Health in Seattle

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So I met with a doctor at the UW clinic in Northgate and I was super optimistic about being proactive in finding the cause of my chronic pain and fatigue, and then find the right treatment. I was prepared for the multiple specialists visits, the copays, the waiting game. 

I didn't go into the first appointing with hopes of a miracle answer day one. I wanted to just meet the doctor, feel her out, give her some of the complaints and ask her where we should proceed from there. During this time, not only was I having chronic back pain that began to prevent me from doing the best at my job and affecting my sleep, I also began to have heavy and excruciatingly painful periods that were lasting 1-2 months at a time! I went from having 3-4 periods per year since it all started at 13, to being 30 and almost bleeding constantly with maybe a full week of respite between if I was lucky. So, we set up a wellness exam to begin with. 

When I came back for the wellness exam, the periods were still killing me and I really wanted to get my blood tested to check my overall health. I was convinced that I was developing type 2 diabetes due to being so overweight, and I wanted to check everything that I could to get some answers. In hindsight I can see that my demands were a little all over the place and I just don't think that this young doctor had the experience in her belt to guide someone like me. She also wanted to do a pelvic exam at that visit, but I was so uncomfortable that I asked to just get a referral to a gyno. I did get a flu shot and updated my vaccines though!

After a long wait, I finally got an appointment at Rheumatologist to try to get some once and for all answers. Unfortunately I was not aware that it was going to be yet another, even younger, and male student doctor. His bedside manner was atrocious. He was short and thin and I could tell he immediately just focused on my weight. He listened absentmindedly to my history of do I or don't I have Lupus or some similar autoimmune. He asked me the same questions that even a generic google search could have come up with. Do I have light sensitivity? Where does it hurt? Have I ever had a urinalysis with protein spills? blah blah. Then he said that based on what I've said and answered, he doesn't believe that I have Lupus and isn't going to order any tests. He stood up and said he wanted to test something. He said he was going to press on some pressure points and I was to tell him if it hurts or was tender there. Every spot hurt. It both hurt and felt some kind of relief by being pressed, like the good pain of a massage. 

He excused himself from the room, and I was fuming mad. I felt like he just dismissed me completely. I didn't necessarily hope to have Lupus or another AI, what I hoped for was a doctor who listened to me, who explained things without dismissing me, and who was proactive in finding what was the actual cause of the pain. I sat there just allowing myself to get more and more angry, rather than calming myself down in order to speak up. 

He came back with an older male doctor who said he was his supervising doctor. That's when I realized that I was dealing with a n00b and it turned my anger from red to crimson. The older doctor just repeated what the younger one had said and then said that based on the pressure point exam, I have Fibromyalgia and they handed me a one page printout on what that means. Then they sent me home. No explanation of Fibromyalgia, no advice on how to deal with it, nothing at all about where to go from there. The print out basically told me that Fibromyalgia is a disorder that can't be tested for other than being pressed on and is determined by the doctor based on opinion. It also informed me that Fibromyalgia is often diagnosed when there just isn't any other explanation for the pain but that a certain percentage of the pressure points trigger pain when pressed. And the only treatment for Fibromyalgia was antidepressants, the one that I quit taking.

I remember sitting in my car thinking, That's it? That's the answer? I had a hard time accepting that Fibromyalgia explained everything based on how dismissive the doctors were with what I was actually saying, how little information they got from me before just deciding I have Fibromyalgia, and my gut just told me that it was wrong. I still don't know if it was a true diagnosis or not. 

Shortly after that appointment, I had my gyno appointment. I was so thrilled that it was a woman. I told her about my menstrual experience and also mentioned that I was concerned that it could be PCOS. I had been watching My Big Fat Fabulous Life on TLC and I had so much in common with Whitney's body and health issues. I could sense immediately that the gyno had inwardly rolled her eyes. I told her my symptoms that made me think that it was a possibility. She performed a pelvic exam, took a biopsy sample, swabbed for STD testing (because I asked), and talked me into getting a Mirena IUD with the promise that it would stop my heavy and irregular bleeding as well as being a birth control method. I trusted her, even though it wasn't what I was coming in for. But I desperately wanted the bleeding to stop, so I went for it. She told me it was super easy, she could do it right then and it may only cramp for a day or so afterward. I didn't feel anything at all when it was inserted and got up and walked out feeling like a woman in charge of her own body!

