Two years in: Creating calm

Leading up to July 26, I was at somewhat of a loss for words about what to say.

Yesterday marked two years of being diagnosed. Coming up with something eloquent to say about that was proving to be challenging and it felt a bit silly, like celebrating mile two of a marathon.

As in, big deal. You have a lot longer to go, kid.

At first, hearing the word remission felt like how hitting the lottery would feel.

Now, the more I think about it, remission can sometimes sound like a destination and that’s now how engage with this disease.

I don’t think there is a word that describes the act of keeping yourself in remission. Remiss isn’t correct in meaning, where remission fails to recognize any sort of ongoing effort.

Remission doesn’t seem to capture the fact that I don’t do cheat days or meals.

Remission doesn’t quite define the times where it’s raining and I head out for exercise anyway in a rain coat.

Remission doesn’t explain how I sometimes sneak my own green vegetables into an establishment to add to a meal if I’m worried about having healthy options.

I’m a nutrient bandit. Guilty as charged.

The idea of writing posts about the fact that nothing is happening seems quite boring sometimes, and having a lack of subject matter isn’t something I’m mad about by any means. I have experienced parts of MS that are far from dull. They make for great stories, but scary rollercoasters I’d prefer not to ride again. But that’s a post for another time.

So, I’m in the boring stage. I search for adventure in many other parts of life, but for chronic degenerative diseases, I’ll gladly take boring.

And I wasn’t getting any epiphanies about boring lately.

I’m late in posting because I spent the two-year anniversary of diagnosis somewhere in the middle of a remote adventure without adequate access to WiFi in the depths of a few of the Great Lakes. Not on purpose, it was just how the schedule worked out.

In the process, I found myself in the middle of a big lake with few people and a lot of thoughts. Add in little sleep, all-terrain cooking for four in a small toaster oven and swathes of aggressive, carnivorous, biting black flies and you have a classic example of Type 2 fun.

In between swatting flies and burning myself on the toaster oven a few times, I had time to think about if and how I’d describe July 26 this year.

And still, nothing came to me.

Near the end of the trip and somewhere in the northern part of Lake Huron on the other side of the state, the wind died down a bit.

Surprisingly, the black flies did too.

The water got really calm and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

Ahead of us was the last leg for the day, about a three-hour jaunt to the harbor, a shower and a real meal. Straight shot, calm seas, nothing much to do.

Some found it boring. Some found it peaceful. Some found it rare.

The best way I can describe it for now is that remission feels a lot like a three-hour drive on a calm lake.

One part boring. One part peaceful. And one part rare.

And that’s a wrap for mile two in this marathon.