One thing people don’t really talk about is the slow inevitable slide of progressive illness. I’ve been sick for about 16 years now, disabled for 5, and for most of that time people in my life keep asking me if I feel better.

I will never feel better.

At each stage of my particular disease I have felt the best I will ever feel again because I have a progressive disease that is killing me very, very slowly.

It’s like being murdered by a tiny snail, or stalked by death in the form of a tortoise. You’ve got a long, long time to contemplate your end, but you feel every single step of your demise.

This year has been a slide. I’ve been sicker than usual more often than not. Less able to do, more susceptible to the usual colds milling around, more exhausted after activity. Even as I have increased my exercise, improved my diet, dialed in my medications, I am feeling the slip.

Today I am on day 8 of a respiratory illness that has had me in bed unable to do much of anything all week. I know I will recover from this cold and get back to life but I also know I will be slower, weaker. It will take me a lot longer to get my breath back, to get back to the 30 minute 3 mile walks with my dog 5 times a week. To get back to lifting and gardening and hula hooping. To get back to anything really.

And it all feels so daunting. The clawing back to the surface from deep inside this hole. Especially knowing how easily another cold can come along and knock me down. Making the process start all over again.

If you are a healthy, mobile person do me a favor please. Pause and take a moment to truly revel in all the amazing things your body can do.