I'll continue this series on my health journey next week. 

xoxo Sheri

More Doctor Shit...

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And now a continuation of my story of navigating the American healthcare system. 

I moved to Seattle in 2014 and was suddenly faced with the reality that I needed to sign up for Obamacare. I was now self-employed and couldn't count on anyone else to provide me with health insurance. 

I signed up through wahealthplanfinder.org, but my income just couldn't support the monthly payments. Through some research, I found some free clinics, but I made too much money to qualify for them, yet didn't make enough money to pay for healthcare myself. It was a super frustrating time. I was also terribly homesick for AZ and my mental health was in a weak state. I finally found a church that offered some medical and dental services - Puget Sound Christian Clinic. It was somewhat income-based, but I qualified and they asked for a $10 donation for each visit, but if you couldn't pay it, they would still treat you. I tried my best to pay it each time. 

At this point in my life, I had gained a lot of weight. I was concerned about diabetes, the strain the weight was putting on my body - especially my knees and feet, and how it was affecting my overall wellbeing. One of the doctors on the clinic suggested that I go back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications again. I was in such a shitty place that I agreed. I went back on generic Prozac at a dose of 20mg as well as a daily Buspirone dose. 20mg of Prozac was too much for me. It took me to a suicidal place quickly. I was able to go back to the doctor as ask for a lower dose. 10mg worked a lot better for me. The clinic was limited on what else they were able to do for me. I was still experience chronic pain but they weren't allowed to give prescriptions for any pain killers that actually worked and I got a lot of samples of Aleeve. They also didn't have the facilities to dig deeper and run any tests. 

I stayed on the prozac for over a year and I was less diligent with the Buspirone. I just never saw a difference in anxiety with or without it. But what happened with the Prozac is that it made me a zombie. It did it's job in the beginning and was helpful when I was in a hopeless place. I needed the help to just allow myself to survive. Then life got better. I established my home in Seattle and became a true resident. I moved apartments and found one that I loved and nested. I was ready to be happy and take control of my life, but the Prozac was preventing me from feeling really anything at all. I spent all my free time just sitting. I was perfectly content just watching TV and being on my phone and avoiding anything magical about life. I didn't want to clean but nor was I bothered by the mess. I had zero motivation for any of the things that I loved. I wasn't depressed, I didn't feel badly, I just didn't feel anything. Joy was rare but so was crippling sadness. 

I had this moment of realization that I was capable of handling myself and my struggles now. I felt secure in the life I set up. Money was a little better. Life was looking up, but I was missing out on it. So, I decided to stop taking the meds. It was a big decision and not one that I made in hast. I talked to my beloved godmother and told her of my decision. I talked to her about it so someone was aware of the change. I needed her to keep an eye on me and look out for any behavioral changes that I may not notice. I talked with my best friend too and asked the same of her. It was a little scary to take away that crutch, but I just really want to feel things again. To me, it was worth the risk of possible discomfort in order to get my personality back. 

I got back on wahealthplanfinder.org in 2016 and selected UW as my provider. I was ready to take charge of my health and search for answers again. I thought that going to a doctor associated with the university would be up-to-date and possible have some new ideas for treatment than I've experienced in the past. What the reality was, was that I was going to be treated by student doctors with limited experience. I wasn't going in for colds or sprains, I was searching for answers to what appeared to be complex issues in my body. 

I developed this chronic pain in my back on the right upper quadrant.  I referred to it as my Marco spot because I thought it was caused from carrying a baby predominately on my right side. It made sense and I tried to consciously hold him on my left side whenever possible, but it just hurt all the time. The area experienced all the types of pain: throbbing, aching, dull, sharp, stabbing, radiating, etc. It affected my quality of sleep, my abilities at work, my temperament. It brought up the decade long questions of "Is this Lupus? Is this a different auto-immune disease?" or is this something else? Is this caused by the weight gain? Am I so large that my body is just falling apart at the age of 30? I'm 6'2" with a strong and sturdy skeletal/muscle frame, but I was carrying 345 pounds of weight. It was the heaviest I had ever been and I was feeling it. 

