Sobering Thoughts

The map pin marks the Kelliwood Greens home my mom, dad and I built in the early 1990s.

The red X marks the same Kelliwood Greens home as viewed from satellite via NOAA's flood map on Aug. 31 after the Barker reservoir failed due to Harvey's record precipitation event.

Last Sunday night we had my mom and her partner over for burgers on the grill. A long time writing project along with good old fashioned reminiscing lead me to ask my mom questions about our life in one of my childhood homes. I could almost anticipate verbatim what she was going to initially say about it: "I hated that house." A house is just a human organization of materials. The real value, the meaning is what transpires as a result of those who dwell inside this structure.

I wanted to know specifically about our morning routine. My memory has faded and even though my mom has three decades on me, people tend to recall different things. Admittedly, I'm not generally one for the details, and I find importance in them now.

As it turns out, my mom could only recall what time she had to be at work along with my brother being a pain in the ass to get out of bed during high school. The latter I well recall, unfortunately.

My mom will be 73 come October, and has been living with a stage four cancer diagnosis since the summer of 2014. She is under the care of the head of oncology at SCCA and has been off chemo since May 2016.

The conversation at some point shifted to the recent solar eclipse. My mom's partner speculating about when the next one would be. My husband guessed and I interjected it would pass through Austin in seven years, and that we should go. Suddenly I realized that future time may be one absent my mom. An agonizing feeling gripped my heart along with the realization of how few others, who were part of my collective consciousness growing up, remain in my life now. Aside from my husband, my mom is really the only immediate family I have left.

Harvey hit last weekend as well. My mom and I reminisced a little about our time living in Houston. All week I've been obsessed with news coverage of the storm and subsequent, unprecedented floods.

The strange thing is, I don't really have anyone left in Houston either, not directly that I'm still connected with. Even so, I still feel for all the tens of thousands of people whose lives were disrupted and certainly even more so for those who perished as well as those left behind.

When I look a quarter century back, I am filled with feelings of joy as well as regret. My dad moved my mom and I to Houston at the start of my junior year in high school. My brother went off to California for his first year in college. I almost wrote that he was the more fortunate of us, and now I'm not so sure.

One of my nearest and dearest from my time in Houston, she and I have been distant for years and years. She had reached out to me ages ago on Facebook. I've since tried adding her as a friend. My request has yet to be accepted. Yesterday I wrote her a note just to acknowledge she's still in my heart and how delighted I would be if she wished to connect.

Yesterday I also discovered the home we built in West Houston, which my mom loves to remind me how I redesigned the front elevation so it would look more stately and unlike any other similar floor plan home in the area, was flooded. Our old neighborhood of Kelliwood Greens was under mandatory evacuation orders.

My past feels like it's being washed away and eroded. I take full responsibility for my part in that, for allowing connections I failed to hold dearer to wane and fade to nothing. Maybe this is what a mid-life crisis is? An existential quandary of soul to remain connected, healthy and relevant. These types of psychological upheavals tend to affect the male of our species much more than the female. Males tend to go a little bonkers, buy a nice car, have an affair or pretty much do anything to help anchor them to their youth or slow their prospect of aging. I would like to embrace where I'm at. Being able to revisit my past may be key to this. I don't know, this is uncharted territory. I've never been middle aged before and in this mindset.

Last night my husband and I had yet another quarrel about my illness, and the adverse impact it's having on my work/production. To say it feels so disenfranchising to be nearly five years ill with Lyme disease and co-infections and be expected to function at the level of a person with reasonable health is a gross understatement.

Most heavy this week was extraordinarily tragic news from my mom. Her great granddaughter of 15 months (on her partner's family's side) was rushed to the ER a couple days ago. She had been vomiting and had a history of seizures. At one point the baby's heart stopped and she was revived. The family slept at the ER Tuesday night in hopes that when the baby awoke all would be OK. At 4:30 a.m. Wednesday morning the doctors pronounced her brain dead after receiving her MRI results. They took her off of life support at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday evening. All family members who were present held this sweet, innocent baby girl in their arms one final time to say goodbye.

In all my blubbering around my challenges, nay, annoyances in my life, I cannot fathom the immense gravity of suddenly loosing such a young, innocent life. Her parents did all they could for her. The baby received good, regular medical care. They took her to the right place immediately. And yet ... These are the stories that put life into perspective for us. A soul perishing who had but a sliver of a history to wash away and has left dozens of people reeling in grief.

People suffer grief and loss from their parted connections. The deeper the connection, the greater the loss. The connections this child formed with those she touched were incredibly profound. I never met or knew this child, and yet my heart breaks for her, for her parents, her family and her community.

Talking with my mom about this on the phone today, I started to break down, imagining how beside themselves the child's parents must be during this time. It would be natural to second guess what else could have been done. There was nothing else. It was a seemingly senseless, callous act of life. Maybe her soul was just too good and too pure for this world.

Partial Solar Eclipse

Dim eclipsed-sunlight filtering through tree leaves cast cloud-like shadows on our driveway.

One of the first social media posts I read today was from a gal who I know through the Lyme community. She wanted to know whether fellow patients were experiencing anything unusual on account of the solar eclipse. Comments included: "I feel like I'm on a wild ride;" "intense;" "overwhelmed;" "I feel like my normal self;" "jittery, anxious;" "weird head pressure;" "migraine;" "teared up from intense neuro symptoms;" "no difference."

Upon waking I like to meditate, and today I did so for 20 minutes. I just sit up in bed, cross-legged with my hands folded Buddhist style in my lap, and set my watch to ring the alarm when it's time. My field of close-eyed vision was calm. You know when your eyes are closed it's not completely 100% dark, even on the most pitch black of nights. It's more like you're trying to watch a TV broadcast of a channel that doesn't exist or there's no reception for. For me I perceive a field of fine static fuzziness comprised of very small, fine dots.

I have an opening mantra I repeat a few times in my mind's eye. Then I watch my breath and request communion with the greater power. I ask it to be present along with providing harmony and healing. This morning's meditation was overall good with moments of clarity and inner peace in the middle and right at the very end before my watch began beeping its alarm.

We took in today's partial eclipse (92.5% coverage) at our private community beach called the Cove. We arrived a little before 10:00 a.m. Pacific. Our original plan was to join the viewing party at the Des Moines library, which was going to be handing out solar glasses until they ran out. On the way there Mt. Rainier was encircled in marine layer; mystical and spectacular.

The library had ran out by the time we got there. We turned down the hill toward the water and thought perhaps the pier at the marina would make for a good spot. That's when we noticed the fog rolling in. We changed course again and returned to our neighborhood's waterfront.

The fog bank had rolled all the way north from Des Moines. Another fog bank rolled in from the west and hugged the coast a little ways out into the water. The shoreline was as wide, if not wider, than I've ever seen it with an extremely low tide. Another fog bank was threatening to crest the hillside from the north of us. The view east remained clear as well as within a quarter mile radius around our location on the beach. We were literally wreathed by a fog belt, which was eerie and beautifully surreal.

At one point my husband pointed out the fading light. I removed my sunglasses to scan the landscape, which was cast in an early dusk dimness. Ducks flew in groups westward out to the water from the lagoon east of our location.

The air was cool and as the sun's light faded the air became noticeably cooler. I felt really anxious while we were there, and as the light lowered I felt physically heavier, like the force of gravity had slightly intensified.

The apex of the eclipse occurred around 10:21 a.m. Pacific. A short while after the apex, two large cranes soared overhead. A flock of birds, crows, ducks and others, flew back to shore out of the fog bank. Then a bald eagle began circling overhead. Amazing.

We left the beach about 10 min. later and drove back home. On arrival the broad daylight still appeared strained. I grappled with whether it was the way I was perceiving the light, readjusting after having been out on the open shoreline. Our home is in a more wooded setting.

My anxiousness had me questioning whether I had injured my eyes. I am the very last person who needs to add insult to his already long list of medical ailments; past and present.

My husband wanted to know what I wanted to do with our day. My body temperature was still feeling low. I was chilled, shivering and imagined that may have been contributing to my anxious feeling. I suggested we crawl back into bed to warm ourselves and so we did.

