Something is happening here but I don't really know what. I'm submerged in it and can't see far enough to make out its shape. Maybe it stretches all the way from here to the end, maybe it only goes as far as next year. Nobody knows, not really. The doctors are eyeing it off, one of them even pats me reassuringly. The first time he did it I was hospital and the big flock of doctors that had been flapping around finished their work and vanished from view, he walked up beside me and said. "you're stable now", and kind of smiled. That would have been great, except that it was also the first big clue that maybe I wasn't as ok as I thought I was to begin with.
But that was one of the more dramatic days, there was a distinct inability to breathe, some lights and sirens and scenes familiar from any hospital show. I had a chest x-ray, a cardio echo and a trip inside one of those big tube machines all within ten minutes. In hindsight it should have felt more exciting.
Most days I'm just here at home wondering if it's worth it to stand up and go get something from the other room or if that will be the straw that turns the day from pretty tolerable if I just sit still into the strange new land where I'm so tired it hurts just to exist. The fun part is it's really hard to predict what the outcome of any action will be, like the first read through of a Choose Your Own Adventure book.
I don't know when I'll know what to expect, apart from more of the same, but at least I'm here to expect something. I guess it's one of those classic silver linings.
