Day 19

Today, I'm deeply grateful for my diagnosis.
Not for the illness itself (although that has its gifts as well) but for the simple knowing of why I spent years feeling sick, sore, and bone deep tired.
The diagnosis itself was disheartening: there are no cures for autoimmune disorders, and even the known treatments can only improve symptoms, not clear them up.But after literally decades of thinking I was lazy or over-sensitive or God knows what, at least now I have a name to put on the problem.

Day 16

Nyquil.

Day 15

Having a chronic illness, I possess a complicated relationship with my body.

It is literally out to get me.

But I'm not alone in feeling that way.

While I, as a general rule, strongly dislike the line of thinking that over-identifies your state of mind with your health (your attitude, for example, has no impact on your actual state of health or illness, cancer patients with crappy attitudes survive at the same rate as those who 'stay positive', and thyroid problems have nothing to do with self-repression), I am also struck by the fact that women are so often afflicted with auto-immune disorders in a culture that constantly tells them to loathe their bodies. American culture encourages an antagonistic relationship between the self and the body: whether it's a fixation with skin or weight or hair or teeth, there is an entire industry dedicated to making certain we are unhappy with ourselves.

Contented people don't shop.

But if I am going to live in this body, and heal it to the extent that I can, I have to change the relationship I have with it. After all, this body, with all its problems, has also conceived, given birth to, and nursed two beautiful girls. So today, and from this day forward, I am cultivating gratitude for this body, with all its flaws. I will seek not to change it but to really communicate with it, to nourish it, strengthen it, and cherish it for precisely what it is.

Day 13

...and some days, you just thank God for a sense of humor.

Day 12

I've had dogs for most of my life, one way or another. The first dog in my life was Puppy (who was actually called Portia), a little schnauzer who lived with my grandparents. Later, I got to grow up with another awesome schnauzer named Max.

When Kevin and I were first together, we got Sophie.

Sophie was our family dog, and a wonderful friend to all of us. We lost her about a month ago now. It was sudden, completely unexpected, and heartbreaking. We were left with a pup-shaped hole in all of our lives, so we turned to a rescue in town that we had fostered for in the past.

So meet Toby:

He's just a little guy.
For now. I suspect he'll continue growing exponentially.

Dogs have so much to teach us, about love, about acceptance, about contentment, and about gratitude.

I am deeply thankful to have my life blessed by dogs.

Random evening thought

There may be more entertaining things than listening to trained historians going off on A World Lit Only By Fire, but not many.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fieldsIn Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago
Take up our quarrel with the foe:

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields. .