This week, it's my birthday. I'll be turning 45. I never even imagined that the week I turned 45, I'd also be leaping into my second week of antibiotic treatment for chronic Lyme disease. I think that's often the most difficult part of this... feeling the gap between where I am in this moment, and where I imagined I would be.
I imagined that this year, I would be fully engaged in my fifth year of the Wild Woman Inner Circle. I imagined that my book would be finished, and I'd be hunting for publishers. I imagined that my business would be growing and thriving. I imagined that I'd be running 5ks with the family, and scoping out a through-hike on the Mountain to Sea trail. I imagined that I'd be getting ready to apply to the Institute for Integrative Nutrition to add "wellness coach" to my offerings.
And yet, my life now is very, very different.
Before my diagnosis, when it was suspected that I had mitochondrial disease, I went through the appropriate cycles of grief that goes along with learning that I might not ever get better, that I might eventually find myself in a wheelchair or worse. So really, my Lyme diagnosis was truly a reason to celebrate... because while it's still uncertain as to whether it's possible to completely do away with it, it is certain that some people can go into remission and be well enough to live somewhat normal lives.
But I'm finding as I approach my 45th birthday, that I am discovering yet another layer of grief. the woulda-coulda-shoulda kind of grief.
I try every day to sort the gifts from the grit of this whole experience... to be grateful for the help and support I'm getting that are making it possible for me to heal, and for the insights and wisdom and strength that this journey is imprinting on me. Lately, I've come back to the practice of sitting in front of my altar each morning after a few stretchy yoga poses, cleansing my body with the sweet scent of sage, and looking into the center of myself in stillness, knowing on some level that it will all be okay.
And yet, there are moments when I cave into the grief. Just like we all do, I suppose. And even then, I try to just be present with it... because it feels as though if I try to fight it or deny it, it simply gives it more power over me.
I know very well how the mind can carve out the path long before the body does. About four years ago, when I started to see a nutritionist, and eventually began training for a triathlon, I realized just how much the "challenge" part is dictated by my thoughts, my fears, my insecurities... and I proved to myself that if I were to just override those things and believe in my own moxie, I could conquer just about anything. Before that, I had no idea what I was capable of.
But part of the grief now comes from the recognition that no matter how positive I aim to be, or no matter how deeply I commit to my own healing, there's still uncertainty... discomfort... pain... angst... physical limitation. It comes from knowing that I can fight the monsters in my head with all of the strength and brain power that I have within me, and at the end of the day, there's still a good chance that I'll be exhausted, that my muscles will be cramping, and that I'll not be able to run a 5K with my family or have enough energy to hold space for a circle. These things will hopefully come in time, but they are not part of my present reality.
So this week, as I get ready to turn 45, and as I begin my second week of treatment, I am determined to be present with it all... and to not criticize myself for not being able to "pull myself out of this", and accept that this is simply a single leg of my journey...
... to surrender to whatever life I have waiting for me.
Week 2 Treatment:
Minocin 100mg 2x day, Monday, Wednesday, & Friday
Ceftin 500 mg 2x day, Monday, Wednesday, & Friday
Azithromycin 500 mg 2x day, Wednesday & Friday (depending on how I'm tolerating the other two)
Flagyl 500 mg 2x day, Thursday & Friday
(with detox baths and herbs for herxing)
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