Chronic Illness

My New Work-From-Home Setup, Part 1: Working in Bed

Kate Sloan

Lately I’ve been overhauling my entire work setup at home, and loving it. Seeing as I’m now fully self-employed and perpetually juggling a full docket of blog posts, client work, podcasting, and book-writing, it felt important to make some changes so my setup would be as well-tailored to my needs as possible.

I’m gonna do another blog post soon detailing the changes I made to my main workspace at my desk (I’m just waiting on my new monitor to be delivered!), but today I thought I’d tell you about another “workspace” of mine that I’ve also overhauled recently. Let’s talk about what I use when I’m working from my bed.

See, as a chronically ill person, there’s usually at least 1-2 days per week when I’m too achy, sleepy, and/or gloomy to sit at my desk for long stretches of time. On those days, I tend to curl up under my duvet, surrounded by strategically-placed pillows, for a supine work sesh.

My old bed-work setup consisted solely of my laptop (a MacBook Air) and a lap-desk from IKEA that keeps my computer from overheating on the duvet and also has a compartment where I can store my iPhone upright for easy access. However, my 13” computer is a bit bulky for this purpose, and I wanted a system that was smaller, sleeker, and more portable, especially since (in non-pandemic times) I travel a fair bit and don’t always want to bring my big ol’ lap-desk with me.

The main component of my new bed-work setup is an iPad mini 5. Mine is a 64GB model in space grey which I bought refurbished last year, having noticed that my chronic pain had gotten bad enough to warrant a smaller, lighter device for difficult days. In the months since, I’ve more often used it as a leisure device, for watching Netflix, YouTube, and (yes) porn – but it works quite well for professional tasks as well, because it’s fast, powerful, and versatile, and has a beautifully bright and vivid screen.

When I want to work on my iPad, I hook it up via Bluetooth to my pale pink Logitech K380 keyboard. I picked this keyboard because it’s one of the Wirecutter’s top recommendations, and I absolutely love it. The keys are pleasantly clicky-clacky, which I enjoy in contrast to my laptop’s hyper-quiet keys. I also love that this keyboard can be connected to up to 3 devices at a time, which you can switch between with a press of a button. This means I can use the same keyboard whether I’m typing on my computer, my iPad, or my phone. It’s quite slim and light, so it’ll be easy to throw it into a purse alongside my iPad if I ever want to get some work done at a café or another public place. The one thing this keyboard lacks, that I wish it had, is a slot for propping up my iPad so I don’t have to bring an iPad stand with me. I recently ordered a typewriter-inspired Knewkey mechanical keyboard which will do a better job of this when I need it.

Speaking of iPad stands, I do need one while working in bed, and the one I chose was a recommendation from my tech-nerdy spouse mb. It’s the Yohann iPad mini stand, a gorgeous piece crafted from walnut. mb recommended this stand for me largely because it’s designed to work well on soft surfaces, like a bed; its curved design enables it to keep my iPad upright at a workable angle even as I shift around in bed, adjust my pillows, etc. At $129 USD, this was a pretty hefty investment for something that simply holds my iPad up, but it’s 1,000% better than what I was doing before (attempting to prop up my iPad against a stack of pillows or books), so to me it was worth the dough.

The final component of my work-from-bed setup is my Adonit Mark stylus, which I bought because the Wirecutter recommended it and also because it comes in a stunning shade of turquoise. (I love this shade so much that it’s actually the exact color of my duvet cover, which unfortunately means I sometimes misplace the stylus in my bed due to how well it blends in!) At just $20, this was the least expensive part of my bed-work overhaul. A stylus enables me to “click on” things on my iPad’s screen without having to reach too far with my hands, which is suuuper helpful on bad shoulder/neck pain days.

I also have a 6-foot-long charging cable for my iPad, so I can charge it while I’m working no matter where I choose to situate myself in my bed. I am a big fan of extra-long charging cables in general, especially for chronically ill people, because unlike shorter cables, they don’t require you to choose between charging your device and staying in a comfortable position.