I was still restless, so my husband suggested I do a 10 min. meditation to bring myself back to center. So I did. This particular meditation was very different from earlier. At first my field of closed eye vision was super agitated. The fuzz was moving around aimlessly and rapidly. I took it in and sat with it, and then things calmed. I even felt a moment of divine stillness. My soul overall felt restless. The world feels restless, and it is. It's more important for us all now to find stillness and peace.

Waiting for the eclipse B&T selfie portrait.

Very low tide.

Northwestern fog bank

South, southwestern fog bank.

North fog bank.

Two cranes.

Bald eagle.

American Culture on Illness & Mortality (Part 1)

An acquaintance I know through one of my social media Lyme disease groups (and who I've met a couple times in person; we were seeing the same Lyme-literate ND) had posted a while back about being laid up in bed, miserable due to her intensive new treatment protocol. She is far more ill than I am. Her post wasn't intended to share her misery or even solicit empathy. What she wanted was a good dose of humor to lighten her mood; to laugh in the face of darkness. So I made her the above meme. I ran across one similar in another social media Lyme forum, and those of us who are ailed with this affliction can really appreciate the humor in this. Laughter is the best medicine.

Lyme disease is definitely no laughing matter. Half of all U.S. counties have Lyme. The CDC gives a conservative estimate of 300,000 new U.S. cases annually. Due to outdated testing with many false-negative results, and a medical community that by-in-large dismisses or fails to understand Lyme, thousands of patients don't get the medical intervention they need to avoid long term chronic illness, which can become fatal. I'm fast-approaching the five year mark since I fell ill and now 21 months into integrative treatment.

My mother-in-law is my antithesis around broaching the subject of health. Even if it has been weeks or months since seeing her, usually she will work something into conversation about her deteriorating health, typically as part of her salutation or she'll just skip by the salutation altogether and dive right into complaining about her health. It's extremely off-putting. As the recipient of this information, I try to look engaged when I really just wish she would stop talking and leave me alone.

Here I am, also ailed, and finding it difficult to welcome her complaints nor bestow gracious empathy. My mother-in-law also does very little to support her own health, which I struggle to comprehend. So perhaps my story of confusion around how she falls short of dealing most effectively with her illness clouds the space I give her to unload on me.

I'm quite the opposite of my mother-in-law around the subject of my personal health. I've made a habit of not bringing it up to my friends and family. Here are a few of my reasons:

Foremost, forget politics, I get the sense a person's health is one of the all-time most taboo subjects. I'm sure there are myriad reasons for this. I sense among my peers illness and mortality are generally not topics most of us are ready to openly embrace, especially those like me who are middle age. Like religion, for example, our finite being in this world is very personal as much so as every individual's felt sense of purpose. I can certainly appreciate this, and yet I find it quite curious. Is this unique to American culture? How does American culture deal with the subject of illness and mortality differently than other cultures? Which culture deals with these subjects most gracefully and holistically? My inquiring mind wants to know.

Secondly, people want to talk about subjects they're interested in. Most people are not interested in hearing about your health, and that's perfectly OK.

Third, in the case of my illness in particular, it has seemed to me to have gone on for so long many of my friends have forgotten that I am still sick. Some have said they aren't sure whether it's something I'm comfortable discussing. When someone says that, I believe they're actually projecting their own discomfort in hearing about my illness back onto me. Touche and lame. Art makes people uncomfortable all the time, and yet there's still a place for it; we can still value it.

The other night my husband and I were out to dinner with another gay couple we've known for years.  One of them works in the health care industry. That night I was really struggling with breath shortness, my most loathed of all my symptoms. During such times I find it really difficult to be part of the conversation, virtually any conversation. Talking can be physically laborious for me when this symptom flairs.

Toward the end of our meal my breathing eased. I made mention of it only to explain why I wasn't contributing as much to the conversation. Something along the lines of having some breath shortness, that it has subsided otherwise I would have been more talkative. I received blank stares in response, a clear social cue to change topic. Even though both of our friends know what I've been grappling with over the years, there's never a check in about how I'm doing. More than half of my other friends check in out of care, and that feels kind to me.

Everyone is different, and I'm sure there are those out there living with chronic or terminal illness who are uncomfortable discussing it with others. My mom is one of those people who doesn't like people knowing about her stage four lung cancer and only talks about it with select people. For me personally, I appreciate being acknowledged for what I must endure to continue making it in the world.


Yes, we all have our daily struggles of putting food on our tables, etc. Those struggles in my life have not been replaced during the last five years with my struggles to recover my health. No, they've only further compounded my burdens. The only thing that has really changed is my physical aptitude to meet challenges day by day. For this, it would be nice to have a little more understanding, if not empathy, from others.

There's a great quote: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." -Wendy Mass

Summer of Fire: Seattle breaks dry spell record

This video shows an animated graph of warm weather trends from the time of the industrial revolution until today.

Seattle is a vital part of my world view, it's what I've known for the better part of 36 years, so I can confidently share from this perspective. When my family moved to the area in August 1981, a heat wave ushered in our first week with daytime high temperatures up to 105 degrees Fahrenheit. Coming from Richmond, Virginia's humid summers, the heat was something we were accustomed to. Even without the east coast humidity, having no air conditioning in our rental house was just plain miserable.

Until recently, summer began in the Seattle area like clockwork. Either right on, the day before or the day after July 4 is when we would begin consistently having daytime temperatures above 70 degrees. In the years 2014, 2015 and 2016, the warm weather began continuously as early as mid to late April. Typically Western Washington's Junes are cool, a little drizzly and gloomy. Not so for the aforementioned years. This year (2017) we received record precipitation, especially snow in the mountains, and our warm weather started more typically in July. The spring was much colder than usual and June wasn't quite back to its normal "Junuary" pattern.

We're now week two into a moderate heatwave, which wouldn't be so bad except less than 15 percent of locals have air conditioning and the air is now too unhealthy to open windows. Our poor air quality is on account of massive fires burning in the Canadian province of British Columbia, our neighbor directly north. Of course it's also wildfire season in the Pacific Northwest including my home state of Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana.

I recall wildfire smoke in the Puget Sound Region two years ago this month, and it was nowhere near as severe and much shorter lived than what we're currently experiencing. The air quality has at times been poorer than in Beijing, which is notorious for heavy and dangerously toxic levels of smog.

On August 8, Seattle broke an all-time record for the most consecutive days without precipitation (51 previously). We are now on day 53 and counting, and thankfully rain is in the forecast for Sunday. It cannot come soon enough.

Since middle to late last week I have been holed up in my house mostly. I've made a few trips out of the house, each time causing me respiratory distress; breath shortness, throat irritation, sinus congestion, headache. As part of my complex chronic illness symptoms associated with Lyme and co-infections, I had already been grappling with intermittent breath shortness since spring 2013. The week before the smoke arrived I was actually really beginning to feel so much better. That progress has been reversed, unfortunately.

Here are some images for the record:

Data from the nearest state air quality monitor for this afternoon.

An average, sunny day in Beijing, China.

Downtown Seattle, Washington (13.9 miles north of my home)

We're choking on smoke here in Seattle, and don't just take my word for it: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/09/opinion/smoke-heat-seattle-climate.html

Downtown Tacoma, Washington (22.6 miles south of my home)

Current and forecast weather conditions displayed this afternoon on my iPhone weather app. Relief is on the way this weekend.

BedFest 2017

It's not too late for an art submission to BedFest: http://www.meaction.net/bedfest/

As someone who has struggled with chronic illness for 4.5 years, I was moved to tears by this short music video. How does one not mourn the vibrant parts of one's self that have been lost to disease? I hope this inspires you as much as it has inspired me ...

LOVE

No Win Situation

When I think of writing about myself, I have often been inclined to cast my husband as the antagonist. In fact, I am pretty sure the reader would most dislike his real life character based on how his behavior and actions are reported in objective reality. That in and of itself should say something, shouldn't it?

I've been sick with Lyme and a couple co-infections for about four and a half years now. My husband has known me since long before illness, during a time when I felt unstoppable. My life was so full then of fun, friends, going out on the town, being active; brimming over with vitality. Most days now all I have the bandwidth for is work and rest.

