I’ve reached the point where a lot of days I forget that I’m sick.

You’d think weekly blood tests and the constant rattle of pill bottles would remind me, but now they’re just this background thing I do without thinking.  My puffy steroid moonface is part of the scenery–my poor body has been through so many physical changes, I don’t get too comfortable with how I look anymore–and all the hair falling out just gets swept up with the plentiful cat fur without thought.

I don’t forget what it’s like to have been sick, however. Right now I’m eager to do things like take the garbage out, walk to the store, clean the apartment, and everything I was too weak to do for months. I cheerfully wait in lineups at the store because I’m so happy to be able to stand for periods of time without needing support. Monday nights I can once again volunteer at the hospital, visiting patients and the ER with my dog, and I have a new appreciation for being able to bring that brief few minutes of distraction to people who have been there–often confined to bed–for weeks and in some cases months.

I’d questioned a friend about whether or not this feeling of gratitude would go away–it’s natural, I think, to start taking health for granted when it’s steady–but she insisted that once you’ve been through illness that impairs your day to day life, and know it can happen again, you never lose that gratitude.

I sincerely hope so.

With clinical remission seemingly steady right now (I see my specialist later this week and I know she has more tests in mind to determine if it’s remission-remission as well as the extent of the damage done to my body), I focus better on rebuilding, well, everything. My body’s gotten over its initial “MUST EAT ALL THE FOOD” and cravings of high fat/starches, so now I’m working in more variety and cutting back on dairy to return to the usual vegan thing. The primary challenge is regaining structured eating times and re-learning hunger/fullness signals, which currently are non-existent.

That entire process would be terrifying if I hadn’t been through The Fat Nutritionist‘s Learn to Eat program some years ago. Currently Michelle is doing a dietetic internship and no longer offers private nutrition sessions, but when she opens again, I HIGHLY recommend it to everyone needing a better relationship with food and their bodies. I would be completely lost right now without being able to go back on her lessons; instead of being overwhelmed, I can take a breath and relax, remembering “I got this” when it comes to food.

Then there’s trying to get on the treadmill five days a week, just for a 15-20 minute walk. I feel like I should be able to run again, but periodically asthma kicks up when I’m carting groceries up the stairs or I get a little shaky lifting a bag of kitty litter, and I remember how weak I still am. If I can be running 30-40 minutes a day by spring again, I’ll be pleased. Hopefully the zombie apocalypse doesn’t occur in the meantime.

Likewise, writing. Setting the timer for fifteen minutes every day to just write–just that tiny commitment of time instead of word count goals. Often I end up writing for an hour or two. Other times even fifteen minutes is a struggle. I bounce from one project to the next, continually reminding myself that I have no goal beyond rebuilding the habit. (And thanks to Lilith Saintcrow for her advice on burnout last year, which I know works and are lessons I’m applying again with illness.) The most important thing is that the voices are back in my head, characters talking to me after a long period of silence, and I know the rest will fall into place over the next few months.

Baby steps. Each and every one of them, just a tiny creeping forward, trying to keep the pressure off when I feel like I should be able to leap, and not beat myself up if I stumble a little. Rewiring my brain not to panic and worry at everything. Being gentle with myself and trying to keep my expectations reasonable.

Tying everything together involves learning balance. Knowing when to push a little harder and when to ease off (am I being lazy or do I really need a day to relax? should I push for another fifteen minutes of writing or do I really not have it in me today?). I struggle with balance more than anything–I’m a go-big-or-go-home, all or nothing kind of person wound together with an unhealthy dose of impatience. And being gentle with myself–and the expectations I put on me–requires a lot of self-trust and faith, which I also sorely lack (and was damaged tremendously dealing with unhelpful heathcare workers some months ago).

So instead of looking ahead at where I want to be and seeing how far this is to go, I’m trying to keep my focus on the ground directly beneath my feet and having faith that no matter how slow the shuffle or frequent the missteps, eventually I’ll lift my head and look over my shoulder and see the distance travelled is farther than I thought.

This week, I think I’m unplugging from the internet a little–I have four large-scale projects to finish up for clients in the next week or two, and baby steps seem to move faster when things around me are quieter and slower.

Now if only I could stop Christmas from creeping up until I’m ready for it in a month or two, I’d be set.