Having Lyme Together

"Mom, you never get the chance to be sick."

"No one ever asks how you're feeling. They don't seem very concerned that you have Lyme, too."

They do, but I try to keep the focus on her.

Also, I feel very guilty complaining about being sick myself when she is so very sick. It's like complaining about a paper cut to someone who had both their legs blown off. Unfortunately, I'm not that unselfish. I do complain. I even complain to her at times. But usually it's a, "Wow, you must feel this awful all the time. I'm so sorry," kind of complaint.

I realized very quickly that my Lyme infection is a gift. Learning through experience is the most complete way to learn. If I didn't have Lyme I would not understand half of what she's going through.

I understand...
...arms filled with lead tiredness.
...crying and crying and not really feeling sad, but not being able to stop.
...being too tired to shower.
...not caring if you ever wear anything besides pjs again. At least you don't have to think about pjs.
...that babesia treatment is hard. And LONG.
...how awful flagel tastes.
...the yucky, yellow mepron is a million, billion times worse.
...just the thought of mepron can make you throw up a little in your mouth.
...you dream of the day that there are no medicine bottles filling your cabinet, counter, bedside table.
...the couch is your best friend, but your bed is even better.
...charmin wipes are heavenly.
...choosing what to eat is an ordeal that could make you cry.
...reading takes way too much effort.
...not remembering what life is like when you're not sick.

Finding Good in the Lyme Journey

The summer after my sophomore year I found an internship in a knitting mill.  Actually, I worked 2nd shift and was in charge of three knitting machines, but they pulled me into the front office for three days to call it an internship.

Once I got the hang of tying knots, unloading the huge rolls of fabric and having break with older ladies with self-proclaimed little understanding of birth control and more interesting stories about where they applied their hair coloring than should ever be shared, I had long periods of time on my hands. Even while working I had plenty of time to think. And think. And think.

I had been through a traumatic event the year before. All those hours, often sitting waiting for the next burst of action, I had time to process what I could not in earlier emotional months. Times to recognize that the daily schedule of an 8 hour job was good. Working with my hands - cathartic. Time to just be, and think, and heal.

It was a life lesson I never forgot.

Birdie has lot of time on her own hands now with very little social interaction. On days she is able, she busily types away. I'm not really sure how much she is processing her own journey. She firmly declared she does.not.journal. That's for mom. She's a writer. She constantly has stories evolving in her mind. I think they keep her mind off daily struggles. I pray they do. I really think time of processing this journey is in the future. And yet.

Birdie doesn't focus too much on the what ifs. She told me that she only has one choice - to grow and become a better person from this illness, because the opposite choice is just not acceptable to her. She will not become bitter and regretful.

A wise mom who has travelled this road before me recently shared,

We learned to shift quickly and often seamlessly between the really awful days and experiences and those that were not half-bad and sometimes even offered glimmers of improvement.  We learned not to hold on to any of it, just move through it - bear the bad and CELEBRATE the better - infusing humor where we could.  We look back now and see so much growth and so many wonderful moments that drew us closer and made us stronger.

My prayer for our family when they were just tots was that God would tie us together with strong bonds of love. I am seeing that prayer fulfilled.

I am beyond thankful for a dad that ALWAYS made me laugh in the hard situations. Whether I was mad, crushed, or sick he'd have me laughing within minutes. That gift is truly priceless.

My sense of humor in no way equals his, but at some point, even on our worst days, I can draw a smile.

And in those moments, we are good.