So I met with my new doctor. She was young and sweet and had a great bedside manner. She seemed ready to listen and eager to help me find answers. I felt like I was on the right track and was about to get some answers. And this is where I will leave off until next time. Thanks for reading and as always, I would love to hear from you in the comments. Tell me about your struggles and successes and whatever else you'd like to share. 

xoxoSheri

Healthcare...wah!

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I'm one of those people who avoid going to the doctor, I admit it! But maybe not for the reasons that you think. I don't fear the doctor nor do I have any huge aversions to needles or blood. It's the paperwork, lost documents, long waits in the Petri dish of a waiting room, the strict rules to protect the doctors and the zero tolerance policies for flexibility on the patient's end, all the unanswered questions, and most of all I can't stand all the male doctors who speak down to me in the examination room. It's most these types of doctors that keep me at home trying to find my own remedies. 

I would say more often than not I've experienced those types of doctors. I like to use my 15-20 minutes in the exam room wisely and I don't go into an appointment completely blind. I like to do my own research, I like to record my symptoms over time if relevant. I come to appointments with medical records and whatever information that I think is applicable. My best guess is that I come off as a hypochondriac. I probably look like a lunatic who uses WebMD for every ailment. But my time is precious! I pay for insurance out of my own pocket and every penny counts. I can't take off work all the time and I like to make the most out of a doctor's visit. 

Backing up a bit, I need to say that I don't mean going in for a few sniffles and a sore throat. For over 10 years I've been in and out of doctor's offices and had a few hospital trips here and there. I seem to have some sort of chronic ailment causing widespread pain. Around 20 years old, I was in Phoenix visiting my godmother (before I moved there). I was writing postcards to some friends and felt pain in my right thumb at the base and the surrounding area on my hand. It lasted for more than a week or two so when I went home I went to the doctor. 

I had health insurance back home in California through my mother or her husband, I don't remember. I went to my general practitioner. He was an old white man who didn't really have the answers. He noted my irregular menstruation and said it's probably because I'm overweight. He showed me how to do some stretches against the wall for my hands and wrists. I told him about my family's medical history, or what I knew of it. I was 20 and it was probably the first time I went to the doctor's on my own. I had no idea what I was doing. I mentioned that my maternal grandmother has Lupus, though I didn't really know what it was and what it did to her. He seemed concerned and I vaguely remember thinking of course, of course that's what I would inherit from the Scottish wench, an autoimmune disease. After that appointment he sent me on to a Rheumatologist thinking that there was something terribly wrong with me.

The Rheumatologist was another man. He was in his 30s and Asian. He seemed timid and afraid to talk to me directly. Maybe he was a new doctor? I don't know, but I remember not exactly understanding what he was telling me. He said while it wasn't 100% certain that I had Lupus, my rheumatoid factors were off and it was something to monitor. He also gave me two bottles of pills for treating...something? Again I don't know what I was being treated for, just that I was at some kind of specialist and that he was confirming that something was wrong and he gave me two medications to start treatment. By this time, my hands were hurting so much that I was unable to take notes at school. I have a vague recollection that this doctor wouldn't even look directly at me.

I started taking the meds and they made me so sick. I have no idea what they were, I can't remember. But they made me nauseous and gave me headaches and made it so I couldn't even get out of bed. I don't know how long I took them, but I eventually gave up. The side effects just weren't worth whatever help they were suppose to give me. 

Afterward, I was tricked by my mother to go see Dr. Wallace. I don't have an opinion about him, so this isn't about that. But he was my grandmother's doctor. Skipping the dramatic explanation, I don't have a relationship with her nor do I trust my own mother. But it was a rare occasion in which my mother wanted to try to help me. Hmm...help me? She told me she found out about this Lupus doctor who's in Beverly Hills and he's really great. She wanted me to go see him and she would pay for it! I asked her if he was the same doctor my grandmother saw. (Just trust that I want nothing to do with that woman.) She swore up and down that he was not. Spoiler alert: he was. 

I went to the appointment. He had me lay back and he felt around on my torso. He asked me if I've recently lost a lot of weight because I had so many stretch marks for someone so young. Thanks, Doc! He asked me a bunch of questions (Lupus and autoimmune diseases are largely diagnosed with questions in addition to blood work. For example, Lupus, they ask about light sensitivity and rashes and test for protein spills in the urine. Fibromyalgia doesn't have any lab work for diagnosis and is solely based on questions and pain at certain pressure points.) and concluded at the end that I probably didn't have Lupus, but to come back if other systems come up or worsen. Ok, thanks. 

