Waiting Sucks

It's been one week and three days since the neurologist called to tell me I might have Lyme. Ten days ago I thought I was crazy, I must be inventing symptoms, simply a response to a very stressful year. Ten days ago I had no idea about the politics of Lyme, that simply getting a diagnosis could be a challenge. Ten days ago my family thought I was a hypochondriac, literally turning away from me moments after asking me how I was feeling. I think they thought by listening they were reinforcing attention-seeking behavior. Instead they were marginalizing very real and very painful symptoms.

In ten days I've read a binder full of studies. I've finished Weintraub's book Cure Unknown. I've finished Under Our Skin. And I've gotten sicker.

Because ten days ago, my flare up also started over again. So while we wait for answers, I get sicker. While I wait, I visualize bacteria replicating in my fingers, my knees, my cranial nerves, my brain. I have named them, those damn bacteria. They're known as the little f***ers. It might be our son's first phrase.

Waiting. It sucks.