elizabeth hamilton

I’ll be honest, I’ve had a difficult time deciding what to write in this post.

At the beginning of August, I began my second Lyme treatment, and I’ve spent most of this month in a drowsy haze.

I sleep. A lot.

I watch reality TV (Love Is Blind, anyone?).

I pet the kitten.

I think about bears in hibernation as I snuggle deeper into a plush blue blanket and reread a paragraph in my novel, trying to make sense of the words.

My doctor calls this “brain fog.” An inability to focus, to keep my eyes open, to feel refreshed even after ten hours of sleep and a nap. Brain fog is a common symptom among Lyme patients, though (thankfully!) I’ve rarely struggled with it until now.

She says it’s a sign of the treatment working.

She promises me it won’t last forever.

Still, after the joy of a relatively healthy June and July, this fog plugging my head can feel like a step in the wrong direction. Of course, I wanted my journey back to health to be a straight line upwards and to the right.

But the truth is: progress is rarely linear. Improvement is nearly always more like a jagged line.

And what might look like failure on the outside could be, in truth, the most profound achievement. Success is circumstantial.

These thoughts flutter through the fog in my head, small, bright birds singing hopefully. They offer me encouragement. I hope they do the same for you.

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This post originally appeared in my August newsletter.

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Tagged: health, meditation, personal, storytelling, writing