THIS BLOG’S DEMOGRAPHICS TEND TOWARD a loose collection of friends, family and acquaintances, some of whom request occasional updates on my still-undiagnosed awfulness. Since one of the most debilitating aspects of chronic pain is Grey Sameness, I don’t like to talk much about it. So if you’ll forgive me for taking the simple way out I’ll forgive you for wanting to read something else:
Briefly: I remain on disability, my days varying between pretty good and very bad, averaging somewhere on the low side of okay. Nausea and pain are still constant companions, for which I take a handful of assorted medicines (some of which make me very sleepy, and necessitate walking with a cane betimes; other betimes it keeps me from getting too sore). It’s difficult to sit for long periods, and sometimes my “companions” still get the better of me. (Like Sunday, when not even the anti-nausea meds would stay down, and Monday, when I recovered from Sunday. Still recovering today; things have actually been getting a bit worse during the past two weeks, pain-and-nausea-wise.) Since March 31 I no longer have medical insurance but have applied for county assistance; once that’s in place I hope to continue seeking diagnosis. At this point, I do not know how long I’ll remain on disability.
Meanwhile, and on the other hand, on my birthday (March 22) I walked four miles around southwest Sonoma. I was sore the next two days, but happy. I’ve begun a new novel and am still cranking out Prosatio Silban adventures (though more slowly due to the novel). I managed to teach more than 90% of the past year’s b’nai mitzvah class dates, although I had to miss a couple of synagogue events. More regretful are the worries I’ve added to Ann’s plate. It is harder to caretake than to suffer, and with no end yet in sight, harder still. (She blogs about it, though, which I hope helps. It sometimes helps me.)
But still: we laugh more than we cry, and have more happiness than regret, even if now more bittersweet, and we enjoy each day and each other as well as we can.
And so it goes. I have always felt uncomfortable, like discomfort-in-my-skin-uncomfortable, posting about my health, but I know that the people who love me appreciate it, just as I worry about and pray for them, and I appreciate that more than even I can express. Since I don’t know what else to say other than “I’m not giving up” I’ll stop here.
No wait. One more thing: Thank you for asking. And reading.