Software-wise, on my iPad I usually use Google Chrome for any in-browser writing (such as this blog post), Google Docs for articles and client work, and Scrivener for my books. These all sync across my various devices seamlessly, making it easy to move my entire workflow from my desk to my bed when I need or want to.

This is what’s working for me; I’d love to hear from other writers in the comments about what works for you when you write in bed!

Rest is Crucial, Sacred, & Sexy

Kate Sloan

I recently quit my part-time social media job after 4 years of working there. I’ve long called this gig my “dayjob” because it did the thing for me that dayjobs do for creative types: it gave me a steady, reliable income that tethered me to the working world and afforded me the time, money, and brainspace to do my passion projects on the side. But in recent months, my “dayjob” had begun to bring in only about 7% of my total income, while taking up about a quarter of my working hours – and with book deadlines and health issues weighing heavily on me, I decided it was time to move on.

This was a challenging decision for me, in no small part because I have loved working at that company and with the people there, albeit remotely, these past 4 years. I had other resistances to leaving, though, and spent a whole hour discussing them with my therapist recently. I worried that my other projects would dry up, leaving me regretful to have quit – although there’s no evidence that will happen. I worried that without time-sensitive morning tasks to complete each weekday, I’d let my depression get the better of me, lazing about in bed into the afternoon. I worried that firm daily deadlines were the glue holding my life together, and that without them, I’d lack the conviction and self-direction to manage my time effectively.

But as my therapist reminded me, this is internalized ableism, internalized capitalism. The discourse around “laziness” is too often aimed at people whose systemic struggles and marginalizations are framed as personal failures. The freelancer community’s obsession with “hustling” is borne of capitalistic imperatives. A person’s “hustle,” or lack thereof, says nothing about their inherent value as a human being. Not all people have the same abilities; we can’t all hustle as hard as we think we “should.”

It feels shameful to admit that one of the reasons I quit my job was so I could rest more. I feel like I already rest a great deal, certainly more than my friends who work long hours at cafés or retail stores. But this mindset comes from holding myself to able-bodied standards despite being increasingly, invisibly disabled. My chronic pain and chronic fatigue are worse and more frequent than they’ve ever been. I often need a 3-hour nap just to get through the day, or to “catch up on sleep” into the luxuriant afternoon hours on weekends. The simple fact of living in a pain-wracked body is uniquely exhausting. I can’t pretend that away.

I have to banish culture-borne ideas of “laziness” in order to plan a schedule that actually works for my body and my brain. Now that I’ll soon be fully self-employed, with most of my deadlines being self-imposed or flexible, I can rearrange my schedule as needed to fit with my lifestyle and desires – something I’ve longed for my entire adult life. I’ve been fantasizing about “Weekend Wednesdays” and impromptu staycations and “the 4-hour work week.” It feels blissful, in the truest possible sense of that word, to envision the freedom my self-employment will now afford. And I know it is an enormous privilege, one that comes from my position in society as an educated white person as well as my many years of hard work to establish this lifestyle for myself. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s wrong somehow to rest as much as I do, or as much as I want to. That I “should” work more, to “earn” the happiness I get from having a career that genuinely delights me.

My therapist told me, “You’re working as much as you comfortably can, and you’re earning enough money to live on. That’s all that matters here.” I felt my body relax when she said this. It’s so wild that capitalism instills in us, from birth, the belief that our work, our productivity, and our output are what define our value as human beings. Even sworn anti-capitalists sometimes still struggle to unlearn this. It’s as if we’ve forgotten that “jobs” and “careers,” as they are defined in modern times, did not always exist and do not need to exist. If human didn’t need to work in order to survive, what would we do instead? Would we make art, socialize, have sex, eat, drink, sleep, think? Would we feel fulfilled then? Would we feel we had done “enough” at the end of each day?

It’s impossible to say. But I’m working on accepting that my rest time is every bit as valid and important as my work time. When my achy, sleepy body demands a 1 p.m. nap, I need not admonish it or deny it. When my inner child pipes up to say that Wednesdays should be days off for playing in the sunshine, I can and should listen. When all I want, at a bone-deep level, is to stay in bed all day playing Pokémon games and listening to comedy podcasts, that’s likely a signal I should heed. This feels sinful and embarrassing to even type out. But that’s because it’s a new belief system for me, one that butts up against bullshit I’ve been inundated with my whole life.

