Christmas Poem 2022 — Why Santa donates to Standing Up to POTS

POTS Christmas Poem 2022 Santa sat down at his desk the way he liked to do, to his left a stack of letters from the ceiling to the floor to his right, another stack of them behind him, thousands more. He gently took a letter and he opened it with care. It's from a kid called Tim. He said he'd like a teddy bear. The next note was from Sandy. She'd like a clarinet, and after that, from Andy, oh, please, a Lego set. Susie, Misty, Marty, Lou. They all want baseball bats. Gina, Tina, Randy Stew, want sweaters for their cats. And a girl from Baton Rouge. Whose name was Debbie Ruth. She wants a pair of shoes, he said with something she calls Bluetooth and on and on. The letters went from children east and West. When Santa came upon a note different than the rest, he read it twice and called his wife, Hey honey, bring an elf. I've got a situation here that I can't solve myself. Mrs. Claus with Elf in Tow appeared at Santa's side. Let me guess, said Mrs. Claus. Someone wants a unicorn ride. No, it isn't that, he said, though I get that one a lot. She's looking for some answers to this thing that she calls POTS. POTS, she said, and pursed her lips. Of that I'm not aware. And when I Google POTS, I just get cannabis and cookware. Perhaps it stands for something, Santa said, sounding confused. Pretty orange tee set or pair of teal shoes. At that the elf, whose name was Mitch, he raised his tiny hand. He cleared his throat, removed his hat to say what he had planned. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, he said, and paused a bit. That's POTS. It's pretty common. In fact, my cousin Kimmy's got it. Her heart starts beating real, real fast. Whenever she stands too. Her vision, it gets blurry and her hands, they get all blue. Her brain gets kind of foggy, like she's cursed by a witch. And she sometimes calls me Morty, even though my name is Mitch. Well, thank you, Mitch said Santa Claus. You've helped connect the dots. Send Sarah Jane in Cleveland. One jumbo cure for POTS. But sir said Mitch, that can't be done. You see, there is no cure. POTS- it is a Syndrome, meaning easy to ignore. No cure, said Santa loudly. Nearly frightening everyone, but surely there is something somewhere somehow to be. I've seen my share of Christmases. I've rescued quite a few for when it comes to giving gifts. I'm known for coming through. When the kids all wanted rocks for pets, I brought them sure enough, and chia heads and sea monkeys and other pointless stuff, and roller skates and scooters, donkey Kong and paper boy, and piles and piles of Elmos for to tickle and enjoy. We get it. Mrs. Claus, she said, you're loved by girls and boys, but have you ever thought there's more to life than getting toys? Poor Sarah Jane in Cleveland doesn't need a speak and spell. She needs a lot of research done by experts to get well. Ah, said Santa research, right. Mitch, can you do this for me? Ask around the other elves. Maybe one has a medical degree. And poor Mitch. He wanted to help but had to disappoint. Santa POTS is really complex. We need experts at this point, but I think I know the next best thing. It's a nonprofit with a mission to help improve the lives of those with this cursive condition, when we all donate whatever we can, even just a few dollars, they fund the research that patients need from bonafide POTS scholars. I see said, wise old Mrs. Claus. It seems quite clear to me. We need to send support today to this fine charity. Yes, said Santa. I agree. Let us help those tots. Merry Christmas to all and let's stand up to POTS. Happy holidays everybody. If you want to help support POTS research along with Santa and Mrs. Claus, you can do it at StandingUptoPOTS.Org. Have some great holidays.