It got cold around here since I last blogged. Very cold, inside and out. Health’s been grim, plus there was a painful event in my private life. Been more bedbound than usual, about 90% instead of my normal 75%. Been hanging onto hope.
Not hope that my health will improve. That train’s long gone. Hope that it won’t get worse. Because it could be a lot worse with only a small nudge off the cliff edge.
Some people with ME are fed through tubes for the rest of their lives. Many die from long term organ damage. Others kill themselves when the pain is constantly hideous and there’s no hope of a treatment and no end in sight.
That’s how bad it can get, but I hope it won’t for me. At least until the end of my life, whenever that is. No worse than my present quality of life until then is my sincere hope.
I’m okay. Got my warm place. It’s small and dark and snuggly, and my friends and I talk to each other. I’m not lonely. Could be, horribly, but I’m not. Still here. Still in touch.
And still using my writer’s brain. Holley Trent and I are working on our cozy mystery. Working title is Gully’s Wood. It’s fun. Exactly what I need.