I used to be angry about being chronically ill. My disease has taken so much from me. Enjoyment in simple things I once took for granted; like eating complex foods at some glam restaurant. The most painful things ripped from me; friends. While loss is often painful, it can also be cleansing. I make an effort to find gratitude in the things and once important people who have fallen by the wayside. If something is meant to be, it will be. In fact I often tell my clients the right deal always materializes.

My in-laws are in town for my husband's cousin's memorial, which was Friday. Everything "extracurricular" I do I often have to map out in advance, if even to mentally prepare for additional human interaction. Sounds crazy, right? It does to me anyway. At the same time, it's my present reality.

The thing is, I wake up everyday feeling like I'm hung over. Only there was no night before bender to induce this sorry state. Even if I get a solid eight, uninterrupted hours of sleep (insomnia is common with this illness) I still wake up feeling unrested, like shit. So it takes me quite a bit to get going in the mornings, including time to medicate, eat and medicate again, etc. With limited bandwidth, it's important for me to be able to plan, as much as possible, how I allocate my energy day-to-day.

I've been working some crazy long hours the past couple weeks, which is super hard on me. One week, everyday I was up and immediately launched into work on my laptop in bed not to put down my day (dressing, meals and bathroom breaks aside) until bedtime; for days consecutive. Wake up, work, go to bed and do it all over again. That's no way to live, for anyone. Last year I did the majority of my production, which was equivalent to the previous year, in six months. By early October I hit a wall. Nearly six months later I feel like I still haven't fully recovered from overworking myself.

Within the past few weeks, in a fit of frustration, I told my husband I wanted to quit my job. He said if I did we'd end up getting divorced, because we would run out of money. I asked if that's all I was to him; just a paycheck. I don't exactly recall how he tried to talk his way out of that one, feebly no doubt.

Yesterday I was on the road by 8:30 a.m., which really takes something for me. It means planning, extra effort. Had a brief break from 12:20 p.m. to around 1:00 p.m. between driving the hour or so back from my morning appointment to lunch, medicate and write up an offer contract for the client I was going back out to meet at 1:00 p.m. During my rushed, multi-tasking lunch time my husband walked in the house with my mother-in-law. I received them cordially. At the same time I was focused on the tasks at hand. My mother-in-law asked if I was going to dinner at my brother-in-law's that night. I said it was the first I was hearing of it. Just then my husband brashly began berating me about how I have so many message notifications on my phone I didn't see his text message.

I asked when he sent the message. He said about 15 or 20 minutes prior. So I reminded him of my activities to that point, asking him when I would have been focused on anything other than the task at hand. I then asked if dinner would be in an environment where I wasn't constantly being made wrong, because then I would consider it.

Honestly, I would rather be able to spend leisure time with family than feel like I need to recharge. My biological batteries have been feeling consistently quite depleted. It's during these times having additional interpersonal interaction feels like a pull.

Dealing With End of This Life

First I want to insert how much I subscribe to native and ancient spiritual beliefs about "death." To these cultures, there is no death rather a change of worlds.

My bestie and I lost a former co-worker and mutual friend to cancer within the past few weeks. Well, she was more an acquaintance to me. Even so, she was young, vibrant and a good human whose life in this world abruptly ended. I recently discovered another acquaintance perished a couple years ago. That's even stranger, to much later realize someone my age just suddenly left us some time ago and I was completely unaware. Then there's legendary celebrities such as David Bowie and Prince suddenly passing on. Or seeing icons of my youth having progressively aged. Then there's what really hits close to home.

Being middle age, living with a serious, life threatening (at the very least life altering) disease and my mom having stage four lung cancer. That's a lot to cope with, and I'm unsure whether I've been doing so as well as I possibly can. Of course my initial urge is to in some way make myself wrong for this; feel guilty. The better internal dialogue is I am coping and I have a yearning to learn how to cope more effectively. I'm grateful for being able to allow my grace and imperfections to shine through during this process.

I recently read a couple great articles about holding space for someone as well as yourself. Actually, it's most important first to hold space for yourself before you're able to do this for someone else.

Simply put, holding space is about how we help support one another without judgment. Or as the blog Spiritual Awakening Process lists:

1. Letting go of judgment
2. Opening your heart
3. Allowing another to have whatever experience they're having
4. Giving your complete undivided attention to the situation/other person

I have a really tough time with this. Well, I think many of us do. After all to err is to be human.

Problem solving is in my nature. So stepping back from doing that, trying to fix or influence a better outcome is really challenging.

When I think of this topic and how it shows up in my life, I think of how hard a time my husband has been having holding space for me as someone living with and trying to heal from a debilitating disease. I also think of how difficult it is to hold space for myself when I am also so focused on living my life, which essentially boils down to earning my keep as that's primarily all I have energy for.

As I explained to my bestie this morning, I'm really perplexed with how best to hold space for my mom. She reminded me I am a problem solver and advisor so it is very inauthentic of me to backburner traits so core to my being. While I understand what she means, holding space for others is not about being true to ourselves. It's about being true to the other person. It's a selfless, willing act of love. Thus why it's so important to be able to do this first and foremost for ourselves.

When my mom called me yesterday, and asked if I was busy, I knew she wanted to talk with me. The last time she needed to talk with me, my mom requested ten percent of her pittance of what remains of her total life savings. And she broached that conversation on the eve of my forty second birthday, after I had clearly indicated what a horrible week I had had and how exhausted I was. Thankfully I caught myself becoming infuriated and quickly brought that conversation to a halt until I had the wherewithal to revisit it.

Yesterday's conversation was a little different. This was more around her health. She goes into Seattle Cancer Care Alliance about every three weeks. They check her vitals, run blood tests, do scans, etc. This time she was shown to once more be anemic, which means she needs to have another blood transfusion today. They also found blood in her stool, so they are sending her to a GI specialist.

Her partner Al was taking a nap, so she thought it was a good time to have a private conversation. He has a hard time holding space for her from what I also gathered. Admittedly so do I. When these other, more minor complications arise, my mom immediately goes to a place of worst possible scenario. Yet she has convinced herself the cancer may just go away. In either case I am almost certain my mom does not accept the reality around her health. To me it seems backward to dismiss the stage four lung cancer and become alarmist about anemia, especially when one is actually feeling pretty well. When we fail to accept something, we are powerless to change it. So my concern here is I see my mom worsening her suffering.

So of course I pointed these things out to her, that the doctors have all been very upfront about her cancer type being incurable. That these other complications may be related but are not a result of the cancer spreading.

No matter what I say, my mom is in the same place; she's scared. She said she just wanted to talk to her little boy. I realize in many ways, even when I was much younger, I always provided strength to my mom. Of course in many more ways, especially when I was much younger, she provided strength to me. Now she is falling short of being able to be strong for herself.

Sometimes I can sense the child inside her crying out for help, and this breaks my heart. My mom is doing quite well, all things considered. She told me she wanted to be like her mother, to live to be very old, to eventually not know what was going on around her and then to pass peacefully.

We must always be mindful what we wish for and desire. My grandma was a very strong woman, who lived the last few decades of her life with a herniated disc in her back. She worked until she was about 85 and died nearly 10 years later. It was only in the last six to nine months of her life she was less aware to unaware of what was going on around her; a mere shell of the wonderful, amazing person loved by so many.

I told my mom I really believe we are not given anything in life we cannot handle. That even the darkest of things we experience contain some light. I told her I can look at my life now and say I've lost a lot of friends. Or I can choose the view that the people in my life who really matter and I'm blessed to have are clearly in full view. I choose the latter.

When we are confronted by our life's imminent conclusion, we naturally grasp for what our life has meant to others. For a time a couple winter holidays ago my mom was really pleasantly surprised by how many people's lives she's touched; how many people expressed their love and support. To me that is getting one's life, realizing purpose. It's beautiful and something I would love to experience.

Through all of my imparting of words to my mom, all she really wants is for someone to just listen. I realized this, and so I did. I was also empathetic, expressing how these past couple years have been so challenging for her. These are supposed to be her golden years. She has friends who are retired and playing golf everyday. It must seem so unfair.