We need rest to survive. That’s especially true for disabled folks. I feel no sensuality and sexiness in my body when my nose is constantly pressed to the grindstone. I get precious little joy from life when my every waking minute is mired in work and worry. I have no time or energy left over for the fun things, or even the necessary things, when work swallows me whole.

Rest is crucial. Not all of us have the ability, or the privilege, to honor that fact and live it out fully. But don’t let anyone tell you it’s not. You deserve the rest you need – and the rest you want.

Building a Chronic Illness Wardrobe

Kate Sloan

Weirdly, one of the saddest parts of my slow descent into chronic pain hell is being unable to dress the way I used to. 💔

Even setting aside the issue of how my body shape/size has changed since becoming less mobile (because I ain’t about that fat-shaming life), there are some types of clothes I just can’t wear anymore, or at least not very often. My beloved rockabilly dresses have nipped waists that dig into me uncomfortably; luxury lingerie stabs me with its underwires and lace; even jeans often feel painfully restrictive. I was never much of a high heels person, but now even sturdy heeled boots sometimes hurt me. It suuuuucks.

However, slowly but surely, I’ve been re-learning how to dress myself in what feels like a completely different body than I had in my teens or early twenties. Here are some of my top picks; maybe they’ll help you if you also have chronic pain/illness, or even if you just like comfy clothes!

 

Leggings and lounge pants have become foundational to my style. I used to wear tights under dresses most days, but over the years I’ve slowly transitioned to wearing leggings under my dresses instead, because they’re comfier, more durable, easier to put on in a hurry, and can double as pants for sleeping in or lounging around the house. (Or wearing out, frankly. The “leggings are not pants” brigade can fuck right the hell off.)

These TrueSleep modal joggers by the Gap are some of my faves right now; I have a few different pairs. Modal is one of the comfiest materials for my particular body. It’s stretchy, non-scratchy, and feels light as air against my skin. These pants have pockets – always a plus – and they have a slim enough cut that they can pass for leggings if I throw a dress over them before leaving the house. They’re marginally see-through because the fabric is so thin, which is admittedly a drawback, but I barely wear them out of my apartment so it doesn’t really matter. I also love my Ureshii leisure pants, which were made-to-measure and are soooo comfy and soft.

 

Cute tops help me feel like a human even when my body isn’t cooperating. I’ve recently sought out soft lace-edged tank tops as a replacement for the oversized T-shirts I tend to rock with my lounge pants, because any little thing I can do to feel more femme is helpful when I’m achy and insecure.

Looking in the sleepwear section of any clothing store is always a good bet for pain-friendly clothes, because those garments tend to be specifically engineered for comfort and mobility. I always keep an eye out for “sleepwear” items that don’t look like pajamas; they are truly the holy grail.

 

Modal slips are a lifesaver for me. My first one was a black satin-edged Calvin Klein one that I bought a decade ago, and it’s held up so well and gotten me through so many pained days that I recently ordered a couple more: a short one in black and a longer one in a rosy red. These are way more glamorous than sweatpants but just as comfy (if not moreso), and can even be worn out of the house if layered appropriately with leggings and a cardigan or somesuch.

I’m curious about silk slips – they seem like a summertime equivalent of my modal ones, and are ultra-glam – but the one I want most isn’t available in my size, so I’ll keep looking, I guess! I also dream of someday ordering a bespoke Ureshii jersey dress; their cuts are gorgeously flattering but they’re made of super-soft fabric.

 

Bralettes are a must-have for times when I want some boob support but am in too much pain for a proper bra. Truth be told, I don’t wear bras or bralettes all that often, because I’ve basically stopped caring about my nipples being visible or whatever, but sometimes I want to feel a little fancy so I’ll put one on.

Some of the comfiest ones I’ve found are by Aerie. I usually avoid lace because I can’t handle the itchiness against my skin; soft fabrics are where it’s at. If I ever want to go the whole nine yards, I could order some made-to-measure jersey bralettes from Ureshii (drooool).

