It is sort of nice being home. Familiar, and it makes the 'stuff' a little more tolerable.
I saw a lot of the people I used to know, which was amazing! They are all so different, taller, older, its wonderful! It makes me feel a little more normal to just be able to hang out with old friends, and just relax.
I went to see the doctor the other day, which really wasn't so bad. Most of the Lyme doctors just talk about the symptoms, rather than poke and prod very much, for which of course I am very grateful. They did, however, 'access' my port for the first time, which wasn't quite as fun as I thought it would be *rolls eyes*. Its not that it hurt, because really there was very little 'true' pain associated with it. Even the stitches don't hurt, but then again I am on hella strong meds, so that might have something to do with it.
Anyways, I didn't watch them put it in, put the feeling was rather bizarre. The port under your skin must be sort of pinched/pushed in a very unnatural way which is very uncomfortable.
I went to the bathroom after, and cried a little, for my life, I guess. The thought of having a needle in my chest was just overwhelmingly awful. And the thought that I will have a needle in my chest, everyday, changed every week, indefinitely, scared the shit out of me, and I wanted to give up right then and there. But that sort of weakness is temporary, the kind that just knocks the knees out from under you for a moment, and brings your heart rate right up.
Of course I am way over that by now. I do not permit myself such displays of weakness often, because my greatest healing power is in my optimism. But I have a touch of the 'realism' in me, which wacks its hard, steely reality into me every now and again.
Everything, when it is fresh, and you are alone to ponder it, seems a million times worse. That is a darkness I fear most.