Also unfair is her partner Al is mentally on a downward slope. They were at the cable office the other day paying their bill. Mid conversation he froze and completely lost track of what he'd been saying, was going to say, etc. He became so frustrated and started to cry. My mom was there to help. In fact she had to write the check for him. He was still able to sign it. As a whole he can hardly do for himself. While she could really use someone to care for her, he's let himself go downhill and she's still caring for him. I'm at least grateful to know he is taking care of the majority of their financial obligations and feels good he is able to do that for her.

It's the holding back to hold space I find challenging. I want so badly to make it right, influence, diminish the suffering in some way. I want to find more strength and self discipline to do this.

No one knows for sure whether they will draw their next breath after this one. All our time is limited and a precious gift for us to do with as we choose. Even so, my mom's physical being has a compromised and greatly shorter life expectancy. Like birth, death is a messy, painful business. I'm sure she's incredibly apprehensive of what lies ahead as are we all. When the time comes, I want as much strength, grace, empathy and humility possible. Now is the time to train for the marathon ...

Sidebar: Eerily synchronistic, my "This Day in History" widget has this story today: The Last Supper back on display after two-decade restoration http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/The+Last+Supper+%28Leonardo%29

All Roads Lead Full Circle ...

Today is the only Friday the thirteenth in 2016. Since the high was forecast to be at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I thought it would be fun to wear my new sparrow shirt. It's a white, short-sleeve button down with a navy print of small sparrows all over it. From afar they may look like big stars.

According to whats-your-sign.com, life is symbolic and we're to start interpreting. The site lists out a summary of symbolic meanings for this small bird:

• Joy
• Inclusion
• Creativity
• Simplicity
• Protection
• Community
• Productivity
• Friendliness

As of late, the greatest feeling I've had is one of nostalgia. Since early last weekend I've been thinking about people from my life around mid to late high school in Texas and Washington.

Had a regular follow up with my Lyme literate natural doctor (LLND), and I mentioned my feelings and deep sense of nostalgia as of late. She said this may likely be on account of me being in a healing crisis. Her concerns today related to my struggle with balance, or rather the area of my brain that controls balance, as well as my heart. She referred me to a Lyme literate cardiologist, who I may have to wait at least four to five months to get into see.

On my way into my LLND's office today, I bumped into a couple folks I met at my Lyme group a few months ago. The wife is the patient, and she's been severely struggling. My LLND mentioned she's very sick in an indicative way as though I am much less sick than she is. I suppose I take some comfort in that, sort of. The other part of me holds much compassion for my comrade of complex infectious diseases. The struggle is real; deeply injuring body, mind and spirit.

After my follow up visit I needed to have blood drawn, which  I had forgotten to do earlier in the week (Lyme brain), which meant having to go to First Hill on my way home from Sand Point. The most expeditious route to avoid a traffic-choked Interstate 5 is to take Roosevelt to Roanoke to Boylston. This route would take me along the edge of the Eastlake neighborhood.

As I recalled from earlier this week, my office mate just listed a very special condominium unit in Eastlake. Special not because it's the latest and greatest carbon-neutral architectural marvel of modern design. On the contrary, the building is actually pretty dated, constructed in '66. It's called the Maison D'Or, a very ornate sounding name for a fashionless, mid-century condo building.

To me this isn't just another concrete honeycomb of dwellings amid a hodgepodge of non-conforming architectural styles that make up the peculiar patchwork neighborhood assortments comprising Seattle. This was a place where I first ventured into my adulthood and savored my first sips of careless freedom.

My high school friend Anna's dad Paulo owned this condo back in '92. It's a top floor 2 bed/2 bath corner unit with vaulted ceilings and an actual wood-burning fireplace (a rare carbon-abundant feature for today). I mean, what are the chances out of 16,000+ residential brokers in the Puget Sound area that my office mate would be the one to list this place. That's at the very least just a little synchronistic.

I met Anna through our mutual friend Megan, who I met through our mutual friend Sam, who I met through my friend Mitch, who I met through his sister Michelle, who I met in fifth grade. And so our degrees of separation go. Anna was fun, a lot of fun, trouble kind of fun. Earlier today I gave the following description of her to my BFF via text:

"Shit talkin', softball playin', Amazonian princess."

To which she replied:

"You love explosive powerful woman. It's because you are one."

Hmmm ...

Anna's dad Paulo was slightly enigmatic. He's Brazilian, so he has a foreign mystique, which is further punctuated by his Latin flair. You know, he has a certain jeux ne se qua. At the same time he was somewhat soft spoken and reserved, always the calmest person in the room. Then again, he was also at times a little touchy-feely. Perhaps it was a cultural thing? Even so, and even though I was quite closeted during the time we were acquainted, I thought perhaps he may also be attracted to the male of our species. As they say, it takes one to know one.

As I recall Paulo worked for a bank and his work required frequent travel. So when the cat was away, Anna, Megan and I had his condo all to ourselves to play. We mostly just hung out, made food, drank, smoked, made each other laugh, played games; typical teen stuff.

It was strange going there today. I mean, I've passed by the building on a number of occasions between then and now. Actually having the intention to visit someone's old home really brought some things to the surface for me. Just remembering how we'd parallel park on East Lynn Street, the antequated front door call box, the cranky old lady who loved to complain about how noisy we were and I one day scared the living shit out of.

In my defense (not really sure there is one) that incident was totally by mistake. I'm not evil; just at times (especially as a teen), you know, dumb. Anna, Megan and I, like most silly adolescents, would occasionally prank each other. It's a show of affection among friends. Anyway, I don't quite remember all the circumstances other than I was hiding around a dark corner outside the basement parking garage, thinking Megan and Anna were unexpectedly coming my way. I patiently held out for the perfect moment to leap out from the shadows with a loud roar! Oh I got the reaction I wanted alright, and then some, just not from the right people.

"You could have given me a heart attack!" the cranky old lady shouted. "I should call the police and file charges for harassment."

In the background I heard Anna and Megan laughing their fool heads off. After I stumbled all over myself with apologies and the cranky old lady shuffled away, I found the two of them convulsing with laughter, Anna in tears.

"Oh. My. God. Bradley!!" she exclaimed. "That was some mutherfuckin' funny ass shit, but we are SO dead! She's going to tell my father and who knows what else she'll do. But whatever, that bitch totally had it comin'."

Anna had a point. Even so, I felt really bad about that particular incident. The rest of the cranky old lady's previous complaints about us though were pretty lame. Yeah, we drank under age. Who doesn't? Yeah, we were a little rowdy late at night. Our rowdy wasn't fighting or screaming; it was joyful banter and laughter. We were kids, and we certainly weren't all that bad. Naughty sometimes, like when we aided and abetted a friend swiping a half-rack of beer from an East Lake Sammamish Parkway mini mart. That wasn't cool, except being the get-away driver was kind of a thrill. Still, we were no ruthless criminals. We just liked being young, carefree and, of course, to party.

Pulling the keys from the keybox, two appeared to be originals, one of them stamped "Do Not Duplicate."

Suddenly I'm thinking about these keys having been in Paulo's and Anna's hands countless times without them giving a thought to possessing them. I think quite fondly on these objects now, rather artifacts that are a sacred link to another life I once held so dear. It was a similar, sentimental feeling as though you're holding a cherished memento of someone who has passed onto the next world. Yet they're still alive, at least I think they are. Maybe not?

The stark, minimal lobby looked exactly the same except for the brand-new-looking, modern traffic control carpet. The elevator is also a time capsule of dark, faux-wood-paneled walls framed by metal. The elevator controls are far from minimal, small circular buttons that protrude and depress in quite dramatically, like antique light switches. When the elevator reached the top/fourth floor much sooner than expected I remembered the lobby entrance is actually on floor two.

The elevator door slid open and there it was, the door to unit 401, right where I had left it some 23 years ago.

The door still had its original mid-century hardware. The brass knob sporting a simple ribbed design, which had at one point been painted white except the paint had over time been worn off the tops of the ridges. I remember as a late teen thinking of the design both as retro and international. Today it just looks a little dated. Yet I like it if only for the familiarity it now represents. 