 

Cashmere sweaters are super comforting and cozy. They especially help me when cold weather is causing pain flare-ups; one day I’d love to own a pair of cashmere leggings for similar reasons (feel free to recommend some in the comments!). My favorites right now are by J. Crew but it’s pretty easy to find vintage cashmere for a steal on eBay, Etsy, Depop, etc.

Cashmere also layers really nicely with materials like modal and silk. The extreme softness of it makes me feel swaddled in safety. Truly ideal.

 

Ugg boots are a controversial pick, but whatever. They’re incredibly comfy, even when I’m having one of those weird pain days where just walking around hurts my feet and legs. I often even wear mine around the house.

The ones I have are adorned in sequins, but I’d eventually like to get a classic black pair because they’re subdued enough that they don’t scream “Paris Hilton in 2003.” (Not that there’s anything wrong with Paris Hilton… but she and I have different aesthetics!)

 

Jumpsuits and rompers are best for those days when I just can’t be bothered with separates. My favorites are by MeUndies, whose rompers are so sinfully soft that they’re even comfier than being naked (for my body, anyway). And they have pockets. Incredible.

The Gap makes a Softspun V-neck jumpsuit and a modal romper that both intrigue me. In summer I could wear these out of the house and probably no one would bat an eye. Cool!

 

Fellow folks with chronic illness/pain, what changes or additions have you made to your wardrobe to accommodate your condition?

On Being a Chronically Ill Writer

Kate Sloan

My daily routine is more affected by my chronic illness than I’d like to admit. Work can’t start until I manage to forge a path through my fatigue with the requisite amount of coffee and good music; task-switching and location-switching are informed by which positions my body can tolerate that day and which it refuses to; and when my pain decides that the work day has ended, I usually have to listen.

It’s – to say the least – a bummer, especially since I used to be renowned among my friend group and my online communities for my productivity as a writer. The same impulses still come up as before, the ones that pushed me toward creativity and stamina and long sore-eyed hours in front of the computer, but my body cannot enact my mind’s wishes on most days now and it makes me feel like a failure. Like I’m failing not only myself but also all the people who taught me how to write and all the people who believe (or believed) in me as a writer.

I seem to come back to Esmé Wang’s blog The Unexpected Shape over and over again as I wade deeper into the chronic illness life. Esmé is one of my favorite writers, and – like me – she deals with pain and fatigue (among numerous other symptoms) as part of her daily life. She’s written a lot about “creating a healthy writing practice when your health doesn’t want to cooperate,” and I’ve found her suggestions helpful, so here are some of mine, incase they can help anybody else.

I keep a to-do list almost every day, which boils down my most pressing tasks to an easily digestible form. The desire to tick those boxes and complete the list is sometimes stronger than the downward gravitational pull of my body’s limitations. When there’s only one more thing left to do on the list, usually that fact alone is enough to get me to roll up my sleeves and work on it – even if, by that point, I have to go very slowly and take many breaks.

I have a padded lap desk that I use when I’m in bed, to hold my laptop steady and keep it from overheating on the duvet, or burning my skin (temperature sensitivity is sometimes a symptom of mine). However, depending on where my pain is manifesting on any particular day, it may not always be possible to comfortably work in bed – so I move around, from the bed to the couch to the desk to the chair, looking for a few minutes of relief in which I can type a few hundred words or answer a few emails.

On days when my body is rebelling so much that even sitting at my computer feels exhausting and unfeasible, I’ll use the Notes app on my phone, which syncs to my other devices so I can easily copy and paste the text to where it needs to go later when I’m able to. I haven’t needed dictation software as of yet – the way I write and edit is exacting and particular in such a way that I get frustrated at the very thought of not being able to see what I’m writing as I write it – but am keeping it in mind for if/when my level of debilitation progresses enough to make it necessary. On especially bad days, sometimes I’ll write in longhand (I like Blackwing pencils and Moleskine notebooks; they make this process feel glamorous and easy) and then type up the words when I can.

