When Life Hands You Lymes #74

Hey y’all! It’s time for the 74th segment of my fictional story When Life Hands You Lymes. Please enjoy! 


“It’s called a herxhimer reaction.” Mom rubbed my legs as I lay in bed moaning. “It means that the medicines are doing their job and killing off the bad guys.” 
Mom and I had talked over the ‘herxhimer reaction’ before I started on the concoctions Dr. Shay gave me, but I hadn’t realized how horrible it would be. My legs felt like they had thousand-pound weights on them and my whole head hurt. 
“I’ve got to finish up some paperwork now.” Mom gave me a pity-filled look. 
I wanted to be with Mom constantly. For some reason I felt like a clingy one year old who wanted to be carried around by her parents. Closing my eyes I could picture myself a newborn being wrapped in blankets and nestled in Moms arms. The injustice of growing up seemed to hit me head on. 
“Is that ok with you?” I could tell Mom felt bad about leaving me. 
“That’s fine.” I hugged my teddy bear closer. I’d never even liked stuffed animals before.
“You could come down to my office if you want.” 
I shook my head. “I don’t want to get up.” I pointed at my computer. “I might watch a movie.” Movies. I had watched more in the past week than the previous year. Since the herxhimer effect out it’s wrath on me, I hadn’t even felt up to playing my violin or reading.  
A little while later there was a knock on my door. “Come in.” 
Julia stuck her head inside. “Your mom said you might like some company.” 
“Who?” If she meant company like herself, than yeah, but the thought of seeing people outside my family filled me with dread. 
“I have some work I need to do, just a couple of reports I have to write before tomorrow. I thought if you wanted I could sit in here. That way you wouldn’t have to talk or anything, but at least you wouldn’t be alone.” 
“Ok.” I hoped Julia could see through my one thin word and realize how much what she said meant to me. 
As she settled herself at my desk, I studied her. I had a really pretty friend. I glanced at my computer. Work. How I wished I could do work on it. I needed to get done but I hadn’t felt well enough to do anything worthwhile for several weeks. I didn’t stop dreaming though. I had made up my mind a while ago that no matter how far away hope seemed from me, I would continue holding on to it. 
Besides, I had a timeline now. One year. The doctor had said it would probably only be one year until I felt better. Some people would consider that was a long time, but after being sick for over two years without knowing if I’d ever be better, the promise of being better in one year was like a beacon of hope calling out to me. It’s what I kept foremost in my mind during the hard days. This was all part of getting better. And I would survive it. 

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