I’m going to skip the cliché of “Wow, it’s been a hot
minute since I’ve been here” and go right to welcoming my new arrivals.
Hello! I run this blog.
I get a lot of texts from people I know asking if I could
please talk to someone they know who
was just diagnosed with Lyme disease. I always give this blog address first
because I remember very little of my experience (#lymebrain #selectivememory),
but I blogged a lot of details in real time, right here. I hope this helps.
Beyond that, hopefully you have my digits. Or know how to leave a comment.
But anyway, I am doing pretty well. Probably. About a
month ago, my energy spiked. It was amazing! I felt not-dead. I took the extra
energy and started lifting weights, figuring that if I increased my muscle cell
count, I would increase my mitochondria, and they’d make me more ATP energy so
I could keep my energy up. Science!
At the same time, I put on ten to fifteen pounds
overnight. All on my upper body.
I’m in the process of finding out whether the
levothyroxine I started taking right around the time of my arm diameter- and ATP-increase
has anything to do with these changes. If so, I need to decide whether to be soft and tired OR more soft and energized.
#dilemma #shallow
Anyway, my life has been pretty good. I can’t believe I’m
writing that, since only a few years ago I thought maybe I was maybe dying. The
hardest part of a massive difficulty for me is not knowing if there is a finish
line. We’ve talked about this. In school, I thrived knowing that this class HAD
to end in four months when the university declared the semester over and
professors submitted their final grades. But chronic illness is nothing like
that, and it irks me. Stop dangling a carrot in front of my fizace!
Recently I discovered a book called The Life you were Born to Live in the thrift store, and with my new
spurt of energy and no vector in which to direct it, I bought the book solely by
its title and read it. Turns out it was a book about numerology, a woo-woo “science”
based on your birthdate and a bunch of other numbers in your life. It was like reading
one of those paper fortune tellers you make in fourth grade, and the MASH games
you played in sixth, but over four hundred pages. However, a lot of stuff was right
for me! It was fun to read.
Certain concept really rang true (note: I don’t believe this
stuff, but stick with me). Like, apparently, maybe our lives run in nine-year
cycles. Um, okay…so that means that maybe I’m pulling out of the nine-year (debilitatingly
symptomatic) chronic illness slump I fell into upon conception of my first
child? I therefore declare that I crossed the finish line a year ago.
I don’t know if I actually crossed the finish line and
now get to gain weight and move on to the next nine years (knitting phenom?
Mother of the Year? snorkel designer?). But whether my Lyme tenure is up (symptomatically)
or not, I do feel I have “a new lease on life.”
What does one pursue after slapping Death in the face?
Likewise, I am entirely retired from my nursing
profession, childbearing, and even my social media accounts (R.I.P.). I am
recovering from major psychological juju that accompanied the nine years of
trying to stay positive, plus a lifetime of mistaken ideas about myself and my
potential (#perfectionism). I know I still hate the color purple, but not much
else about myself.
Let us brainstorm what I could do with my next nine years:
As a little kid, I really wanted to work at a shoe store…but
ew, effort, chemicals, and inventory.
As a tween, I wanted to teach swimming lessons…but ew, human
soup, chlorine, and spandex.
In high school, I loved long periods of solitary study
time…but ew, tests, teachers, and group projects. #introvert
College was my time for geeking out on anything written
in medical jargon…but ew, germs and medical PTSD.
Sickie days were filled with wanderlust…but ew, germs,
and expensive.
I used to be such an optimist…and then a realist…and now I
consider daily the virtues of becoming a pessimist, such as foreseeing disaster
and preventing disappointment when things don’t work out.
Maybe I feel lost because I’ve sort of achieved most of
my early life’s goals:
--get scholarships
--go to my preferred university
--become a nurse
--get married to the perfect man
--have childrens
--get work experience
--adopt many critters
--don’t die of a chronic illness (I tacked that one on later)
Is this the part where I move on to the shoe store bit?
I planned to have many childrens, but we had to stop at two.
Which is why I think we have three critters, all varying in size, fat
percentage, and dorkiness. #mymalamuteisadork Maybe my work is to hold down the fort, which I'm trying to do, and lurve my childrens the most, which I definitely do. I could do that. But maybe add in some hobbies too.
Updates to follow when I Rapunzel this life and pick a
new dream. Suggestions welcome.
