As many of you know, it’s been four years since I started treatment for late-stage neuro Lyme disease. 

It’s now been nineteen years total that I’ve had the disease, unbeknown to me for fifteen years, until I was diagnosed.

Fifteen years of solid physical agony without knowing why.

Wanting literally to die for years and years through waves of symptoms that I couldn’t connect or understand. Fighting the fury within me, the need to escape the torture within my body, the desire to die. 

The fight to physically live.

Then: I had the answer to my desperation. 

Lyme. 

And knowing was almost worse. So there are raging infections eating through the cells of my body, destroying brain tissue, heart, joints, everything. 

What do I do?

Three of the last treatment years have been with bee venom. (The first treatment year involved a litany of tests, pills, doctor’s appointments and serious freak out. Full scale in-the-closet crying hysterically freak-out over what treatment choices to make because all my doctors contradicted each other. So I left the doctors behind and set out on my own.) 

All of those years have been treatment with modified versions of Dr. Terry Wahl’s diet(s) and an enormous amount of brilliantly healing organic vegetables, herbs, spices, plus other stuff too numerous, and tedious, and ad nauseum to mention.

So why mention any of this, you ask?

Because a strange thing has been happening.

I’m starting to love my life. 

I’ve just crossed over the line into this new territory of wellness. It’s like the grass is always greener over there; and then suddenly, you’re standing on the grass.

Can it be true? I just noticed I’m mind-blowingly better? For real?

I’m experiencing that love, that joy, of just being alive. 

I’m so immensely improved that I can’t even measure the distance from my sickest point to now. It’s like a Star Trek universe away. I look back and think, oh my God, how did I survive.

Persistent symptoms that have been unbudging all this time are finally falling away. 

To get this far has taken four years of daily healing work that is impossible to describe. A nightmare to describe.

I no longer get blue lips from lack of oxygen. I’m not getting bart scratches. I don’t have the big seizure-type episodes. I’m less-often in a dark place inside my mind. I’ve seriously bulked up in muscle. I have a new fat tire e-bike and ride it everyday. I cook amazing meals.

(I remember when I couldn’t follow a simple recipe because it confused me. I mean like baked chicken legs with salt and pepper.)

In fact, I’ve gone from not being able to count out my medicine drops into water without getting confused by the time I reached three, or from getting lost in the car just blocks from my own house and having no memory of how to return—to playing a very complex board game called Gloomhaven and strategically kicking some monster ass. 

(This is a shout out to any Gloomhaven players out there. This board game rocks!). 

But anyway, my strategies have required a brain. One that I didn’t have before.

I had descended into Alzheimer’s territory.

I still have brain damage issues that make it a challenge to focus—so that’s the next plateau. Writing requires intense focus. I still have some other neuro stuff. I mean, it’s not all peaches and roses, yet. But this three year bee venom mark is HUGE.

For all the fight and all the fury in me, I have earned my life back from what tried for almost two decades to take it away.

In gratitude to the bees and all these vegetables.

In gratitude for my partner, the love of my life.

In gratitude for my future.

I have a lot of novels to write. That’s what I’ll be doing now. Always felt that was my destiny, always will. 

Oh, and the gallery of photos is of that last handful of months of my life, when a new level of health was sneaking up on me!