and quality of life.
This time, we're going ERIN BROCKOVICH. If any of my friends know Julia Roberts, and want to give her a shoutout on my behalf and thank her for her inspiring portrayal of this iconic role, that'd be great. #bucketlist
Surviving these events is not getting any easier on my body, mind, or spirit. Every time is scary. Every time is life threatening. Every time leaves me vulnerable. Every time I know I have minutes, if not seconds. But NEVER have I had to scream out to Jesus to save me, in the middle of an airport, with my luggage laid wide open and slurring my words like a drunk person, in an attempt to find an innocent bystander not scared of my emergency injection.
This crash was the most terrifying by far. I've had multiple adrenal crisis events since my last update to this petition. So many, in fact, I've lost count. I believe I have started blocking them out, which is why I'm compelled to write.
As I sit here typing, with fluids streaming through my central line to stabilize blood pressure, my head pounds with each change in position. Thanks to my headphones, I'm actually at the beach listening to waves. The ocean does what it can to drown out the constant beeping of machines. The nurses bring me ice water to keep me from overheating, and salt to help with the nausea. Sweet snacks stare at me on the side table, as if to have a blinking light, waiting to be eaten before my blood sugar tanks. Cortisol does oh so many things, it's a shame I don't have any. To compensate, my body produces a surge of adrenaline and my hands continue to shake while I try to sort my 3pm dose, dropping 2.5mg of my hydrocortisone dose down my shirt but not finding it until twenty minutes later. Who knows if I blurted out something random during that surge? Who cares? Keep judging.
I'm done sugar coating what life with Addison's really is. You can call this my official retirement from my performing career, if you'd like. I'm done "performing" and pretending to be well, to fit in to the world around me. It's time the world around me, does better.
I'm also done waiting for change.
My question is, WHY?
Why did I have to scream at the top of my lungs multiple times in the middle of an airport and give an education to the entire town of Fort Smith on what an adrenal crisis looks like? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
I almost lost my life and they all got to witness it, AFTER profiling me as a belligerent drunk. Their stares caused physical pain.
Why did the first four humans I attempted to ask for help, refuse, when I had seconds before going unconscious? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
I almost lost my life and they all got to witness it, AFTER two of them shouted at me to give my shot to myself. Surely they didn't throw actual stones?
Why did the security guard standby aloof on his phone reading, yet refusing help? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
I almost lost my life and they all got to witness it, AFTER I screamed that he may want to google an adrenal crisis and call 911. His lack of urgency and disregard for my life infuriated me. Google, do better.
WHY did I suddenly start screaming the most primal, blood curdling screams, calling out to Jesus to save me, and begging for anyone in the airport not scared of needles to give me my life saving medication so I could see my little girl again? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
I almost lost my life and they all got to witness it, AFTER I felt the scorn & judgement from my audience, and confirmation from the Holy Spirit that NONE of my current audience members were my people. I can't be sure, but there may have been a few audible 'boos'...
The medical PTSD and flashbacks since Arkansas, absolutely confirm that.
I can still hear the swoosh of my eyeballs, in slow motion as they searched the scene, back and forth, for anyone who's eyes would pierce my soul. Nothing. It was at this point the only thing I could really hear was my own heartbeat.
THIS IS ADRENAL CRISIS.
Why did the entire flight crew in Dallas tell me they are not allowed to give me my shot if anything goes down in-flight? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
Why am I no longer allowed to travel by myself? Because we don't have an auto-injector.
Liability, you say?
FAKE NEWS. You, and the rest of the world, have it wrong about liability and Addison's Disease. The LIABILITY actually lies very much in the fact that if you choose to do NOTHING, someone dies.
Oh, now you want to ask why? Consider this your continuing education on ADRENAL INSUFFICIENCY.
Did you know you can not kill me by attempting to give me solucortef? Did you know you can not give me too much? Guess what? You also can not kill me by inserting a sterile needle in my thigh. Did you know that in an adrenal crisis, literally every second counts? Want to know how you CAN kill someone with Addison's Disease in a crisis?
By, you guessed it, DOING NOTHING. Waiting. Watching. Judging. Wondering.
I'll do the entire planet a favor and go ahead and blow the whistle and let you all know in advance, if a complete stranger comes up to you crying, slurring words, fumbling, shaking, unable to open their own syringe, and they say the words ADRENAL CRISIS, ADDISON'S DISEASE, or ADRENAL INSUFFICIENCY, go ahead and win the day, be the hero you've always wanted to be, and CALL 911 IMMEDIATELY.
Or, better yet, be like Angela, who came running from the other side of the airport when she heard my screams.
Fun fact, Angela is the only reason I'm alive, as the paramedics did not arrive to the airport until at least 30 minutes after my Angel got my life saving medication into my right quad. I'd give anything to have her number to say thank you one more time. My little girl still has a Mommy, because of YOU.
Not the paramedics. Angela. Not a ticket agent. Angela. Not a security guard. Angela.
Want to know another reason to be like Angela? And Lynette, and Steve, and Paul, and Rick and any future Angel humans? The paramedics weren't allowed to administer my shot anyway, but I already knew that going in. I'm a professional patient and I'll be here all week. Truly hope everyone in Arkansas enjoyed the show.
Next time you see me frantic for my medication, or frantic in general , maybe you can hold space for the fact that I'm hanging by a thread and being synthetically kept alive, every day, in four hour intervals.
Every time I swallow my medication, I am in fact choosing to live. This hell is getting harder and harder to choose when I know the arms of Jesus are waiting for me.
I will never stop fighting.
