Even when illness is chronic there is a tendency to look for signs and hope of healing. It catches me every time : the false hope that I may have turned a corner.
Undeniably, there is progress. Last night I was able to bathe alone without worry of falling or passing out. Last year, I would not have attempted it. Two years ago, a bath would have been all I could accomplish in a day. Signs of healing.
Yet, just weeks ago, I was able to take short walks, visit stores and push a cart around, maybe go out for dinner without taxing my system too much. In the past few days, my muscles have one by one been giving out – like elastics snapping – causing pain and stiffness, and making mobility difficult. Regression.
Chronic illness, particularly ME/CFS, does not follow a predictable pattern; it rules without a thought to how disruptive it might be.
I spent the first two years of this illness bed and home bound, and I was patient, because I believed that it was temporary. I believed I would be well again.
Now, as winter sets in and my body slows, the fear of being confined again looms. No matter how much I may push to overcome this disease, ME/CFS is a brick wall. I does not back down, nor bend to my will.
I am coming to realize that I may need to reset my expectations.