Never Getting "Better," But (Hopefully) Getting Closer

I remember 2017 as being the manic year of doctor’s appointments and procedures, trying to “figure things out” while I was battling soon-to-be (1.5 years in) diagnosed Celiac Disease. And after I cut gluten, I thought that was it: Life, henceforth, was going to be better. Easier. Healthier.

It was a whole new lease on life!

But life has felt like a tinderbox since.

Photo credit: Miriam Espacio on Pexels

I’m fortunate in many ways.

My family has great insurance (although private insurance shouldn’t exist, in my honest opinion); we’re financially stable (although our expenses increased almost 40% so far this year, and that’s definitely not sustainable long term); and we have three wonderful, healthy children who aren’t afraid to share their struggles with us—a far cry from my own childhood of isolation and rejection and silence.

But my health has declined dramatically over the past three-plus years. My individual disorders seem to be compounding; or maybe I’m just in that confused, whirlwind state where I can’t tell up from down; and I can’t tell which disorder is causing what inside my body.

I’m scared.