It takes a certain kind of person to survive Addison's Disease over and over and over again. It takes a certain kind of person to be a caregiver to an Addy. It takes a certain kind of doctor to keep and Addy alive over and over and over again.
It takes a certain kind of Angel Human to save the life of an Addy.
We know that. We honor that. We know that you are all innocent bystanders, living your own beautiful lives, doing the best you can, and we KNOW you don't know the signs of an adrenal crisis. That is not your fault. We know you think we look drunk, or crazy, or mad. We know and respect that not everyone is comfortable giving an injection as complicated as ours is. We get it. And employees, we know you can't give us the shot because of liability, and bla bla bla....
It takes a certain kind of person to do nothing.
Trust me, when you know you're going down, and you're alone, and you have seconds to find help, and you WANT to live, and you WANT to see your baby girl again...and you know no one is listening, but they are alllllll yelling at you to help yourself....all it sounds like to us is BLA BLA BLA BLA.
And that's why I screamed. And screamed again, and again, and again, in the middle of an airport, immediately after teaching a marathon of classes just up the street, until my Angel Human Angela, came running. All I got was her name. I couldn't hear very well by the time she reached me. I remember crying, and grabbing her hand and looking her in the eyes and saying, "Thank you so much, you saved my life. My little girl still has a Mommy because of you." We cried together. I want to say she was wearing something green, possibly gray. Please help me find her.
If I'd had the cortisol I do now, what I'd like to have said in those terrifying moments in Arkansas, is:
Dear Fort Smith,
Surely you can see the absolute terror in my eyes? I know you don't understand why I'm yelling and look like a raging lunatic, but the adrenaline surging through my body to compensate for not making any cortisol, is actually the only thing keeping me alive. I'm desperate to be home to my little girl and Husband, but my medical team is in Atlanta, and if I get left alone in this small town without an advocate, I already know I won't be returning. I know it's easier to look at me in this moment and assume I'm a drug addict, but I'm minutes from being unable to respond, and the body is miraculous, and it will survive however it can, as long as it has the will to, but my cries for help are about to be primal. I'm out of time. Addison's Disease is ugly. Satanic, even. I rebuke it in the name of Jesus. I apologize in advance for all you are about to witness. Everyone of you are just innocently living your life, but I'm going to need to interrupt it temporarily. I have no other choice. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Thank you for the honor of allowing me the opportunity to educate you on what Adrenal Crisis is, even though you absolutely never saw it coming and certainly didn't ask for it. The bottom line is, if someone doesn't get my life saving medication into my thigh immediately, you are going to be witnessing a grand finale that will end in CPR. I'd really like to avoid that, so, I'm gonna have to make a little bit of a scene to get help. No one seems to be listening, and I can't actually hear most of what they are saying to me, I am losing the ability to communicate rapidly, so here goes nothing. Go big or go home.
In hindsight, maybe it all really is just too much to ask. How can I expect anyone without medical training to WANT to help me when I show them an injection I can't even give myself? I have been denied by medical personnel too many times to count because of "liability". There's that word again. I do have to say, being mocked and scowled at cut deeper than being asked, "What do you mean you can't give the shot to yourself?"
Want to know what ISN'T too much to ask for? An auto-injector of Solucortef that can be administered with the push of a button, so that I never have to answer "NO" to this question again:
"I'd love to help you, is it like an Epi-pen?" The question EVERY SINGLE PERSON asked me when I asked for help in Arkansas.
Good people do exist. Big Pharma is the problem. And I've had it with your nonsense. We need an Addi-pen, and we needed it yesterday.
I did read several research studies that followed the cases of individuals who developed adrenal insufficiency as a result of Covid. That should get people's attention. Can you imagine? I rebuke that in the name of Jesus, too. I wouldn't wish this on Satan himself. Well, maybe Satan. If you've had Covid, you may want to brush up on the symptoms of Low Cortisol, Addison's Disease, Adrenal Insufficiency, and Adrenal Crisis.
Here's your chance, Big Pharma. Here's your chance.
Also, if more and more people start showing up in emergency departments in Adrenal Crisis, you'll have a real liability on your hands if you don't allow paramedics to administer their medication. That is, if they even have it.
That is all the fight I have in me for now.
If you'd like to help, please share this petition with anyone and everyone you know. Ask them to sign it & share with everyone they know. You know, the whole, "Pay It Forward" thing? Great movie, by the way.
I want to say a special THANK YOU to each of you that have already signed my petition. It means so much more to me than you could ever know. My fight is not over though. I need to get louder, but I'm losing strength.
I need YOU to be my Angel Humans and share, share, share. Help me use my voice. It's the only thing I have. I saw what happened last year in a matter of hours and days, when the entire dance community rallied behind me. It was miraculous in a way. It moved me so much, I opened my book with it.
Another way to support is to preorder my memoir, Damage Control. It may only chip away at the mountain of medical bills, but it is something. It's very possible the book is getting an additional chapter, and I'm fighting until my last breath to share my truth.
You can preorder here: https://damagecontrolfordancers.com
And finally, another way to support is to follow & SUBSCRIBE on my socials. Not because I am defined by likes, and followers, and views, but because the only reason I ever wanted a big platform for my career to begin with, was so that I could ADVOCATE for the things most important to me within God's calling on my life. WIDER NET = BIGGER IMPACT. It's all about using the tools and the gifts you've been given.
Search @ DRE LAKIN
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/DreLakin Please Subscribe!
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/drechristine/ Please Follow
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@drelakin?lang=en Please Follow!
https://www.drelakin.com Please Subscribe!
This is me, fighting one more day, choosing one more day.
I will never stop choosing to LIVE.