...Of course, Greg couldn't have known I had some weird illness; I didn't really know myself. I worked full-time, had bought my own condo and car, and was doing half-iron triathlons. But I had to take car naps most afternoons just to get by. And I'd always had this mysterious, cyclic fatigue, which persisted no matter how hard or easy I took it. And then my psoriasis symptoms started to get worse - but they didn't really start to explode until just before our wedding.

Obviously, if I'd had any useful input from doctors, research, peers, whatever, sooner -- I would've sought specific help with "fibromyalgia." But as I've mentioned before, I didn't have notable pain until about 2008. Muscle soreness was increasing before then, but then so were my age and my race distances.

So today -- like just about every day of the last two+ years, but today in a more height-of-conciousness way -- I was feeling bummed about being a burden to Greg. Or really, bummed about this debilitating state I seem to have born with through no real fault of my own, but which has tainted everything I've done for the last 16 years. ...And that Greg, being a caring husband, is so affected when I feel like shit. Some days, I feel like shit, others just like crap, and then for weeks on end I felt like the shit streaks that line the bowl for weeks because no-one bothers to clean them. Or maybe like said shit streaks, once they've been flushed down and are festering in a dark stench of sewage. Those days and weeks, it's like having the worst flu ever, plus full-body arthritis, plus a nice dose of (situational or chemical?) depression to top it off.

It's shitty enough that we had eight miscarriages in a row -- all the while testing beautifully clearly on all fertility investigations, and following the advice of "top doctors." And then I never recovered, so the surreally bad dream continues with a new/old slant. And Greg is getting tossed all around the boat with me.

It's week 7 - really week 6 at an effective dose - in my guaifenesin treatment prescribed by Dr. St. Amand of Marina Del Rey. The progress so far is enough to make me start to dream for real about a low-fatigue life. Well, it's not about not being tired sometimes, or even exhausted; but "fibromyalgia" in Dr. St. Amand's definition means you can't recover from activity. As your kidneys, muscles and body tissues get increasingly over-taxed, recovery slows to a halt. What I'm looking for is the ability to work, and then recover, and then work again. I was able to do this in a modified way for several years, but never quite normally, and with plenty of suffering along the way.

Even though my pain has decreased a lot, and I've started to have some halfway-decent days, I'm still waiting to see if my energy will stabilize enough for us to plan a weekend trip. For months it has been like, "Let's try to go hiking this weekend...oh, never mind; I can't stay out of bed. OK, maybe...now! No...how about...now? Quick, let's go!" Basically I've been working with shrinking windows of opportunity, almost my whole adult life.

I think it's part of human nature -- If you're given enough chance and choice, to wonder whether the grass might be greener over there, or to be fooled by overly simple appearances. These people and families all around...they look like they have something you don't - either more resources, or a family, or time, or energy. But it's in the nature of being that you can't have everything all at once, and freedom of choice means continual limitations, a steady stream of paths not taken. And so the curious or un-Buddhist among us continue to wonder, What would it be like if...?

But Greg and I have this very real feeling, like our lives haven't really started yet. We've been fighting uphill for so long in our separate ways; and then in new ways once together. For short periods we've felt like maybe things were finally evening out - but this condition I have doesn't work like that. We don't know if the dysfunctional tightness in my muscles, and the deep, bone-aching fatigue contribued to my miscarriages, but it's very possible. At least, in combination with my over-35 age stamp, it could be enough.

Today I was riding my bike (slowly), and appreciating being able to do so. It allowed my feelings to gel into thoughts a little better, and I let myself sit with that sadness, that burden. If I could grant Greg one thing right now, it would probably be the ability to detach more from my suffering and enjoy himself a little more, at least most of the time. 

Empathetic freedom notwithstanding, I'll keep letting my dream unfold - to get better. I think it might really be happening. I don't think that everything will straighten itself out if/when I have stable energy reserves, but I will have access to many more tools, to make each day a little better, to find more satisfaction, even generate more cash so we can worry less about that.

I'm going to sign off tonight with a list of things I'm grateful and so fortunate for: Greg, my spastic-fantastic kitties, our nice house in coastal Carlsbad (hoping we can fill more of those rooms somewhat soon!), the better days I've been having in the last 1 1/2 weeks, having an appetite, being able to swim again and ride my bike a little more, my sister Lori, my really cool fitness clients, my ability to problem-solve and think creatively, and Doctors Stephen Eisenberg and R. Paul St. Amand, who guided me to the path to relief.