So the wheels did come off. I have spent 9 months in a fairly severe state of illness.

It has been obvious for some time that the treatments I was undertaking weren’t cutting it. My diagnosis failed to deliver. We are still exploring some of the same things we did before (such as mold toxicity) but we are also casting a wider net. We are trying more radical (always science-based) things and reaching out to a host of new doctors, one at a time, methodically. It seems almost certain that my health has been ripped away by a multi-factorial assault instead of a single diagnosis, so we have a lot of ground to cover. It’s painfully slow going for such a desperate situation.

It’s been 42 months. I’ve never had to fight so hard in my life. We aren’t certain of anything: diagnosis, likelihood of improvement, which—if any—doctors can help us, how we might find them, or when.

I think every day now that I can’t do this anymore. But then I live through another 24 hours of fear and symptoms and tears and panic and pain. And then I do it again. And again. And again…