I've seen some successes. I made it back to work and now have a dream job. I've done so much sewing for charity with quilts and stockings and pillows. I've written a book. I've conquered my fear of heights. I bought a place for retirement. I've supported my husband through a bad bout with kidney failure. I've seen my daughter get engaged. I've seen our cat grow smaller and weaker. I've traveled and sucked out all the marrow of life. I've gotten a couple tattoos to inspire me to keep plugging along.
What an amazing life I have. But I've taken thousands of pills, given myself hundreds of injections, and had several rounds of infusions all in the attempt to make my self well. And it hasn't worked. Here I am, 995 days later, and the pain and stiffness and fatigue drains me as much today as it did back then. Living these last few months with only one working lung has made life even more difficult.
Yet each and every day I get myself out of bed. Each and every day I find something to take a picture of. Each and every day I turn to this blog to help me through the next step (and misstep).