Standing at the front door to an empty tomb is much different than returning to visit a long, lost friend at their home. Sure there's some degree of anticipation, albeit quite faint and nothing that stirs the soul like wondering how you'll be received by an actual human being, one you once had much in common with and haven't seen for years vs. being confronted by a random blur of memories aroused by sights and smells.

I slid the key into the hole and turned the knob. Ah, yes, I vaguely remember the feeling of this old hardware turning in my hand. As I walked in, one of the first things I noticed were the ceilings being taller than I remembered, perhaps appearing loftier on account of my ever so humble return.

You would think I were an old man, and with all the meds I'm taking I often do feel like one. I mentioned to my counselor the other day how awful it must feel, physically, to be really old and worn down. She told me a real life anecdote. I guess a younger man asked a 90 year old man how he was feeling. The 90 year old man said, "Well, if I were your age I'd be calling an ambulance." Though the elder man responded with humor, he also meant what he said. He physically suffers and yet it's his normal and the best he can expect to feel at his age.

Today when I mentioned to my LLND I feel like an old man taking all these various meds, she set me straight. "That's an internal conversation you'll want to stop as soon as possible," she said. "Instead, the conversation is 'I'm so grateful there are things I can take to feel better and to heal.'" She admitted she can say such things to me because I'll understand where she's coming from.

I definitely get what my LLND is saying, and I used to naturally live from a place of gratitude. I once enjoyed life, fully, squeezing out each precious drop. I think I see why this healing crisis has me so nostalgic. It may be my body, mind and spirit's way of reminding me who I've always known myself to be, that happy-go-lucky person with a light heart and quick wit, he still exists inside me somewhere, even if just in my fond boyish memories.

One thing I loved most about Paulo's place, other than the company kept there; the magnificent view.

Top floor corner with a panorama of a growing skyline to one side; water and hills and mountains all round, oh my! All this in one of the city's quietest, close-in enclaves.

As I walked in I was immediately drawn to the balcony. What a spectacular, sunny day it was to take in the view. I can't tell you how many late nights Anna, Megan and I spent sitting out there, drinking and smoking. Many a night we watched the renown Space Needle turn out its lights (around 2:00 to 3:00 a.m. if memory serves). I took a couple shots with my phone to capture what's been buried deep in my mind's eye since all those years ago.

Looking north to Gas Works Park and the Wallingford neighborhood, I'm reminded of when you could actually climb up onto the colossal defunct industrial machinery which landmarked the park. Sunbathing at the water's edge with Anna and her then boyfriend Andy, who looked like a hunkier Morrissey (and I'm pretty sure he was super into The Smiths, too). Never did we feel more bourgeois than when we were invited to Sunday brunch at Paulo's girlfriend Mary's Wallingford home. Mary, incidentally, is Andy's godmother and the person who introduced him to Anna. There was quite a bit of drama around that, namely because Anna was at times a naughty, and fun, influence.

Mary lived in the second floor unit of her charming Craftsman-turned-duplex. Her brunches were amazing. She'd have about 15 to 20 gathered on her south-facing deck, which offered jaw-dropping panoramic views of Lake Union, backdropped by the Seattle skyline. She was a whiz at homemade hollandaise sauce, and would fly in fresh-caught lobster from Maine. Of course she'd have bottles of chilled champagne, and I'm pretty sure that's where I enjoyed my first-ever mimosa.

As I walked back inside from the balcony, the sixties-modern stone fireplace, which has since been painted, confronted me.

In most cases I prefer raw stone, even and especially if it has a nice patina. Suddenly in my mind's eye I'm sitting back on the concrete fireplace ledge again with a lit cigarette in hand.

The living room is no longer this plain, safe yellow-beige walled sanitarium with minimal, neutral staged furnishings. Instead it looks warm, worn and well lived in with exotic hand-woven area rugs, shelves of old books and a plethora of unusual indigenous art pieces.

Despite the new hardwood floors and interior paint, the place smells eerily the same. It's a sweet, faintly-musty fragrance somewhat like old leather and tobacco. I feel like a ghost who has come back to haunt. Only I know how much wine (in many cases cheap bottles of Boone's) was poured and drags blown up the fireplace flume in this space.

I made my way into the kitchen, and suddenly I'm once more a silly youth, taste-testing the amateur combination of spices I added to our sizzling breakfast potatoes. Turns out I had luck in my choices, they taste divine. Anna and Megan are amazed as am I. We all wear smiles. We sit to breakfast at the table that morning, entering into our usual brand of banter; light and jovial.

The flashback vanishes and once again I'm middle age, worn down by disease. My lips draw in toward one another, my eyes begin to well up and I take a full breath. In this moment I'm overcome equally by a profound sense of joy and sadness.

Way back when, I lived for fun in all things; it's all I ever did without a care in the world. All those many happy days sailed on by like clouds gathering before a rain storm. And, yes, there's beauty in the rain, too; often a more somber, heavier kind of beauty.

I hastily completed my tour shortly thereafter and hurried off like a guest who overstayed their welcome. I am, after all, part legal intruder. Then I had another text exchange with my bestie to let her know of my discoveries.

She agreed what a small world it is for this residence to be so blatantly called out to me. "I wonder if the place asked you back?" she wrote. "Maybe it's time to reconnect?"

Maybe. I saw Megan's mom Debbie a couple Dia de los Muertoses ago. She still worked at Countryside Floral in my hometown of Issaquah. I stopped in impromptu for a pair of arrangements for my grandparents' graves.

Debbie was surprised, pleasantly it seemed, to see me. She told me Megan is a mom, and has a special needs child. Her younger brother Matt is a team leader for one of my parent company's brokerage offices on the Eastside in Bellevue. Anna is a recent divorcee "on the loose" in Arizona. She was one tough cookie.

I recall things not ending well between us and leaving those relationships in an unresolved fog when I moved to California in the summer of '93.

Something else trivial and silly dawned on me. I remember this really naughty, misogynistic song I sang a Christmas ago to my bestie's nanny in Portugese. She is Brazilian, and I learned this song from Anna's boyfriend (before Andy) Dun Dun and his bestie Penna, who also were Brazilian. I loved those guys! Super fun and spirited. I'll skip past the song for now, it's pretty dirty.

One day all five of us went up skiing. We were drinking whisky in the parking lot before the lifts opened. I'm not sure if those guys had even seen snow before. They were both pretty athletic. We all rented gear, and after about a half hour of giving them all a lesson, we were all skiing intermediate runs. The guys were doing exceptionally well. Sure they'd fall and crash here and there. They'd also get right back up and after a couple hours the falling became less and less. The weather was perfectly sunny, and we all had such a marvelous time. As I take this intermediate run at my health crisis, I wish to be as resilient as my long lost Brazilian pals.

Ah, to be young, wild and carefree. Those were indeed the good old days ...

Lost Friendship & The Struggle for Wellness

Awoke today with a heavy chest. Perhaps a lingering sensation from last night. As my husband and I watched NBC's live broadcast of The Wiz, I received some notifications on my phone. One in particular, a long time friend declining our invite for a holiday drop by in late Dec. They posted, "Will be out of town. Thank you for the invite and all the best in 2016!"

The last time I saw this friend was at a small gathering last May, more than a half year ago. This friend gave every body language indication they would rather have been anywhere else than where they were. It was quite obvious, and not just to me. I gave him a disc of various songs I put together for him as a birthday token, and he later sent an appreciative text. That was nice. That's the last I've heard from him until his invitation decline, which I read as dismissive. At the very least it sounds as if they're planning to be out of town quite a long time. Hope they have a wonderful trip. Yes in reality their message is clearly dismissive. Noted. Filed.

Are we the same people we were an hour ago? No. Not me. Not them. If I'm holding onto a story that a past version of me did to a past version of someone else, or vice versa, neither of which are valid anymore. Not to mention, through what lens are we viewing the events that allegedly transpired? There's no point in holding onto such baggage. People tend to pull that fight and resistance into the present, even though it's not actually happening now. Whatever the story is, this is what this person did to me, this is what I've been through. As long as we're focused on that, we're not here, present in the here and now. How can we be?

