Better

It is really interesting to see how life changes when you are more or less ill. The worst time for me was when I was bedridden. The nerve pain meant sleep only happened when I was so physically worn out I was unable to go any longer. That is not a recipe for restful sleep, and as a direct result I was pathologically tired. I couldn't remember names, facts, dates. My body warped into new configurations at y joints, with swelling contorting the soft tissue and even the bone in my hands. During the past four years, I have had bed rest three times, ranging from one month to several. I am glad my memory of those times is vague due to the effects of LD and pain. It is not worth dredging up that sorrow.

I did not know if I wanted to go back to medical school. Why put myself through that hell? I had he'll on earth to live through.

I know, with the visceral gut deep confidence born of a thousand plus days, that I would not be here without my beloved M. He stood by my (bed)side, comforting, encouraging, believing that I would get better. Without him, I would have given up. I would be dead.

My current regimen of antibiotics has proven the best yet. I am spending my last month of freedom doing whatever my heart pleases--building fence, playing with my lambs, riding. It feels like I have a new lease on life, as if everything is brand new.

Certainly I grieve for the physical strength and balance I had before getting sick. How I could do so many things, so easily. But every day I can wake up with just a little bit of pain is a gift.

Days like this.