Make it go away.

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I hate the number of drugs and supplements I'm taking, never the same thing two days in a row, but following a pattern that is supposed to make sense.


I tell my husband I want to stop, that I'm not sure anymore which is worse, the disease or the cure.


He says we're just beginning the hard stuff, that we need to trust the protocol. I picked the doctor, after all, because of his belief that chronic Lyme disease does exist, that it could have lain dormant for who knows how long, and who knows what made it wake up, but it's up, and it's angry, and it's hungry.


I still want to stop. I'm so tired. Mentally drained. Physically unrecognizable.


Very, very tired. And humiliated because instead of losing weight like you would imagine in a person who has no appetite, I'm heavier than I've ever been in my life. Bloated and pale. Medication side effects, they say when twenty pounds arrive. Overloaded liver and kidneys.


Lovely.


I know I'm improving. I am, and for that I'm grateful. I was able to take a shower and wash my hair, help my son with Latin homework, throw a load of towels in the wash. But the rest of today? Lying in bed with ice on my head and a heating pad on my feet.


I still want to stop. I'm ashamed of that. I'm ashamed for whining when I have friends who are fighting much worse things in their lives, not to mention the millions of people around the world who are struggling mightily.


I can't stop.