Even when illness is chronic there is a tendency to look for signs and hope of healing.  It catches me every time : the false hope that I may have turned a corner.

Undeniably, there is progress.  Last night I was able to bathe alone without worry of falling or passing out.  Last year, I would not have attempted it.  Two years ago, a bath would have been all I could accomplish in a day.  Signs of healing.

Yet, just weeks ago, I was able to take short walks, visit stores and push a cart around, maybe go out for dinner without taxing my system too much.   In the past few days,  my muscles have one by one been giving out – like elastics snapping – causing pain and stiffness, and making mobility difficult.  Regression.

Chronic illness, particularly ME/CFS, does not follow a predictable pattern; it rules without a thought to how disruptive it might be.

I spent the first two years of this illness bed and home bound, and I was patient, because I believed that it was temporary.  I believed I would be well again.

Now, as winter sets in and my body slows, the fear of being confined again looms.  No matter how much I may push to overcome this disease, ME/CFS is a brick wall.  I does not back down, nor bend to my will.

I am coming to realize that I may need to reset my expectations.