Chronically Me — Amy Baker

I will never forget the day I applied for Social Security Disability Insurance. I remember sitting at my computer, willing myself to fill out the lengthy application. Growing up, it was instilled in me to…

I have scleroderma. For the most part, I am pretty private about my scleroderma diagnosis — except for the fact that I write a column. Go figure. However, the thought of discussing my diagnosis face to…

Editor’s note: As the title indicates, this column discusses suicide. Helpful resources can be found at the end of the column if you need support. In June 2011, my father died by suicide…

Scleroderma, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, Sjögren’s syndrome — all of these are autoimmune diseases. And they’re invading my every cell.

“What do you do for a living?” Ahh, one of the most common questions asked upon meeting new people. I dread this moment. Do I tell them what I used to do? I was a marketing director, recruiter, and…

I wonder if the “old Amy” thinks of me as much as I think of her. I miss her terribly. She seemed to slip away from me without me even saying goodbye. My heart aches for who she was…

How do you measure success and self-worth? It may be a simple question for some, but for those who suffer from chronic autoimmune diseases such as scleroderma, the answer often becomes quite complex. Like many other…

“Get out of bed … now!” Are you kidding me? Getting out of bed would take forever. “Time waits for no one. Embrace the suck, Amy.” Stop yelling at me! I’m getting there. (And by getting there, I mean…

The clock ticked loudly as the phones rang in unison with a ticking timepiece that was getting on my nerves. I wondered how long my appointment would take. Sitting in the doctor’s office had become second…

My fellow chronic illness warriors: You’ve never met me, but we’ve sat alone in the darkness apart yet together. Those of us who suffer from conditions like scleroderma have a higher risk of developing mental health…

“Don’t worry. This will feel like a pinch.” Sitting in the sterile room with a tourniquet wrapped tightly around my arm, I stared intently at the legion of vials awaiting filling. The pinch did not feel like a…