Author: Callie

What I’m all About

I am currently enrolled in a course that is designed to help us ole bloggers improve our content and become more intentional writers, and in so doing, grow our following. My assignment today was to write a blog post about the core of what River and Quill is about. I looked back at some of my old posts and, yes, I make it clear that this is a place for those with chronic disease to feel safe and encouraged. However, I’ve been wrestling with the purpose of my writing for a few days now, and it’s a bit more...

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I Am Not Sick

I ran into someone this week who asked me, “Are you sick?”  I explained to her what was going on with my health, and I honestly didn’t mind talking about it.  However, as I walked away from our conversation, I found myself with an unwelcomed feeling.  I was unsettled, but I couldn’t figure out why.  I write about my disease, and am probably more open about it than some appreciate, so why should it bother me to tell someone about it? After feeling sorry for myself for a good chunk of the afternoon, I realized what had been bothering...

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Healing Chronic Disease with Food

I have designed this blog to be a place of inspiration and hope. I want it to feel like you just sat down on the couch, in front of a fire, with your favorite drink, surrounded by a bunch of friends who want to help you through whatever you are going through. With that as my goal, I write quite a bit about how to keep your spirit thriving, but if we were really having a conversation by the fire, I think you’d probably start asking for some advice on the other stuff. For example, what types of things...

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The Fibonacci Sequence

I quote from my big green book quite frequently on Instagram.  I love this old book.  I like to think that it was just waiting for me to find it, all these years, as it sat, in the second row of books, on the back wall, at the used book shop.  It was published in 1883.  The version I have was revised in 1894.  Sometime in the 1960’s, possibly before and after, it sat on the shelves of the Toledo Catholic Library.  I also know, due to the stamps located on the inside front cover that it traveled to...

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Identity Theft

After I came home from the “death session” (the cystoscopy that diagnosed Interstitial Cystitis), I found myself in a new predicament:  I felt foreign.  Like an alien in my own skin.  My thoughts were broadcasting in German, or Russian, or some sort of combination of the two.  I wasn’t sure what was happening.  I wasn’t sure what I could eat anymore.  I wasn’t sure what I could do anymore.  I simply wasn’t sure who I was. When someone asked if I liked chocolate, would I say yes, because I did, or should I say no because now I couldn’t...

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