We individually create our own realities based on our world view and also our relationship with self. We create stories about other people, categorize them and eventually people in our lives end up in the boxes we place them in. When a person's consciousness shifts, those boxes disappear and people show up differently for them. What if people aren't who we think they are or understand them to be? What if the stories I'm creating about others, even myself, what if they're false? The part of us that doesn't want to let go of our stories is the part of us that needs to be right. It's much easier to be fooled than for people to acknowledge they've been fooled, most especially when fooled by themselves.

The people we have come to know and love in our lives, they are part of our collective consciousness. When friendships fade to black, some certainly can and do, it's like a death. The first place I go in my mind's eye is a montage of all the great, fun times that bonded us in the first place. No regrets. Yet my heart hurts all the same, and an empty space will remain until time has mended it or it is filled with something or someone else I cherish. And that will eventually come to be.

Consciousness is ever expanding. No one has the power to impede it. The truth always prevails. As does an awareness of the error of our ways. This is how we learn and grow. We move beyond fear and ignorance to gain true wisdom.

I often say and abide by not cursing one's bad luck until one is certain it's not good luck. Over the past three years of chronic illness, many of my friendships which once flourished have faded. A person only has so much time and energy. All relationships require some degree of effort from both parties. Having diminished capacity to function in my daily life has forced me to focus on mission critical; home/husband and career. I have little time for anything else, which is quite unbalanced, especially for someone who once indulged a broad array of interests. Still, I look at this most recent loss as a potential gain, an opportunity to have more bandwidth for those who I appreciate and vice versa. So I will make peace with this and gracefully move on from that which isn't meant to be.

Even so, I awoke with labored breathing this morning and my lungs kind of hurt. If you've ever done any intense degree of running, it's like that - an achy burn - also a heaviness in my chest. Yet all I had done was sleep all night. I hacked up some yellow phlegm, which is a sign my body is fighting something. That's certainly not news. It's just that I'm about to start a very involved regimen of drugs, herbs and supplements to attack a couple of bacteria infections (h-pylori and Lyme). I understand there are some risks involved in the aggressive treatment I'm pursuing. I'm nervous, scared even.

My body has definitely been "off" today. Part of my knowing believes having Dr. Marra earlier this week tell me all the ways in which my body is entangled may have actually put me more in touch with it. Not sure whether that's a good thing, it may not be a bad thing. We shall see.

We're between storms today, the sun came out and it was gloriously beautiful outside. I got to have a great conversation with my bestie for over an hour this afternoon. My husband's dad and step mom arrive this evening, and I love them. Right now I'm writing in bed with my dog. For all its challenges, perceived or otherwise, life is good. We heal ourselves.

Next Stop: Lyme Junction

I had an initial health consultation with a new natural doctor this afternoon, one with a specialty in Lyme disease. She is very well versed on the subject, explained things to me in a way I actually feel like someone understands what I've been struggling with these past three years and has herself healed from a Lyme infection. That validation is really meaningful.

Basically going to cut and paste the email I typed to my mom and husband:

Thought I would put this in writing so you can refer back to it as I have a lot of detailed information to relay. It's a complex issue.

Foremost, in addition to having Lyme disease, Dr. Marra also is concerned about the presence of an h-pylori infection. Let me back up for a moment.

Lyme is one of the oldest known bacteria in existence and has about two billion years of evolutionary history. So it's very smart. Once it enters the system, it can wreak all kinds of havoc. It's really hard to get rid of.

Imagine your body as a well tended garden. Lyme is a noxious weed. Once it begins to flourish, it can throw other systems into chaos. Soon what was once a beautiful garden is covered in weeds, which can allow other similar weeds to invade, such as h-pylori in my case.

Lyme is quite serious. Dr. Marra is of the medical opinion if it goes for too long untreated, Lyme can lead to more debilitating and potentially fatal diseases such as Parkinson's, ALS or MS.

She explained my previous faintness spells, which she acknowledged as not only scary but also dangerous; damage to my vasovagal nerve/receptors. Because of my symptom profile, Dr. Marra believes I have a multi-organ infection with this harmful bacteria spread to my heart (palpitations, BP fluctuations), lungs (breath shortness), brain (headaches/congestion, ear aches and ringing) and stomach (digestive issues). The good news is, based on my physical exam, my good balance, reflexes and cognition lead her to believe the disease has not progressed too far at this point. My knowing makes me feel as though it is more progressed than a year ago. The rate of progression in general is unknown and varies widely by individual. I think all the other supportive work I have done (acupuncture, chiropractic, etc.) has greatly helped keep me as healthy as I can possibly be.

The other good news is all the work I've done with dietary changes and balancing my thyroid have created a great foundation for going after those pesky, noxious agents. To better explain my diet to you, my internal tissue has a great deal of inflammation. Inflamed tissue is a poor channel for autoimmune receptors. It's like trying to talk to an angry person, they cannot hear you. Foods such as wheat, dairy and sugar are all inflammatory. These foods I have mostly avoided to help support calming/supressing inflammation. Other foods such as nuts and shellfish/seafood I have avoided as a matter of testing positive to being allergic to them. Interestingly enough, Dr. Marra said it’s highly likely I picked up h-pylori from sushi, which I used to love and eat on a somewhat regular basis.

To better explain my symptom profile, Lyme and h-pylori are anaerobic. They do not use oxygen to survive. When I am asleep at night, these bacteria are most active. So I awaken feeling mostly unrefreshed by sleep, and it takes me a while to get going in the mornings. Also, plane travel is particularly disruptive due to the various levels of oxygen stress, the bacteria become increasingly active. So after and during air travel I feel wiped out, sometimes distressed, and then add the stress involved with traveling. It’s a poor combination and explains better why I have grown to dread it.

Next steps are Dr. Mara also wants to look at co-infections and explore other tick-borne agents I may be carrying. She suspects I may have a mild pneumonia bug tampering with my breathing, hence my periodic shortness of breath. Ordinarily my autoimmune system would have resolved this long ago. At present and for the better part of the last few years my autoimmune system has been working overtime and thus hasn't been as effective at any of its many jobs.

Dr. Marra also prescribed two antibiotics, antifungal and probiotics. It’s a very specific and rigorous treatment course. I’m nervous about it. The big picture is I could be on a complex course of scripts and supplements for a year or two. That's OK because I have already been quite regimented for the past three years.

Bottom line is I have not been close to running on all cylinders for the past three years. More than that I am feeling very grateful for all I have been able to do despite my circumstances. I'm also grateful I may have a real chance at recovering my health. If we're successful, there is a good chance my thyroid issue will resolve itself. I have several more lab tests this coming week and then a follow up with Dr. Marra in late January. I'll know more in the next several weeks and will keep you posted.

The Blessings of Being 36 Months Sick

From left to right: Friend Joe, husband Terry and yours truly (approx. 45 lbs. heavier) the evening of November 11, 2012 at La Patrona Polo Club in San Francisco, Nayarit, Mexico.

Ever randomly notice when the clock shows 11:11 and wondered whether this has any significance? I frequently see this time flash up, and never has it had more significance in my life since November 11, 2012, the day I fell ill and remained so to this day.

Had anyone told me at some point in my life I would be chronically ill for three years, I would never have believed it. I've been on this long, seemingly endless and often arduous health journey like a bad dream I can't wake up from. Even so, three years? Really?

My then fiancé Terry (we're married now) and I were enjoying a long weekend at my holiday home in Mexico with my long time high school friend Treasure and her then fiancé Joe (they're married now with kid). The second to last night of our stay, we enjoyed a cocktail on the beach for happy hour and watched our closest star seemingly melt into a calm, shimmery Pacific Ocean. This is truly one of my most favorite pass times, or at least it used to be.

We took a cab into Sayulita that night and had a beautiful dinner at a fancy restaurant right on the beach. Afterward we strolled around town, ducking in and out of boutiques, marveling at local artisan crafts and taking in the festive atmosphere that comes from a vibrant weekend night in this somewhat quaint Mexican surfer town and tourist trap.

