Excerpts from a book I'll never write

May the Fourth. Star Wars day. And also the day we found the little bugger circulating my body and causing havoc amongst my joints. It’s been a year of medication, hospitalisations, and multiple tests. My body’s been pushed to the limits, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Medications were given from the get go: a malaria drug, then steroids, then chemo, then more steroids, then an immunosuppression usually used after organ transplants. New types of tests were run: lung functions every few months, bone density scans, dexa nuclear brain scan, blood tests every month to monitor liver function and inflammation levels. It’s been a year, and so much has changed, and yet so little hasn’t. I’m still sick. That fact will most likely never change. There were times in this past year where I had to use a wheelchair to get out of the house, and an almost purchase of one because I had gotten so bad. That was certainly a shock to the system. There was a buy of a cane that I do use for when