Then I lost a lot of weight through diet and exercise. I became pretty physically fit and even moved to Arizona. I lost my access to healthcare by moving, but the doctors weren't doing anything for me anyway. The pain continued, even with the weight loss. The pain spread to different places. My knees hurt, and my back was getting increasingly worse. I did lots of yoga, lots of hiking, was an active college student who biked to school, and I was a nanny for 4 young kids. Yet I felt exhausted and pained like an 80 year old lady. 

I spent the next 6 years in AZ with limited access to healthcare. I just sucked it up and thought I was doomed to a life of pain. I was also in a stage of life that I was focusing on my mental health more than anything. I had a lot of doctors telling me that my pain is mental and that if I just get over whatever it is that's causing my mental issues, then my body will feel better. Right, okay. While I can see some logic in that and I do acknowledge and there is a correlation, if I did in fact have some sort of disease, positive vibes wasn't really going to cure me. I just wanted answers so I can put my effort toward treating it. 

Stay tuned for part 2 of my healthcare saga.

xoxoSheri

Do you have your own horror stories from visiting the doctor? Have you been successful at finding your own diagnosis? Do you have a hilarious story? Share in the comments below!

I'm Back!

Hello!

Oh it's been a little over a year since I've been in the blogging mood. I'm back though; that counts right? It's 2018 and it doesn't quite feel like I thought it would. I love the number 8, and I'm 32 this year (8x4!) so I'm hoping for some big exciting things to happen! I just don't know what yet.

I'm still trying to figure out the format I want for my blog. What weekly type of post do I want to make? (All suggestions are welcome!) I think there definitely needs to be a craft corner. Crafting has been my mental health savior. I've been loving knitting, Perler beads, embroidery, stamping even! Perhaps I can eventually host a craft swap. If you're a fiber crafter like me, you should look into Fibre Share. It's a yarn swap with partners kind of thing. On that note, I'd like to address mental health too, I just don't want it to turn into a weekly post about me whining. Book reviews? Do I even know how to review a book? I suppose I should figure this all out and not ramble on in a post.

xoxo Sheri

Women's March on Washington

Hello!

Today, I am going to write about my experience at the Women's March on Washington, here in Seattle, WA. If by chance you're unsure of what that event was, it was a march in Washington D.C., that also consisted of satellite marches happening all around the country in major cities. It was also very cool to see how our sisters and allies in countries all over the world held marches as well to show support for women in the U.S - and their own countries too! The event was called a women's march, but it wasn't solely for cis women. Participants included women of all biologies (cis, trans, non-binary, gender fluid, etc.), men who support women and our civil liberties, children of all ages, grandmas, grandpas, and a whole lot of love. 

Getting to the march was more difficult that I anticipated. I always knew that I was going to march no matter what, but I didn't plan well on how to get there. I also didn't plan well on forming a group to go together. I contacted some people last minute, both in and outside of Seattle, and people who I assumed would go, weren't going. That was very hard on me because in my heart it wasn't an option, it was a duty. I carried the feeling of disappointment with me for a good part of the day. But, I did have a good friend meet me toward the end of the march route with her 6 year old daughter and her amazing sign drawn by her other daughter. 

Uber was $100 to travel the 6 miles to the starting location, so that wasn't an option. I'm really disappointed in Uber for profiting from our march. Shame on you, Uber. Shame on you for many reasons. So, I used Car2go instead. It was crazy driving the tiny smart car up the hills of the Judkins Park neighborhood. After I parked the car, I walked a few steps around the corner and then saw the massive crowds. I thought I was going to be nervous and maybe uncomfortable doing the march on my own. But once I got there, I realized that I wasn't alone at all. Thousands of people were there for the same reasons I was there. There was mud everywhere, but the sun was shining and the air was crisp. Nearly everyone was wearing a pink pussy hat, with points meant to be cat ears. Or maybe it was suppose to resemble a female body part? 😏

I was expecting someone to be a leader. I was expecting a stage and megaphones and chanting and cheering. Maybe there was all of that, but not where I was standing. Not long after I arrived, the crowds began to move; some went north, some went west. It turns out that way more people showed up to the march than anticipated and it just wasn't possible for everyone to flow in one direction. There were many points in the beginning that the crowds just split up in order to allow for more traffic flow on the small streets of the neighborhoods. 

