Plus or Minus 40 Years

It turns out Tuesday wasn’t a flare day after all. It just seemed like it because I hadn’t yet experienced Thursday. Now here I am Friday morning after a really cruddy night’s sleep drinking my one caffeinated beverage per day*, staring down eight hours of work.

I can’t even begin to explain how or how much I hurt today.

What I can tell you is that last night it got so bad I started doing the math. I’m 36. I figure barring something tragic, I’ve got plus or minus 40 years left of this. At which point I either leave this planet or the doctors decide I’m old enough to be made “comfortable” …until I leave this planet.

Seems morbid, I know. But every time the pain creeps into 8 and 9 territory on the pain scale (I reserve 10 for that time in the ER when the doctor pressed on my upper right abdomen during a gallbladder attack and I fucking LEVITATED off the hospital bed) I can’t help but wonder if I’ve found my new normal.

If it comes without reason or explanation, why wouldn’t it stay without reason or explanation?


*A self-imposed rule, really. I allow myself a cup of coffee in the morning to try and fake being alert, but that’s it. Because #painsomnia.



  1. Poor sweetheart 😦 I wish one of us readers had a magic formula for relief for our blogger darlings who are in such pain with these invisible illnesses. All we can do is to assure you that you are always in our thoughts and prayers.

    Feel better. That’s an order (don’t you wish it was that easy 😡 )

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