January 11, 2017, I got sick again. I don’t know why. The doctors don’t know why. That’s pretty scary, not knowing why. When you don’t know exactly why, you don’t know how to help or treat or even cure. We are doing all the things we did the first time. It took 4 years then. We’re doing all the things we did the second time. It took weeks. We’re doing all the things and more, but here I am one year later with my life...
Everyday starts in pain and ends in pain with a whole lot of pretending in between. The pain never leaves me, despite the drugs, the treatments, the physical therapy. Nothing helps. I don’t know if anything ever will.
The bits of me that make me Me are slipping behind the curtain of pain. My capacity to reflect is greatly diminished. I can focus though on work. Going to work, focusing on the task, pretending I’m not in pain.
I don’t plan, at least not for myself. I plan for work and for the kids.
I know it’s visible to others, to my kids. One person asked me if I used to do Botox and stopped, the question due to the constant furrowing of my brow. I know it’s invisible to a lot of people too. It’s my problem and no one else’s. It’s a bummer to hear about someone’s suffering.
I managed to take the kids on vacation thanks to my friend who knows chronic illness only too well.
I got on that plane to the US even though the pain was so bad.
I slapped a smile on my face for those pictures.
I made those uszka and wrapped those presents.
Here’s to a new year.