I saw so many amazingly creative signs. There were also large paper mache puppets of women from different cultural backgrounds. (Please correct me if puppet isn't the right word!) I took so many pictures and had plenty of time to marvel at all the people around me coming together in love and support. We barely moved a few feet at a time and often were paused together. I loved seeing all the men there supporting the women in their families. I noticed that any time a man bumped into a woman (we were all squished together like sardines) he would apologize profusely. I think they all knew that it was a day for women and the only place for a man at the march was a place of support and love. I loved seeing the dads there with their daughters. What a beautiful action of love for a young girl. 

The march was 3.6 miles and it moved slowly. Walking through the international district down a hill gave me a breathtaking view of the massiveness of our Seattle's Women's March. We were a sea of pink and signs bobbing along. Once we turned onto 4th ave, I met up with my friend and her daughter. Her sign was awesome and I'll include it in the pictures below. It warmed my heart to see a girl as young as 6 participating in an experience marking history for everyone. She also wore pink in every shade possible! 

The march ended at Seattle Center and everyone stayed and filled up every inch of the square. We stopped at a small hill to observe it all and watch the swarm of marchers file in. It was a view that I will hold onto for my entire life. We walked over and sat by the fountain and just watched all the families and people celebrating, talking, and resting. I wasn't physically tired because it was a hard walk, but I was exhausted from being filled to the brim with emotion the entire time. I felt so proud of every single person there. I also still felt disappointed in those who didn't march. In the beginning the disappointment was judgmental and even angry. At the end the disappointment was just sadness because I wasn't sharing this spectacular moment every woman who I love. There wasn't any room inside of me for anger after an experience like that.  

I also know that in hindsight I shouldn't have allowed myself to be angry in the first place. My words of advice on the matter is, don't let silly reasons get in the way of participating in something you believe in. I understand that crowds are overwhelming, claustrophobia may be an issue, physical limitations may hinder you. But if you're able to participate in these moments of history and it's something you believe in, get up and march! I know that not everyone is politically angry enough to protest. But protests don't have to be about anger. The Women's March on Washington wasn't about anger. I urge everyone to read about the purpose behind political events like these. If the purpose isn't what you stand for but you still want to make moves, find your own purpose and participate in anyway you can. I will be posting soon on ways to make an impact in the political occurrences our country is facing and will be facing for the next 4 years (think postcards, e-mails, phone calls, letter-writing).

If you're wondering what my personal reasons behind marching are, I'll be happy to share. I strongly believe in everything that true feminism stands for. I believe that all people are equal and all people deserve the same human rights. I am a big supporter of all women and love to lift up and encourage all women to be strong, to speak up, and to follow their dreams. I wanted to be around strong women who share my values and want to make a statement. I wanted to feel a connection to something greater than myself and to put my energy toward a positive movement. 

I hope you enjoyed reading about my experience at the march. Please comment and tell me about your experience if you marched! If you disagree with my thoughts, that's okay too! Feel free to comment as well and open a dialogue. I promise to be respectful to all commenters and I hope you afford me the same courtesy. Now, enjoy some photos! (Click the photo to open a slideshow.)

Going Back "Home"

I'm taking my first visit back to Arizona today. It feels differently than I thought it would. I don't think I really allowed myself to be homesick. Was Phoenix even my home? LA isn't my home either. Phoenix isn't my native land, but it is familiar and holds a certain comfort despite any grumpiness I still hold for it. There is comfort in knowing where all the best Starbucks are and knowing which Target is the good Target.

I didn't think I would be excited to go back. I think I'm inherently a bridge burner, and when I leave places I don't necessarily intend on going back, even if I know at some point I will. 

Going back to LA the first few times felt like I was running back home to something comfortable and I had friends I was dying to see, and parents to avoid. I ran home to LA frequently, at first. Then Tempe and ASU became my home and I didn't need the security of going back so often. My trips became more like holiday visits rather than an escape from loneliness. 