Before long we were back in my cozy little village of San Pancho, having a nightcap or two at Panchitos. Formerly known as The Drunken Monkey, Panchitos is the favorite local, open-air-palapa-style watering hole in the village. Best of all that night, a regulation shuffleboard table! Treasure and I squared off against our fiances. We kicked their asses, royally. We ended the night with a luxurious soak in my dipping pool beneath a moon-lit, starry sky. I vividly recall how perfectly room temperature the water was, floating in complete bliss in wonderful company; an ethereal experience for sure.

The next morning, everyone was doing pretty well, except for Joe. He was feeling particularly unwell. Treasure asked if we had any headache meds, but we didn't. So I escorted her to the local farmacia on the other side of the village. The sun shined brightly, the air comfortably warm and tropical. We quite leisurely made our way there and back.

Upon our return, I enjoyed a few sips of coffee. Treasure and Terry were chatting away at the high table on the back patio by the pool. I walked out to join them. As I stepped across the threshold, my gaze suddenly affixed toward the sky, which had been clear blue and bright with full sun. Suddenly the sky darkened until I could see nothing but black and stars. I felt for a moment as though my legs and feet were giving out on me. Then it was as if I was losing complete consciousness, as in my soul departing my body. Then the light appeared again as I gasped for breath and took a seat.

Treasure and Terry asked if I was OK, and completely frightened, I explained what I had just experienced. At the same time, I was trying to get a handle on how I was feeling. Something was wrong, very wrong. I could no longer gauge whether I was hot or cold. I knew the temperature was getting warmer outside based on the time of day. I thought maybe I was dehydrated from our night out on the town and needed to cool down. So I took a dip in the pool. The water temperature had virtually no effect on me, and then I worried whether I was cooling off too quickly. The most alarming of all at the time was having no sense of internal body temperature.

I got back out of the pool, dried off, refilled my water glass and laid down in my cool bedroom. And that's where I remained, slowly and regularly sipping water until lunchtime. By afternoon Joe was up and stirring. We all walked down to La Playa to eat lunch. I just ordered a quesadilla, which I ended up only taking a couple bites of. I had no appetite and still felt rather "off." So I excused myself from the table. On my way out I ran into my ex's mom Pat, who I adore. I told her I wasn't feeling well. She smiled back at me and said something to the effect of how it sucks getting old. Mind you, I was 38 at the time.

When I got home I climbed back on the bed and rested until dinner. We had a special evening planned, our first time going to our local polo club, which is quite lovely. I would even venture to describe it as luxurious. They had a guest chef from Oaxaca that night. We had a delicious dinner and a marvelous evening. I decided it was best to lay off the booze, so I tea totaled all evening.

The next day we were heading home. This is when the more minor and periodic faintness spells started. I would suddenly out of nowhere get woosey and feel as though I were starting to lose consciousness. A wave of panic washed over me. Then it would all dissipate and I would return to normal. Frightening and completely puzzling.

One of the first things I did when we got back home was book an appointment with my primary care physician at the time, Dr. Michael Rosenfield, at Emerald City Medical Arts. I hadn't seen him in a while, and I wasn't a long time, established patient of his. So I was pawned off onto his cute physician's assistant and his more robust nurse. Mind you I was still having these peculiar faintness spells for several days between leaving Mexico and the day of my appointment.

The assistant checked my vitals and then suggested a series of blood labs. So off to the nurse for draws. The nurse first offered me a flu shot. I asked if she got them. She said no. So I declined.

When the results were in, the assistant said all my vitals check out just fine, so if things worsen I should go to the ER. Really?! Fuck you very much. And so began the next three years of health frustrations and scares, including a trip to the ER a few weeks later.

One early December 2012 morning I was at the office. I had been somewhat light headed since starting the day with a ringing in my ears. I was diligently drinking water. Even so, the faintness spells were coming on quite frequently. My colleagues were all in our weekly team meeting down the hall. As the spells began to intensify, I made a dash to my car and drove myself from my Wallingford office to the ER in neighboring Ballard. In hindsight this was not the best idea I had ever had, and really would have been better served enlisting someone from the office to take me. At the same time, the last thing I would ever want to do when I'm having such acute symptoms is cause alarm, worry or burden others.

Let me tell you, nothing is more frustrating than feeling as though you're just going to whither away from this world while someone is trying to collect your identifying information such that they may be entitled to collect payment from you and/or your insurer. Seriously.

The ER doctor, Brown as I recall, gave me the whopper of all health practitioner greetings I have received to date. After introducing himself, he asked me the following: "Has anyone in your family ever mysteriously and suddenly died?"

What the fuck kind of question is that?! Isn't an ER a place where they address trauma and not create it?! At the time not only was I not in any position to fully process a response to this question, I began to further wonder about what my body was trying to tell me. Was this its way of telling me its throwing in the towel, lights out, time to go to eternal sleep?

"No," I answered, "not to the best of my knowledge." Simply stated, that was the truth. Even so, in that moment a door had been thrust open in my psyche.

Dr. Brown ran a battery of tests; EKG, urine, stool, blood. The attending nurse put me on a saline IV to treat me for dehydration. At the end of the three ring circus, Dr. Brown told me they could make no determination as to my ailment(s), and referred me to a cardiac specialist.

The cardiac specialist ordered me to wear a holter monitor for three days to further investigate these faintness episodes. I felt a little like Darth Vader with this thing strapped to me 24/3, and was relieved to be able to turn it in.

I call this photo Darth Selfie. Yes, I do own a Darth Vader mask and large sombrero. This photo was taken around Cinco de Mayo, 2014 and only now posted for a little comic relief.

During my time married to a holter monitor, I didn't leave the house. I wasn't feeling up for being out and about anyway. Though the problem with that is being in business for myself. If I don't show up for work, there's really no one to "fill in" for me. If I don't work, I don't get paid. Even so, this was really the least of my worries at the time, and still a pretty weighty worry.

My follow up with the cardiologist included imaging of my heart. The findings from the monitor, EKG and ultra sound ... Despite having tachycardia, which I was diagnosed with as a teen, my heart is healthy and not causing any trouble. Well, I guess that's a big relief. After battery of ER labs and this latest information, I was left with a $7,500 bill and nothing conclusive to treat.

For the first time in my life I felt truly powerless and helpless. I didn't know what to do or who to turn to for help. Add to my health issues being surrounded by all the doomsday chatter for 12/21/12. If I didn't have anxiety before, I was certainly going to now.

By the end of December 2012 I had an initial visit with Dr. Sean Congdon at the Bastyr Center for Natural Health, who my wonderful acupuncturist referred me to. My first visit was nearly three hours in length. Talk about comprehensive. We covered a lot of ground, including what I see in my dreams. Dr. Congdon shared with me that when our bodies are in imbalance, it can take a month to recover for every year we are imbalanced. If that's the case, then my body has been inbalanced for 36 of my 41 years on Earth, and I'm still to this day feeling unwell.

Even if we weren't getting to the bottom of things immediately, I now finally felt as if I had someone on my side, an advocate who was going to support me through this as best they could. And he did, for quite a number of years.

By the holiday season of 2012 I was still feeling intermittently unwell, often with head fog, ear ringing and the occasional faintness spell. My husband and I were spending the Christmas holiday with my mom at her home in Coeur D'Alene, ID. It's a magical town on a lake surrounded by mountains. We had a beautiful white Christmas, and I would have loved being able to enjoy myself more than I did. Toward the end of our time there I did start feeling better. For the next month following I felt as though I was making a solid recovery.

Then came early February 2013. I was out to lunch one afternoon with my title rep. Jenny. We went to a more foodie joint in Fremont called Revel, Korean/Northwest fusion. About half way through our meal I began to feel a strange sensation in my throat I hadn't before experienced. It was like something was caught in my throat. I excused myself to the restroom. On my way there a chill washed over me and I became a bit lightheaded. The throat sensation wasn't clearing, it seemed to be intensifying. I asked the waitress if there was anything in our dishes that may cause an allergic reaction. She was calm and very helpful and of course asked me if I had allergies to anything specific. The big problem was I had never before in my life had any type of allergic reaction to food, not even a sensitivity. My palette was quite broad. One of my former favorite foods was Unagi (eel).

