Well, the Miralax didn’t work (called Movicol, I believe, in Ireland and the UK), so I took it again this morning. I’m pretty sure the constipation has nothing to do with the low-dose naltrexone. I think it’s from the radical change in my diet and all the supplement pills.

The good news is that yesterday was okay even after the activity of the day before. There were two bad spells: in the afternoon I was feeling very low, very lonely, very sorry for myself. Being home alone is very isolating when you feel like you can’t physically accomplish all the things you wished you could not work in order to do. Did that sentence make sense? I spent years wishing for an extended period of time off of work! I would do yoga and paint our rooms and read 100 books I’ve been meaning to read. I would have movie marathons all day, I would meet friends for lunch, learn to cook, learn Spanish, hike in the beautiful mountains with the dogs… I had to leave my job in May due to this evil illness and I haven’t done any of those things. I haven’t turned on the tv once during the day. I tried gentle yoga a few times before I realised the degree of my muscle atrophy and managed to injure myself repeatedly. I have met people for lunch a few times, but have always been laid up the next day, useless. I’m not sure where the days go, honestly. I used to work an average of 50 hours a week: during the slow months, 45 hours/week, during the busy months, I’ve worked 70+. Now, I am on the computer in the morning for a bit, I do laundry, I tidy up, I meditate, I try to get to the dog park and then it’s the evening. I don’t even talk to anyone on the phone because I don’t really want to talk about me and I don’t want them to ask. Yeah, yeah, same old, same old, how are YOU? The problem is, I don’t want them not to ask, either, because then I feel like I’ve been left to die. I know that’s morbid. It’s just interesting what I’m learning about myself through all of this.

The best I’ve felt in the past nine months was when my best friend came to visit from Ireland. She was a distraction and a counselor. She was full of energy and positivity. We talked about my situation, but so many other things, too. I guess I feel better when I’m not left alone with this spectre and I’m able to talk about different tactics going forward ~ in an analytical way, almost, as if it is obvious I am going to conquer this, I just have to find the right weapon. I expend a lot of energy trying not to lose hope and not be depressed and, yes, not be suicidal, so it’s nice to know that there are friends and family who understand, are sympathetic, but know that things will get better. Or pretend to. The first time I met the Good Doctor, she said, “Let me hold on to hope for you for a while. I know you will get better, so, if you lose all hope, just know that I am holding onto it for you.”

Anyway, yesterday there were two bad spells: the low, lonely moment in the afternoon and the flu in the evening. For about two hours, I was convinced once again that I was catching a cold: sore throat, headache, muscle aches, ear and nose issues. But nothing has changed this morning. I was in bed from 10pm to 10am, up repeatedly, crazy dreams, waking with my hands gripping the sheets in fists, jaw clamped down painfully… BUT, I managed to get 8 hours sleep during those 12 hours. That’s fantastic, I just have to learn to do that in less time.