I Quit

My labs came back. Some things have improved, which is great, but the Lyme is raging. 

I talked with my doctor. We listed a dozen or more therapies that we have tried the past couple years. "And none of them have made you feel better, except in your guts," she conceded. We both sat back in our chairs and stared at each other, feeling bewildered. 

It seems I am an overachiever in freakin everything I do. 

Guys. This is tens of thousands of dollars we've spent, including loans. And still I lie in bed, a noncontributor to my nuclear family. 

The doctor and I came up with a plan. It felt really right until I was handed the bottom line by the billing girl. There is no way in heck we can afford this treatment, which may or may not lead to wellness. Since then, my husband and I have looked hard at options, even considering selling stuff and moving. 

If we had the kind of money needed to pursue the therapies my doctor and I discussed, I would rather use it to send my husband and kids to Disneyland anyhow.

I thought of other modalities and felt overwhelmed about mobilizing myself toward new things that may or may not work. 

I'm tired of a lot of things. Of the way we live without a functional wife and mother. I fake it less and less all the time. 

If I'm going to suffer, I might as well do it  for free. So I'm quitting. Maybe it's a sabbatical, maybe it's for good. I hereby quit worrying about the options, coordinating my care, getting myself places, and spending the money. 

...at least for today. 

I quit. I'm done trying. I hate this game.