I know I should have some­thing to say.

I know that you all under­stand me more than most.

I know I owe some­thing to all the won­der­ful peo­ple who have had me in their prayers over the past three months.  I really do.  In fact, I think I will spend the entire month of Feb­ru­ary mak­ing up for ignor­ing them.

But for now all I can say is thank you.  I pray each night that you may be blessed for your self­less kind­ness and your count­less prayers.

Please for­give me for January.

For those who may not know, I am in Ari­zona get­ting help for an ongo­ing heart issue and a cyst in my brain.  It’s not as bad as it sounds, but I sure am exhausted… phys­i­cally and emo­tion­ally.  More details com­ing soon.

Kate is spent.

She is enjoy­ing the Christ­mas sea­son immensely.

She is hav­ing a rough month.

She is smart enough to know the pre­vi­ous two state­ments can both be true.

She is fight­ing brain aches, and dizzi­ness, and for con­trol of her appendages.

She is wait­ing to go to Mayo.  (And is quite sad she didn’t get in today.)

She enjoyed her fourth anniver­sary with her sweetie, and his family.

She is ready to enjoy sleep­ing, but she had to reach out to you first.

She feels like she has noth­ing to write.

Like you’ve heard it all before.

Like she can’t explain how she feels or all that’s happened.

Like it’s not worth the energy to talk, type, or tell the truth.

Like it’s eas­ier to “tell the truth in advance,” than it is to tell the truth.

Like, maybe, if she pre­tended to feel fine, she would.

Like, maybe, she owes you an apol­ogy for leav­ing you in the dark for so long.

(Please accept her sin­cere apol­ogy for said shortfall.)

Look for a non-third-person update soon.

2009

It was just a lit­tle dizzi­ness.  Or maybe I was just light­headed.  But it wouldn’t go away.  Maybe it was my ear infec­tion (I’ve had two this year, what’s with that?!), or the med­ica­tion for the ear infec­tion.  But after a week, I’d had enough.  My doc­tor was quick to rec­og­nize the symp­toms…
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1985

When I was six months old I began to throw up and con­tin­ued to do so until I became non-responsive.  I was dehy­drated.  They admit­ted me to the hos­pi­tal and said I’d be out in 24 hours… when my heart rate came back down.  It never really did, so they released me from the hos­pi­tal with a rest­ing heart rate of 160bpm.  
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Some­times, even after over a decade with fibromyal­gia, I have to be reminded just how bad things can get.

Some­times, I for­get how every­thing can hurt.  Some­times, I am sur­prised by how quickly the pain flares up.  Some­times, I am pleas­antly sur­prised by how quickly the pain fades away.  Today is not that day.

Today I woke up three hours early just because I couldn’t stand to stay hor­i­zon­tal another minute.  Today I remem­ber how badly I can hurt.  Today I won­der how long this flare will last.  Today I’ll set­tle for NaNoW­riMo and cozy blankets.

Tomor­row I will head back to work.  Tomor­row I want to feel well.  Tomor­row I will be glad I took it easy today.  Won’t I?

What do you do on painful days like today, to make sure your tomor­row is bearable?