As I type this I am hooked up to IV.
Today signifies the end of my drug holiday.
I have Rocephin free flowing through my veins and tumultuous emotions washing over me.
The anticipation of today has made this a difficult week for me. Not because I expect today to bring any catastrophic herx with it but because of all that dusting off the IV pole represents.
I have spent the week with my emotions dizzily catapulting between polar opposite ends of the spectrum. One moment I'm irritated and depressed and scared to death of what is coming. The next I'm humming Rocky tunes in my head. Eye of the tiger played over and over. Staring the beast dead in the eye. Ready to fight. Hungry to fight.
The next moment I'm on the verge of tears. So overwhelmed by everything that it is useless to fight the urge. I find myself knocked on my knees, engulfed by great big, full body, hiccuping, messy, bunched up, ugly faced crying. Assaulted by fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the known. Panic and despair washing over me. It feels like the nightmare is starting again. Not that it ever really went away. But not having to face tubing, needles, and the endless litany of stress that accompanies all that IV treatment entails has helped to keep the fight at an emotional arms length. My drug holiday has been a physical break that has made pretending the fight doesn't exist a possibility.
Yes, this has been a tough week. I have been bombarded with a cavalcade of emotions ripping through my heart, mind and soul.
I am weak. I am strong. I can do it. No I can't. Bring it on. Make it go away. Brave face, heavy heart, courage is a fickle fleeting feeling. Give voice to the negative but stay positive. Live in reality, but remain hope filled. A fine line to tread. Remain hopeful but guard your heart. Fighting carries the expectation that there is a winner and a loser. How do you expect the best yet prepare for the worst? I will win. Lyme will lose. But at what cost? I fight a cunning opponent. A screaming demon that will not quietly retreat into the dead of the night. No it rages on. And I move forward in trust. Back into a battle that has no determinable ending. A fight, a battle, a desert race where the finish line is a wicked, wavering dream, a mirage that crushingly disappears the moment it appears to be within reach.
But all battles eventually end.
One day, this nightmare will be over.
One day, I will win this fight.
One day, I will re-claim my life from the living death that this fight is.
And that is what dusting off the IV pole represents.