The show goes on, if slowly.

This is just a brief update. I'll pay for it later, no doubt. 

I'm using two fingers on my right hand to type, my left thumb, index finger, and "pinky" out of commission. My left hand is impaired, too. I never expected this to happen, but the last year, well, it's been rough. There have been loses, but also a few gains. If I expected this to be a better year than 2020, it's as if 2021 gave me a wicked grin and said, "Hey, somebody hold my beer!" 

It wasn't an accident. It will not "feel better soon"; it's for life. There's no cure, only palliative care. If treated correctly, it's not directly (or immediately?) life threatening. It's not cancer, either. It's probably genetic; I'll have answers to that question later this month, I hope. 

What is it? It's something rated as rare, something doctors don't look for, just as they've been taught. "If you hear hoofbeats, expect horses, not zebras, " they say. They're wrong, in my estimation. I've had this collection of progressively problematic illness ("syndrome"?) since I was born. In over 57+ years, no one "educated" caught it, leaving me to cope on my own, often with so much insufficient information that it did damage. As in, "damned if you do, and damned if you don't" grade of neglect. It's called Ehrlers-Danlos Syndrome, a long string of comorbidities and complications coming with it. 

No, it's not autoimmune. Bracing of loose joints is done to prevent chronic re-damage of vulnerable connective tissues. Injury, not merely inflammation. (Age adds arthritis, of course, and it's possible to have an AI disorder with EDS.) One keeps in mind, "If it hurts, don't do it." And yet, movement is life. Carefully.

To present, it's lost me everything I ever had or needed, long term. Home, security, income. I know I'm not alone in that, or in suffering what I thought was "normal" pain. Every single day of my life. 

Adding insult to it, I can't use the drugs commonly handed out, including those for pain relief. I had to stop eating ordinary food and go to an expensive Celiac diet (a common comorbidity), and I wear multiple orthotic braces just to keep functioning, even at a low level. I'm exhausted all the time: chronic fatigue is quite real, I discovered. A trip to the emergency room could be dangerous for me, so I just don't go unless it's beyond my own scope of experience. Small injuries, pfft. Ignored. 

I have about nine unfinished manuscripts. If I could unpack my art supplies, I'd have an endless list of projects I want to finish, as well. As it is, I'm just going to be happy to finish this one story. 

After that, I don't know... I really don't. I can't guess where a collagen-error illness will take me next. Joints, bones, organs, circulatory or nervous systems? EDS patients must be patient. Our lives are both painful and unpredictable. 

Finishing what I'm working on is a start. It's a rewrite of an unfinished novel I call de Oro. A mixed genre work of sorts, falling into the literary speculative or literary science fiction area. It's a romance; most stories are, after all. I'm very near the ending, bringing it to a new level of interest, I hope. I may have ruined it, but I'm sure my trusty beta-reader club (just trusted every-reader friends who make comments to help me improve it) will tell me what's wrong. 

I'm glad I have friends. They keep me going when nothing else does. 

If all goes well, next month, I may publish a new novel. No promises. But I have hope. That's something.