I rely a lot on pre-scheduling. This was always true, due to the way the hypomanic episodes of my early 20s made me want to write, write, write on certain days while depression kept me uselessly crying in bed on other days. Now, I’m more aware than ever that any day – or even hour – when I feel capable of working is worth taking advantage of, if I can. Doesn’t matter if a blog post won’t be published until Thursday; one motivated and limber-fingered hour on Tuesday might be the right time to get it done. I try, as much as I can, not to leave writing tasks until the last minute before the deadline, because I can’t control what my body will be doing at that time.

I take naps as needed, which I’m fortunate to usually be able to do, due to my freelancer lifestyle. A good eye mask is a must-have for mid-day naps. My body pillow helps keep me comfortable while I’m resting. I use the Clock app on my phone to set timers/alarms so I don’t nap the whole day away.

I have a cheap microwaveable heating pad with Velcro straps that can be positioned on sore body parts as needed. I want to amass a collection of these so I don’t have to choose between treating multiple sore body parts on especially bad pain days.

Comfortable clothing is crucial, especially since my fibromyalgia-esque chronic illness sometimes causes flare-ups of hypersensitivity to scratchy or restrictive garments. I like extra-soft tri-blend T-shirts, MeUndies modal underwear and lounge pants, and (when I’m feeling a bit fancier) modal slip dresses and vintage silk robes. I particularly like loungewear that can be re-styled in an outdoors-appropriate way incase I need to dash out for a coffee or some groceries.

I’ve started using a pain tracking app to keep records of my pain’s intensity, locations, triggers, and treatments. I like this one because it’s super customizable; I can, for example, add “orgasms” as an option in the treatments category, or track my anxiety levels alongside my pain levels to see if they match up, or input impending menstruation as a potential trigger.

I’ll sometimes take a mid-day bath when my pain is especially bad, because I find the hot water gives me some relief for a while. Epsom salts are supposedly good for pain relief because of their magnesium content. Some people write in the bath; I haven’t yet figured out a way to do this that feels safe and sustainable for me, since I don’t want to get electronics close to the water and I worry about dropping my notebook into the tub. Maybe one of those wooden bathtub trays is in my future. For now, if I need to continue working while in the bath, I usually use it as reading/research time – my Kindle Oasis is waterproof and I can load it up with PDFs of my choosing, like scientific studies I intend to cite in an article or books I’m assigned to review.

Finally, one of my greatest tools in the fight against pain is cannabis – which, fortunately, is legal where I live. (By the way, why the fuck hasn’t Canada pardoned and freed everyone who is incarcerated on cannabis-related grounds? It’s bullshit with hugely racist motivations and manifestations. Anyway…) Usually weed makes me too spacey/giggly to work properly, so I mostly leave it until the end of the day when all my work is done, but sometimes my pain is bad enough that I need to treat it in order to focus on any task. In that case I’ll try to pick a strain high in CBD and low in THC, use it sparingly, and schedule my day so that I’m doing highly methodical or highly creative tasks while high – never anything requiring a lot of logical analysis or careful phrasing.

That’s what’s working for me right now. I’d love to hear from other chronically ill writers in the comments (or in your own blog posts, if you prefer – send me a link please!) about how they manage their symptoms and get their work done.

 

Additional resources I’ve found helpful on this topic:

Got Chronic Pain But Love Giving Handjobs?

Kate Sloan

I remember the first time I realized my chronic pain disorder might seriously mess up my sex life. I was kneeling in front of a dominant gentleman friend, sucking his cock while he tugged at my hair, when a telltale twinge of pain began to creep up in my knees. They were, at that time, my most painful and volatile body part – and blowjobs were, at that time, my most beloved and calming sex act. I shifted around, tried putting a pillow under me, tried sitting on my ass instead, but it was a lost cause. My knees had cockblocked us both. Defeated, I finished out the encounter with a handjob.

Handjobs have long been one of my favorite things to do to a partner, so this wasn’t exactly a consolation prize, at least for me. But in recent years, pain in my hands has plagued me even more than pain in my knees. It’s a bummer to realize that the sex act I once turned to when I was in too much pain to do anything else is now sometimes off-limits to me due to pain.

