I have been living on borrowed time for a long time.  Every day since that man in the pickup crossed into my lane and smashed head on into my MG Midget convertible at about 45 mph.  Yes, the top was down. When I saw that even my evasion efforts of pulling off into the breakdown lane were not going to prevent the accident, that having slowed my vehicle to almost 0 and pulled the emergency break.  I threw my upper body sideways into the other seat, took my feet off the pedals, and thanked God for the many opportunities I had had in life and the many good people I had met.


The MG did not survive.  Nor did my pantyhose.  When I sat up in the driver's seat, after hearing the truck door slam and the man yelling "I've killed her.  I've killed her, OMG  I've killed her," I thought he was going to have a heart attack.  I had a small cut and bruise on my left knee where it banged against the knob that rolled the window up and down.    Even the police officer could not believe I wasn't dead, much less barely scratched.  That is the moment I knew God had some purpose in life for me.  I had no idea then what that purpose was.  I still do not.
Even that day, unbeknownst to me, lupus had begun to destroy my body.  That was almost thirty years ago.  Lately, I have begun to think my borrowed time is running out.  That whatever task God had in mind for me has been accomplished, even though I lack the foggiest.


Most days I feel too tired to go outside to my garden, or even to sit at this keyboard and write.   I'm weaning off prednisone, because it will take 5 years off my life if I don't, and it's not controlling the lupus.  I see my doctor in a few days, and I am expecting bad news on my test results.  Inside, I just know something is not right.  


I will not subject you to a litany of the pain that is now with me day in and day out.  I will only say that most days, at some point in the day, I end up crying from it.  I lay in bed and moan, because I cannot make it go away  without taking prescription pain killers, and I do not want to die an addict, even though I know that eventually, I probably will.


There are still so many things I want to do, to see, and I know I never will.  Some of them are big things, like seeing Sweden before I die.  Some are tiny, like cleaning out a drawer, but I am too exhausted even for that.


Mostly I read and watch movies or British TV shows.  People exhaust me, even those I love the most. Putting on that stoic face to keep from crying, or moaning, or screaming has become enervating.  Putting up with those that irritate me has become impossible.


The real problem is that I do not know how this stage will take.  Will it drag out several years, with my family and friends growing more and more agonized by my pain?  Months?  Weeks?  


Or is this not what I believe it to be, but just lupus playing with my body chemistry?  Having been clinically depressed, I know this is not depression.  I can feel joy in simply touching my husband's cheek, or petting my stubborn, narcissistic cat, and laughing at her narcissism.  


No, this is something else.  It feels like goodbye, like my body telling my spirit "I want a divorce."  I don't think my spirit was expecting it.
 


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