To be safe Jenny rushed me to ZoomCare, and stayed with me the whole time. The doctor there administered a Benedryl shot in my right rear cheek and then sent me home. The doctor told me I could have a flair up within 12-48 hours and cautioned about the risks of possible anaphylactic shock. I suppose for liability purposes they are required to tell patients such things. Still, these topics don't resonate well with one's psyche. Such concepts weren't only completely foreign to me, they were downright terrifying! I had no idea what was happening inside my body. Heck, I thought I was getting better. Now I might suddenly have fatal allergies?!

ND Dr. Congdon discovered my thyroid imbalance, completely overlooked by my previous primary care MD Dr. Rosenfield. Dr. Congdon gave me incredible dietary recommendations and supplements to support my body's natural functions. After six or so months of clean eating I had shed 45 lbs. or so of unwanted body fat. This substantial weight loss was yet another strange experience for me. For one thing it left me looking much leaner and more youthful. I often fielded compliments from people around the office, in my personal life. "Have you lost weight? You look great!"

Had the weight loss been intentional, I may have been delighted by this attention. Yet I felt like shit. Many days a challenge to get out of bed and do my life. If I look so damn great, how come I feel so fucking crappy? In hindsight, now that I've lived with this invisible specter of illness for three years, the type of attention I find helpful is that of compassion.

Then came the breath shortness, which was periodic and at times severe. Dr. Congdon referred me to a top MD allergist, Dr. Virant, who prescribed me a rescue inhaler and epi pens for the throat responses. While I suppose these are good tools to have around just in case, being prescribed meds to help prevent the sudden onset of death is more than a little unnerving if you really think about it. Again, the antithesis of aiding my psyche in healing.

When the allergist's nurse explained the rescue inhaler to me, she mentioned it could make me feel a little jittery. If that wasn't the biggest understatement of the year. The one time I had a concerning breath shortness spell where I used the inhaler, the drug exponentially amped my anxiety. I felt like the world was fucking ending! I still carry my inhaler. Even when my bouts of breath shortness are pronounced, I use a breathing technique to ease my suffering and calm my system. Other times I just lay in bed as it's easier for me to breathe when I'm laying down.

There were also times where I got out of bed only to have my body feel like a wet noodle I could barely move. In hindsight it was a sudden and complete loss of energy. At the time I had no idea what was going on and felt like perhaps my number was up or going to be soon. One Saturday I recall in particular just laying in bed with a candle going, listening to Tibetan Monks on Pandora. While the music made this experience tolerable, this is no way to live. Just existing does not in any way shape or form resemble life. For a time I felt so poorly for such a duration I contemplated alternatives to life. If this is how it was going to be from here on out, what really was the point?

I found my way to the best MD endocrinologist in the state, Dr. Murray, who put me on an RX of T3 and T4 supplements, my energy levels stabilized. Only now I'm diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis. On occasion I do have more energy than other times. Still, things were looking up.

Dr. Congdon had me take many tests, mostly blood and a couple digestive labs. Those were my least favorite, having to defecate into what looked like a paper to-go container for French fries, then scoop part of it into vials, package and mail it off in a biohazard bag. Most unpleasant; gross.

My digestive labs came back showing candida overgrowth and some parasites; two known and one unknown. We treated the candida. Dr. Congdon's opinion about the parasites is they are generally common in people and a path to chart if things get worse.

Before my body became imbalanced, I lived a very vibrant life. I had lots of friends who I spent time with on a regular basis. Today my daily life of friends has dwindled down to my most important people; my husband, our dog and my bestie. Keeping up on the bare minimum to make my life work is where I allocate about 90 percent of my energy, most of that is directed toward my occupation. Whereas I used to thrive on and found the company of others restorative. Now I find solitude restorative. Not having to talk or be clever or interesting or interested. Quite frankly I'm just no longer up to the task of being me. Quiet time where I can just be is what helps me recharge.

Having gone from being someone who was once gregarious, full of life and vitality to suddenly being in survival mode is quite a dramatic transformation. While in some ways I've been sad to see friendships fade, I know it's all for the best. I don't know for certain I'll get better or recover my health; I'm optimistic I will. When that day comes, I will have space for genuine friendships, people who will stick by me through thick and thin. I'm grateful for those people I have in my life who have been there for me through this whole journey, which has been an evolutionary and revealing experience, brushing aside the noise in my life.

Ironically I've had two of my most successful years in business these past three. One thing I attribute to this is focus. I don't have either the time or energy to mess around. So I have to quickly make sense of things and only perform work that's meaningful.

So here I am three years later in bed at my Normandy Park home, still sick and being cared for by Nurse Millie Monday, November 9, 2015.

Along the way of various rule outs, Dr. Congdon had me tested for Lyme. One of the three test results showed antibodies for Lyme, and I am positive for it based on the New York and Connecticut State standards. That was in June 2013.

As wonderful as Dr. Congdon has been from late December 2012 through spring of 2015, I feel I may need more aggressive support. His opinion has been that whatever infectious agent I may have, my body is dealing with it very well. As such, he is of the mind to not intervene unless things get worse.

Dealing with it well is all relative. This illness, whatever IT is, has been quite debilitating for me. Though I've read about cases of people having Lyme whereas they have such severe migraines they are admitted to the ER for morphine drips, and even that isn't completely effective. I've more recently had some head congestion, sometimes on the intense end of the scale, nowhere near hospitalization. Even more recently inner ear aches and on a couple occasions a severe loss of hearing.

For the past three late summer seasons, I go from feeling alright to feeling really unwell. This year was no exception and more intense than the past two warm to cool season changes. Today I was really out/short of breath. My husband is at his wit's end with my illness. That's a whole other story about his psychological issues with illness based upon his once abusive mom's hypochondria.

Two nights ago we got into a fight. He yelled at me because he thinks we need to aggressively treat my disease. Yet he has done little if any study of Lyme and I believe is mostly just frustrated that we've not been targeting this since my test results about a year ago. My husband also has several health issues of his own. So I yelled back about his reluctance to do anything about his own health and that maybe he ought to be doing something extreme to correct his issues.

As much as I understand my husband's frustrations, and he has every right to feel the way he feels, no one could feel more frustration about what I've endured than me. Yet I am taking it in stride; moment by moment. In the past year or so I've taken up a meditation practice, which I've found most helpful. I've studied Buddhism, which is really more a philosophy of life than it is a religion, and it's quite practical. I've done a shamanistic soul retrieval. I've been poked, prodded, adjusted, massaged. I took an eight week mindfulness based stress reduction workshop. I've completed a biofeedback program. I've rested, hydrated, eaten clean. I've supplemented, RXed and detoxed. I've been doing everything I can to support my own well being for the past three years. Despite my countless hours, high degree of discipline and thousands of dollars spent, I am still unwell. So if anyone is allowed to be frustrated, it's me. While I am, I still have hope and optimism I will heal, restore balance/homeostasis.

My husband has also been very patient, and at times in copious amounts. As much as I appreciate his patience, the one thing I need most of all from him more than anyone else is empathy. Based on his childhood-based wiring around illness, it's one of the most difficult things he can give to me.

Today I posed to my husband perhaps he would be happier with a healthy partner. I was serious. Yes, more often that not this imbalance has been a very lonely journey. Still, I would rather be in solitude than be the source of someone's constant frustration. That doesn't help either of us, I do love him and want him ultimately to be happy, even if it's with someone else. The practical me becomes quite strong when my body is weak, come to find out.

As of December 1, 2015 I have an initial consultation scheduled with a naturopath who specializes in Lyme Disease and co-infections. This doctor previously practiced in Connecticut, which is an area well known for Lyme. This doctor also has battled and healed from Lyme. I am even that much more encouraged. Perhaps this is the final phase of this three year journey. I truly wish for this saga to come to a positive resolution as soon as possible. Time will tell ...

I could have greatly elaborated on this post, and there's so much I have yet to share. For another time certainly. In the meantime, I leave you with this: