Bubble Girl Struggling to Survive Mold illness
Donation protected
THE BUBBLE GIRL; WITHOUT THE BUBBLE
-The struggle to survive with Mold Illness-
Back in Normal life
Have you ever imagined dreaming of the simple pleasures of life? Painting a picture in your living room, reading a book in bed, preparing a meal in a kitchen… or imagine walking through a forest after a downpour of rain and watching the glow of sun hitting the trees. The steam pouring from the damp bark creating an indescribable smell of the elements. A cabin full of the most safe and wonderful friends that you know. They have old wood crackling in the fireplace and boiling pots filling the air with savory condensation. There is nothing more than laughter over stories within the warm embrace of the wooded walls. Or perhaps driving 12 hours to your old childhood home and walking through the front door. The air permeating your past while walking through each room as though you were eight years old again. That is where your bed was, that was your sister’s room and that was the door handle that pulled your first tooth. There sits your beautiful mother where so many moments were spent with your head in her lap as you watched your favorite movie.
I have not experienced these simple pleasures because I am always running. I am constantly trying to find a safe place to survive as an environmental refugee. It began with a strange sensitivity to mold after living in a water damaged trailer. Mushrooms were growing from the corners of the walls and pots collected dripping water. I contracted a horrible bronchitis infection with asthma that started the worst nightmare of my life. Even after leaving the situation I became sicker and sicker. Eventually my partner and I bought our first home hoping it would be the answer. After a while I would wake up with muscle spasms and an unusual weakness.
My sensitivities became stronger with violent asthma attacks. Our truck had a problem with condensation and eventually grew mold. Any piece of clothing, shoes or items that were inside would throw me into hyperinflammation. That started my first hospital visit, then came the multiple doctors, the inhalers, the prescriptions and the anti-inflammatory drugs. Nothing was helping and I began to think our home might be affecting me. At night I felt like a ton of bricks were pressed against my chest and oxygen seemed to forget its place in my body. I remember holding my husband’s hand while he slept comfortably with tears rolling down my cheeks, desperately wondering what tomorrow would bring. Many days were filled with disorientation, dizzy spells and fatigue that made the simplest tasks extremely difficult.
My body started to shut down as well as my relationship, with more hospital visits, more pointless prescriptions and no answers. I eventually left my house but unfortunately the items I packed in my car from my house were giving me asthma, the black calking in the bathroom of the hotels, the black fence and patio furniture in my friend’s backyard and the list goes on. I was so weak it became difficult to turn the wheel of my car and keep going. I wanted to take my car with my funky things and run it off a cliff. No where felt safe, like I was a rabbit being hunted and chased. Totally isolated, alienated, abandoned and terrified.
On a positive note, I did find some answers and a diagnosis, “Mold illness/Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome or CIRS”. At this point my savings were sucked dry and I had spent most of my IRA for specialists, supplements, prescriptions, alternative treatments, and multiple tests including the spore count in my house. The test results showed that it was over the dangerous level for someone like me. The cost for remediation could be thousands upon thousands and it still might not be good enough for someone who has gotten as sick. 25% of the population can have this problem, sadly to say, I have fallen under the 5% of that 25% who are going towards autoimmune diseases, cancer and even early onset of Alzheimer’s. It is no joke.
When I went back home, all that haunted the house was my beloved piano…that I could no longer play. I slept in a tent for a few months until the rain came. Along with the rain brought spores, shortness of breath and disorientation. I tried staying with friends again, attempting to wear a mask at night but still getting sick from their water damaged houses. I continue to run from place to place. My mother joined me in my never-ending marathon. We left an old hotel at three in the morning because I couldn’t breathe. We both sat in the car, camped out for the night as hopeless tears dripped onto my lap. She rubbed my arm while I repeated, “I want to give up, what human being can possibly endure this, I can’t win this fight anymore.”
Do you remember those simple pleasures I mentioned earlier? I tried those same scenarios but with much different outcomes. That forest after the rain was my property while I was camping but the air was not fresh, to me it was a toxic gas chamber. The cabin with my wonderful and safe friends had mold on the pile of wood they had saved for those cozy fires. There was mold on the ceiling above the stove where they cooked all those delicious meals. One hour in that supposed warm embrace of the cabin turned into a week of severe repercussions. My childhood home, after reminiscing for fifteen minutes, my voice became raspy, a fog rolled into my head and my chest became tight. My beautiful mother stood there, I cried as I told her it wasn’t safe for me.
I have been educated on my path to recovery and all that is missing is a safe environment. One of the largest pieces of the puzzle is mold avoidance. If I continue to run and accumulate multiple exposures, my efforts and treatments are not effective. I am trying to raise money to build a 120 square foot waterproof tiny house, in other words, a safe perfectly controlled bubble that I can call home. My plan is to have a detached kitchen, outhouse and outdoor shower which will help prevent condensation/water leaks inside this haven.
There was a time when people saw me as strong willed, hardworking, adventurous, larger than life optimist, kind hearted, generous, world traveler and one who would never take something for granted. I have now hit rock bottom and often wonder what I am fighting for. I feel as though I am stuck in a cage, a climber who has lost their limbs or a soulful pianist who has lost their hearing. The financial burden is more than I could have ever imagined. This funding could save my life and doing that, I promise you, my gratitude will forever be held in my inflated heart.
If you could support my funding by making a donation and then sharing it with your network, I would greatly appreciate it. I know that money can be tight, so please know that even $5 will help me become closer to my goal! Let me know if you have any questions and I will be happy to answer them. During this period, I will be seeking safe harbor wherever I can find it.