Fortunately, I’ve always had partners who were very understanding about this issue. They’ve typically been fine with me cuddling up to them and kissing their neck while they jerk themselves off, or playing with their nipples while they fuck a Fleshlight. But as any handjob-giving aficionado will tell you, sometimes the joy in acts like these isn’t just about observing your partner’s pleasure, but in directly causing and controlling it. And in that regard, there was only so much I could do.

So when a company called Handy emailed me about their new product, I was intrigued. Designed by a Norwegian engineer, the Handy is an electrically-powered mechanical stroking device, much like the unfortunately-named Sybian Venus for Men – but it only costs $169, while the Venus costs a whopping $956. Okay, Handy; I’m listening.

To be fair, the two products aren’t really as comparable as I initially thought: the Venus is custom-constructed to fit your exact dick measurements, and uses different mechanics to create a sensation I have to assume is pretty different from the Handy’s. But if using a Venus is on your bucket list despite clearly not being in the cards for you financially, maybe the Handy would be a good substitute.

So what is this toy? It’s a somewhat clunky, Fleshlight-shaped mechanical cylinder attached to a fabric band which you can wrap around an included masturbation sleeve (of unknown material, though probably some kind of thermoplastic rubber/elastomer, and definitely porous – ergo, don’t share it with anyone you’re not fluid-bonded with). The band moves the sleeve up and down over the penis once it’s inserted, and you can use the 4 buttons on the Handy to control the speed of each stroke as well as the length of the stroke.

Setup is slightly annoying, as you have to keep adjusting the tightness of the band with its Velcro strap depending on how hard your dick is and how much pressure it’s craving at any given moment. But if you’re already pretty hard and aroused by the time you start using it, that might be less of an issue. Lube is also an ongoing consideration, as with just about any penile masturbation toy; the company recommends water-based only, and you may need to reapply during use, especially if your session runs long.

What I love about this toy, as a “handjob top,” is how much control it gives me. When I use my hands on a partner’s cock, I’m not just altering the speed, I’m also altering the length and location of my strokes – so I’m glad to have a toy that can approximate that, however clunkily compared to the nuance of skilled hands. The “left and right” buttons on the control unit are for speed, and the “up and down” buttons control the stroke length; everything is close together, so I barely have to move my hand or expend any muscle energy when I’m using this toy.

One small complaint is that it’s difficult to know exactly what to do during a partner’s orgasm. When using my hand, normally I would either hold still while maintaining pressure, or slow down and lengthen my stroke quite a bit for the duration of the orgasm; when post-orgasmic hypersensitivity hits, it’s easy to remove your hand quickly, but it’s trickier to do that with the Handy. You can hit a bunch of buttons to swiftly slow the toy down, but removing it from the dick in a rush is likelier to cause more discomfort than just leaving it in place would. However, this’ll only be a minor issue for most people, and some might even like it if they enjoy an overload of sensation.

Cleaning is also an annoyance, but that’s true for pretty much every stroker/masturbator. Resist the temptation to fall asleep in a post-orgasmic haze, and make sure to rinse the cum and lube out of the stroker within a few minutes after using it, or you’re in for a gunky, moldy surprise later on.

If this were a standard review, I would touch on the video synchronization and smartphone-control features of the Handy, and I’m sure that they would help folks whose hand pain is even more severe than mine. But for my purposes, I prefer to get as close to hands-on as I comfortably can, so physically holding the toy works better for me.

Overall, if you have pain/mobility/strength issues in your hands and would still love to be able to give handjobs (or jerk yourself off), I think the Handy is a worthy investment. The band-and-sleeve system makes it so that you could theoretically swap out the provided stroker for a different one, if there’s another texture or size you prefer. You can therefore get more variety of sensation out of this toy than many other comparable ones, especially considering the flexibility of the controls scheme. $169 is a bit steep for some people’s budgets, sure, but I’ve never seen a toy of this type and caliber sold for any less – so when fellow sore-handed people ask me how they can keep on strokin’ dicks, now I know to recommend the Handy.

 

Full disclosure: Handy didn’t pay me for this review, but they did send me the product to try (thanks!) and I do get a small kickback if you buy through my affiliate link. Want more sex toy recommendations for folks with chronic pain? I wrote this article recently for Xtra on that very subject!