BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

Here's to my cousin, Stephen, who has ridden his bicycle around the world to prove to himself and, well-- the world, that he could do it despite the fact that he has epilepsy. (That is not my cousin in the photo.)

He is giving a presentation at the Wilkinson Public Library in Telluride, CO this coming Wednesday at 6pm, just in case there's someone out there reading this who might be in the vicinity.

I've been meaning to put a link to Stephen's webpage, Seize The World, for some time-- about two months, in fact. Which shows how self-absorbed I've been lately.

Stephen came through Seattle with his bike in December. He'd just gotten off the plane from Japan (no, he didn't ride across the wetter parts of the world) and was about to head down through Oregon and across Idaho on his way back to his original starting point in Colorado.

Since I last saw him, he's been out on his bike every day, pedaling into winter winds and sleeping in a tent at night. Meanwhile I've been inside heated rooms, worrying about word counts and whether I'm taking my pills at the right time. Makes my own health stuff seem pretty wimpy!

I'm glad you've completed your trek, Stephen. You are one tough cookie! You're way cooler than the cool dude in the photo and you don't even have a moustache! (Thank god!)

UPDATE

No news is good news! I haven't posted here for a long time because I've been busy with other writing projects.

In my month in DC I met my goal of writing 50,000 words of my memoir. (164 pages.) I'm now back in Seattle and up to about 250 pages. It's a very rough draft-- meaning most of it is crap, and I'm sure I'll end up cutting about half of it. It's ludicrous that this thing is so long-- how can I be so fascinating to myself? Somehow I am. My brain keeps spurting out more and more elaborately detailed memories and I delude myself into thinking they're worth writing down.

I'm starting to suspect a good memoir is particularly difficult to write-- because almost everything about oneself seems significant, but to judge what is interesting to others and to tell it well is tricky.

And to put it all in context, at long last, at the 2.5 year mark, the treatment for Lyme is now like sailing on a glassy lake with a steady wind filling the mainsheet. I am on Rocephin, Minocyclene, Biaxin and Flagyl. Yes, FOUR anti-lymals, but the side effects are nothing more than sleepiness after I take my pills. (I ask you Apollo, God of Medicine, why couldn't I have had that side effect from the start?)

I am sleeping 8 to ten hours a day, every day: deep nourishing sleep. And I have managed to cut down on my supplements to boot. Now I'm only taking half a bazillion pills a day. Hip hip hooray!

During my trip home I started running-- running!-- and I have been able to keep it up for close to two months now, going 2 to 3 miles a few times a week. On the other days I do the gym machines or yoga or just go for a long walk. Exercise, I've discovered, is the key to keeping everything in balance.

My best advice to anyone starting treatment is move around as much as your body will allow. If that just means walking once around the block, that's fine. Be patient, build your strength, but move what little you can, whenever you can!

Last week I started dancing again. It's been a long year with the tendonitis, and I was worried I'd forgotten how. To my surprise, I did alright. There were some moves I'd forgotten, sure, but I'd actually say that in a way I was a little better than I was a year ago. For one, my body was much stronger than it was in January 09, and that made me more confident out on the floor. And then, since I hadn't taken a class in so long, I wasn't really worrying about which moves I did when, I was just going with the flow. It all came back to me without having to think about it too hard, and I was just... dancing!

INJECTION HUMOR FOR FANS OF THE OFFICE

Scene: The Poet giving me the injection. Over the past two days we've been sqabbling over whether I should put my hand back and brace the syringe while he has two hands on the plunger.

Me: I think I need to brace it, because once you started pushing yesterday it went in farther than it was at first, past where it was you checked for blood.

Poet: That's OK.

Me: No, because there was blood in the needle when you drew it out. (Blood in the needle is not good.)

Poet: OK, I'll pay attention so it won't do in any further, even after I start pushing.

Me: OK, I won't brace it then.

The Poet jabs in the needles and starts pushing down hard. I can see it's dipped down into my flesh, past the original point where The Poet checked for blood. It starts to sting as the Rocephin goes into my muscle. It stings too much.

Me: OK, this is going in way too deep!

Poet: That's what she said.

Me: (Starting to laugh as I put my hand back to brace the needle) No fair!

Laughing is not good while you're getting an injection. Your whole body shakes while you have the needle in and it hurts even more, which makes you laugh even more. I manage to keep the laughter in check, so I can better enjoy having this thing stuck inside me. That's what she said.