Inhaler in living hell
-The struggle to survive with Mold Illness-
Back in Normal lifeHave you ever imagined dreaming of the simple pleasures of life? Painting a picture in your living room, reading a book in bed, preparing a meal in a kitchen… or imagine walking through a forest after a downpour of rain and watching the glow of sun hitting the trees. The steam pouring from the damp bark creating an indescribable smell of the elements. A cabin full of the most safe and wonderful friends that you know. They have old wood crackling in the fireplace and boiling pots filling the air with savory condensation. There is nothing more than laughter over stories within the warm embrace of the wooded walls. Or perhaps driving 12 hours to your old childhood home and walking through the front door. The air permeating your past while walking through each room as though you were eight years old again. That is where your bed was, that was your sister’s room and that was the door handle that pulled your first tooth. There sits your beautiful mother where so many moments were spent with your head in her lap as you watched your favorite movie.
I have not experienced these simple pleasures because I am always running. I am constantly trying to find a safe place to survive as an environmental refugee. It began with a strange sensitivity to mold after living in a water damaged trailer. Mushrooms were growing from the corners of the walls and pots collected dripping water. I contracted a horrible bronchitis infection with asthma that started the worst nightmare of my life. Even after leaving the situation I became sicker and sicker. Eventually my partner and I bought our first home hoping it would be the answer. After a while I would wake up with muscle spasms and an unusual weakness.
My sensitivities became stronger with violent asthma attacks. Our truck had a problem with condensation and eventually grew mold. Any piece of clothing, shoes or items that were inside would throw me into hyperinflammation. That started my first hospital visit, then came the multiple doctors, the inhalers, the prescriptions and the anti-inflammatory drugs. Nothing was helping and I began to think our home might be affecting me. At night I felt like a ton of bricks were pressed against my chest and oxygen seemed to forget its place in my body. I remember holding my husband’s hand while he slept comfortably with tears rolling down my cheeks, desperately wondering what tomorrow would bring. Many days were filled with disorientation, dizzy spells and fatigue that made the simplest tasks extremely difficult.
My body started to shut down as well as my relationship, with more hospital visits, more pointless prescriptions and no answers. I eventually left my house but unfortunately the items I packed in my car from my house were giving me asthma, the black calking in the bathroom of the hotels, the black fence and patio furniture in my friend’s backyard and the list goes on. I was so weak it became difficult to turn the wheel of my car and keep going. I wanted to take my car with my funky things and run it off a cliff. No where felt safe, like I was a rabbit being hunted and chased. Totally isolated, alienated, abandoned and terrified.
On a positive note, I did find some answers and a diagnosis, “Mold illness/Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome or CIRS”. At this point my savings were sucked dry and I had spent most of my IRA for specialists, supplements, prescriptions, alternative treatments, and multiple tests including the spore count in my house. The test results showed that it was over the dangerous level for someone like me. The cost for remediation could be thousands upon thousands and it still might not be good enough for someone who has gotten as sick. 25% of the population can have this problem, sadly to say, I have fallen under the 5% of that 25% who are going towards autoimmune diseases, cancer and even early onset of Alzheimer’s. It is no joke.
When I went back home, all that haunted the house was my beloved piano…that I could no longer play. I slept in a tent for a few months until the rain came. Along with the rain brought spores, shortness of breath and disorientation. I tried staying with friends again, attempting to wear a mask at night but still getting sick from their water damaged houses. I continue to run from place to place. My mother joined me in my never-ending marathon. We left an old hotel at three in the morning because I couldn’t breathe. We both sat in the car, camped out for the night as hopeless tears dripped onto my lap. She rubbed my arm while I repeated, “I want to give up, what human being can possibly endure this, I can’t win this fight anymore.”
Do you remember those simple pleasures I mentioned earlier? I tried those same scenarios but with much different outcomes. That forest after the rain was my property while I was camping but the air was not fresh, to me it was a toxic gas chamber. The cabin with my wonderful and safe friends had mold on the pile of wood they had saved for those cozy fires. There was mold on the ceiling above the stove where they cooked all those delicious meals. One hour in that supposed warm embrace of the cabin turned into a week of severe repercussions. My childhood home, after reminiscing for fifteen minutes, my voice became raspy, a fog rolled into my head and my chest became tight. My beautiful mother stood there, I cried as I told her it wasn’t safe for me.
I have been educated on my path to recovery and all that is missing is a safe environment. One of the largest pieces of the puzzle is mold avoidance. If I continue to run and accumulate multiple exposures, my efforts and treatments are not effective. I am trying to raise money to build a 120 square foot waterproof tiny house, in other words, a safe perfectly controlled bubble that I can call home. My plan is to have a detached kitchen, outhouse and outdoor shower which will help prevent condensation/water leaks inside this haven.
There was a time when people saw me as strong willed, hardworking, adventurous, larger than life optimist, kind hearted, generous, world traveler and one who would never take something for granted. I have now hit rock bottom and often wonder what I am fighting for. I feel as though I am stuck in a cage, a climber who has lost their limbs or a soulful pianist who has lost their hearing. The financial burden is more than I could have ever imagined. This funding could save my life and doing that, I promise you, my gratitude will forever be held in my inflated heart.
If you could support my funding by making a donation and then sharing it with your network, I would greatly appreciate it. I know that money can be tight, so please know that even $5 will help me become closer to my goal! Let me know if you have any questions and I will be happy to answer them. During this period, I will be seeking safe harbor wherever I can find it.
Inhaler in living hellOrganizer and beneficiary
Alex Meade
Organizer
Spokane, WA
Christina Meade
Beneficiary