I'm in a different place this time. Yes, I did run from Phoenix to Seattle in a similar way I moved from LA to Phx. I wasn't running for survival though, or toward a big plan, like college. Seattle still feels like the place that I'm supposed to be, but Phoenix is the home of my hero and my favorite person. I knew that I was choosing to move away from her. I knew that I was hoping to find my own freedom and give her some space. I was feeling like I never found my place in Phoenix and in her home, so it would just be easier if I grew up and made my own home and found my own place. I haven't yet. It's only been 4 months and I need to give it time. That leaves me going back to Phoenix probably a little too eager. I'm fearful that I will come back to Seattle and all the sparkle will be gone and all I will see is that I'm alone; I'm not making the progress that I thought I magically would in a new city.  It took two years to settle into AZ, to be fair. I just don't want to allow myself to pass time without meaning, and I feel like that's what I've been doing. 

I'm so happy to see a few people that I miss dearly, but I'm not telling the whole city that I'm coming. It's too overwhelming to try to see everyone. I'm there for work, anyway. I won't be there on my own schedule. 

I hope for emotional maturity and a sense of clarity. I hope to enjoy my time there and to look forward to coming home to Seattle with a new sense of vigor for my current life, and not dwell on missing what I left behind. 

xoxo Sheri

Let Me Post Some Positivity

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I feel like perhaps I'm on the ending leg of my Moody Tour. I'm not sad, per se. I'm just forever confused. At some point along the line of life, I have made it my mission in life to understand how the world works. That, itself, is probably my downfall. I may never put all the pieces into place and it's so damn frustrating! I hate being confused and not understanding something!

Anyway, I don't have the answers to understand others - UGH - but I can work on understanding myself better. I'm kind of in this hermit stage. Maybe my life is a hermit stage. But, I feel like I'm on the verge of knowing myself, like kind of, almost, maybe in a place to say - I'm me, and I'm full of some really weird shit and maybe I don't have to apologize for that. The best people I have ever known are unapologetically themselves.

I've always loved my godmother because I always saw her as a person who just stuck to her values, that was her thing. I had this dude who I was ridiculously and obsessively in love with before I moved to Arizona. Yes, of course he was dashingly handsome in an old Hollywood dreamy sort of way. But, also he was weird as fuck in a way that there is no one on the planet who is like him and everyone adored that about him. Yep, even and especially me.

So what's my thing? I think I spent my teenage years, like all teenagers, by trying to create my thing. Sorry former Sheri, it doesn't work that way. I am who I am. I can change my outlook, I can change my hair, I can take up yoga, but I'm still me.

I'm a girl who is also a lady. I'm forever emotionally a teenager. I love everything pink and everything that should only be attractive to 4 year old princesses. I FUCKING LOVE GLITTER.

I believe in standing up for all women's rights. Xena Warrior Princess is my hero. I'm boy crazy but also love women. I'm obsessed with organizing things and also have phases of being the biggest slob on the planet. I love sleep and would sleep all day every day if I could. I'm a foodie. I'm chubby yet adorable and will most likely drive over walking. I like to dress up and I also love to crawl out of bed and take on the world in my pjs. I'm a target-aholic. I inexplicably LOVE children. I meet them, and I fall in love, all of them, no matter what. I love good parents and abhor shitty ones. I'm glad adoption is a hard process, or else I would have ALL THE KIDS. I love love love a good friend until the end of time, and I will cut you out of my life in a second if you disrespect me. I'm lonely at times, but warmed by my convictions of always standing up for myself and making decisions in my best interest (until I have a family and have to think of others in my life decisions). I'm narcissistic and live in my own world where I am in fact the center of my own universe. I cry for others when their dreams come true. I cry a lot actually. I think I know everything and I want to share my wisdom. I'm artistically talented. I'm gifted in most subjects. I'm just a smart cookie. But, I can't sing and I really wish I could. I don't like people who aren't open to change. I hate rudeness...like hate hate hate it. 

I need to stop trying to control who I am and just be who I am. Not every person is made for every other person. It's ok to not be friends with everyone. It's not ok to be rude to people you don't like, but it's ok to go your separate ways, respectfully. The sooner I accept myself and my flaws, the happier I'll be and the less I'll care when someone rudely points them out to me, trying to hurt me. 

This is coming off pretty "Haters gonna hate" and while it's not my exact intention, it may be applicable. I don't think I even know enough people to be that sassy. I mean it more like - Hey let's all just learn to love ourselves and then it will be so much easier to love each other. Happiness can spread just as easily as misery, if we let it.