My Life as Heidi Klum's Double.

No. No. I'm not Heidi Klum but I can understand your confusion. The likeness is remarkable. Ha! "I don't think so Tim".

Why must people constantly say to me "But you look so well" or my fave "I thought you'd look sicker". What the....!! How am I supposed to respond to that? Apparently I don't look sick enough for some people.

Some days I feel like I should wrap my arms in bandages or grab a cane to walk with. Then I'd look "sick".

I may look like Heidi Klum on the outside, but on the inside I'm holding it together with gaffer tape, hope and a prayer, and the gaffer tape is losing its glue. Where's MacGyver when you need him? I'm sure he'd be able to shore me up with a piece of old chewing gum, a band aid and a paper clip.

What people don't seem to realise is that many chronic illnesses, like Bob, are primarily invisible. No one sees the internal crap that goes on. Just cause my super model good looks are showing doesn't mean I'm not feeling like death warmed up on the inside. If I was a house my innards wouldn't even be classed as a renovators delight. When I'm standing talking to you at the shopping centre a whole different dialogue going on inside:

"Ok I have about 5 more minutes before I'm going to have to leave. Damn my legs are starting to get shakey. Tense my calf muscles. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Damn there go my hands. Pins and Needles. What? Oh yeah, I hear that Jenny's mum was going to the concert. Pump my hands. Pump my hands. Oh crap nausea starting. Swallow it down, swallow it down. Tense. Release. Tense release. Ok where's the closest stacking stool to sit down on? Ok, just over there. Tense. Release. Pump. Pump. Damn, dizziness starting. Focus Michelle, focus. What did she say? Damn, keep talking, keep talking. Any words will do. Nod meaningfully. Ok nausea rising, this isn't looking good. Yep. We will be going to the concert. Ok legs hold out just a little bit longer, just a couple more minutes, you can do it. Concentrate Michelle. Damn it concentrate. Getting shakey, crap vision going, wind in the ears. Crap. Pump. Pump. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Uh Oh. She's looking at me meaningfully waiting for an answer. Damn what were we talking about. Penguins? No. Basketball. May be. Hmmmm. Concert that's right. Ok. Ok. Need to ask her about the.... what's the word? The stuff, the what you wear, the, the, the.....costumes! Ah ha success! Stacking stool 10 steps away. Start stealthly moving toward stool. Tense. Release. Tense......

No one sees the amount of strength, will power and plain old prayer that is required to stand for five minutes chatting about the school concert.

And when you are having a shocker of day you are hardly out and about showing off you pasty faced exhaustion. If you can't stand you can't do your "So You Think You Can Dance' moves at a night club. Duh! Maybe I should start taking photos of my super bad days. Then when the next well meaning person says "You're looking well Heidi. You must be getting better" I can show them my portfolio of pasty chic pictures to prove I'm still sick. Just ask my Husband. He can tell you it's true he's seen me at my worst. Apparently I look like "a bag of shit tied in the middle" some days; and who says the romance fades. Luv you too honey.

Illness isn't always visible people. It's tough looking like a super model some days.

Cheers

Heidi.
Oops that's right Michelle, my name is Michelle. Say it 20 times my name is Michelle, My name is Michelle.......... I am not a super model, I am not a super model...... :)