about

Krista Davila

When I reflect on my life, it's the memories of the people who have touched my life at just the right moments—when I needed them most or when I was able to be there for someone else—that stand out. A friend once shared with me that life comes in pieces, and that what arrives does so for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. I tend to enter people's lives for a reason, even if we don’t always understand it right away. What continually surprises me is how many people feel lost, yet when we talk, I see so much strength and clarity in them. There is so much light and love within people; it’s a true privilege to experience the unique energy each one brings into the world.

I was 23 when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 46, a year later she was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer and four months later it had spread to her bones, her diagnosis was Stage 4. She lived to 53 and the person she was after cancer was very different than the one I knew her to be. We had many conversations about quality of life, not quantity of life. She encouraged me to embrace life in the moment and not wait for tomorrow, because tomorrow isn't guaranteed. I vowed not to be the person who had to become ill to really understand themselves and to embrace their authenticity. But I didn't.

I tried, but breast cancer came calling when I was 44 and I had a bilateral mastectomy. About five years after the bilateral mastectomy with reconstructing using silicone implants, I became ill. The kind of ill where I could not function well at all. Fatigue, brain fog, dizziness, heat intolerance, hand tremors, memory issues, explosive reactions, anything could trigger me. So I fought on, trying to find an answer. I did learn that neurologists are not the most empathetic people. I was tested for MS, panels of other illnesses, and nothing was identified. This went on for about 5 years and finally the neurologist suggested I consider therapy. Out of desperation I went back to my breast oncologist, who knew me well, to ask if she thought I was crazy. She didn't. I'd been asking about the silicone implants, so among other tests she ordered, we did an MRI and sure enough, one of my implants had ruptured. I quickly immersed myself in learning about Breast Implant Illness, which covered most of my symptoms. I had both implants removed and not replaced, and my health returned to normal.

Then about 10 months later all of the symptoms returned. I spent the next 8 months back with doctors, trying to find out what was causing this. Then I Googled "high heart rate, fatigue, heat intolerance" and this thing called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome popped up. POTS. I did the "poor mans" tilt table test and sure enough my heartrate would consistently increase by more than 30 bpm when I went from lying down to standing. Then I had to find a doctor who even knew what POTS was, fast forward about a year later and I found one locally, we did a real tilt table test, bloodwork during the test, and I was officially diagnosed with hyperadrenergic POTS. POTS is a disorder of the autonomic nervous system, one of the disorders that falls under the umbrella of dysautonomia.

My doctor prescribed medicine off label to manage my POTS symptoms. He also explained that at my age to expect it to be degenerative. It is not life-threatening but can deeply affect quality of life. I'd been fighting through it the entire time, fighting to be normal, fighting to do things as I'd always done them. I joined the POTS community and learned about the Spoon Theory, which is basically you only have so many spoons a day, and every day can be different, so you have to learn to be judicious about how you spend your energy so you don't run out of spoons for that day. I eventually stopped fighting to stay normal and accepted that this is my new normal.

Now I am that person I was probably meant to be 30 years earlier, but I just didn't get the message on how to do it, so my body made me change. I am happier and more at peace with myself and my life now than I've ever been before. And the less I fought and the more I took care of my body, the more the symptoms diminished. I'm on eight prescriptions but I'm as near to being more normal than I've ever been. I have energy, I have less brain fog (although my girls miss some of my more momentous actions such a leaving home and taking the TV remote control with me instead of my phone), my memory is better, I can't remember the last time I was even angry, I process emotions better, my relationships are much better. So I don't regret it, I don't regret any of it. Because it brought me to the place I needed to be. I had to give up a lot along the way, but I've learned to appreciate what I do have and what I can do now. I'm a much better version of me and I like this me. I still struggle with symptoms, I can't do more than one flight of stairs at a time. But it's manageable. And more importantly, I'm more me, the me I was always meant to be. I have hobbies and I'm not a workaholic. And I get to do this! Coaching is so important to me, to be able to partner with people and help them find their new normal is a so special for me. And we work through regret and grief, it's not an easy process, and I know because I've been there.