“I’m every woman. It’s all in meeeeeeeee!” Chaka Khan’s velvety voice rings through the store’s overhead speakers. I laugh inwardly at the irony. My arms hug the trash can of vomit on my lap. My body slumps. This is not how my trip to the pharmacy was supposed to go.

The morning had started with pre-doctor’s visit anxiety. After fasting overnight to have my blood drawn, I was relieved to have the visit over and hurried to the store to reward myself with Cool Ranch Doritos.

I felt buoyant, as I walked around the store with treats in my cart, ignoring the fatigue and growing lower back pain in favor of feeling independent and free. I deserved this after being poked and prodded for answers to my symptoms. Plus, living with chronic illness, getting to drive around by myself was rare and a true luxury.

Riding a wave of excitement, I went to the local library and loaded up with books. The weight caused my lower back pain to worsen, but I was immune to pain. I was mobile!

I ate lunch and checked the time. My prescription was waiting for me at the pharmacy. I had completed my other errands and should be resting at home, but the store was right down the street and there shouldn’t be a line at this time of day. My phone battery was on 12 percent and my physical energy felt like it matched, but I convinced myself I could do this last thing.

I hustled into the Walmart without my cane or rollator. I ignored the burning pain in my lower back and the heaviness in my limbs that signals fatigue, suppressing the need to rest. I was already next in line. Just a few moments and I’d be on my way. The cashier pushed a few numbers and waited for me to sign for the prescription, but the screen stayed blank.

She tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

I felt the prick of sweat on my forehead and shifted my weight on my tired legs. It was so hot in the store. I fluttered the neckline of my lightweight blouse to cool down my body. The sweat kept coming. I forced a smile and said, “I’ll have a seat until you get the machine working.”

Walking over to the bench alongside the empty line I sat down and focused on my breath. Sweat settled on my collarbone and gathered in my armpits. My vision tunneled and the display of ace bandages before me blurred and spun away. Oh no.

My body hiccupped and pulsed in a familiar jolt of nausea. I stood in a panic and rushed to the pharmacy counter. I was in danger of catapulting food particles, so I didn’t dare open my mouth. An impromptu game of medical charades unfolded as I willed the woman in the white lab coat to understand.

Her brown eyes fixed on my rapid movements in concentration and her carefully groomed locs bobbed in urgency. I mimed the pathway of food moving from gut to throat to mouth.

“Can you breathe?”

I nodded YES and continued to gesture that throwing up was imminent.

“You need to throw up!”

YES! I nodded in earnest.

Just in the nick of time, the pharmacist grabbed a trash bag of discarded labels and held it over the counter.

I pitched forward, emptying my stomach into the bag. Immediately I started to feel better, and my body temperature decreased. The pharmacist led me to the vaccination cubicle to sit and recover.

I am holding the trashcan on my lap when Chaka Khan starts to sing about female empowerment. I think: “Sorry, Chaka, but it is not all in me today.”

As the pharmacist hands me a towel to wipe my face clean, I start to ponder what went wrong and decide on three practices I need to adopt.

Don’t ignore physical limits.

Pay attention to your body’s signals. Do you know how your body tells you it needs rest? If not, tracking your symptoms can be an effective way to learn. Using an app or a printable symptom tracker sheet can help you identify possible triggers and recognize when you’re reaching your limit. Plus, this can double as helpful information for doctor appointments.

 Adjust priorities to match the current fatigue level.

Choosing your own wellness can be as simple as organizing tasks by importance and energy needed. Plan to tackle the most important, labor-intensive tasks during peak energy times, saving less important tasks for when your energy is lower. Resist impulsively adding to your to-do list without considering your current pain and fatigue levels.

Use accommodations/mobility aids.

Using accommodations or mobility aids can feel awkward at first, but trust me, the looks you get for using a mobility aid is far better than the looks you get when throwing up in public.

Asking for what you need doesn’t make you rude or high-maintenance; it makes you wonderfully human. These tools help you live the life you want, so embrace the freedom they offer and use what you need.

If I could go back in time, I’d listen to the pain in my back and the fatigue in my limbs. I’d skip the library to avoid exhausting myself by carrying heavy books. I’d pick up my prescription when my energy level is high, and I’d use my rollator to ease the strain on my body.

I sigh as I toss the used towels into the trash bag and tie up the mess. Grateful for everyone’s kindness, I gather my strength, my purse, and my prescription. Humbled by the experience, I drive home, resolving to be kinder to my body. I realized that I was lucky not to have fainted and seriously hurt myself. Soon after arriving home, I climb into bed — a little wiser, a little embarrassed, and with a newfound appreciation for Chaka Khan.

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