Good hair, bad flare…

Over the past three weeks, my symptoms seem to have taken a detour in the wrong direction. The fatigue that finally felt like it was improving has doubled down like it forgot it was supposed to be leaving.

I walk the dog and need to lie down. I do a load of laundry and my muscles act like I’ve just finished a CrossFit competition. I went to get my hair done — something that’s supposed to make you feel refreshed — and needed a two-and-a-half-hour nap afterward just to recover. Apparently covering gray hair now counts as cardio. And just in case fatigue forgets who’s in charge, my joints snap me back to attention with every step I take, every jar I try to open, and every daily living skill I need to accomplish.

So… yeah. Not normal. Which means it’s time once again to play everyone’s favorite game: What Is Wrong With Kelly Now?

I recently started two new medications to help control inflammation. One can cause fatigue, but I’ve been on it long enough that those side effects shouldn’t be intensifying. The other is a biologic that should just be reaching full strength — except now I have to wait another four weeks for the next dose and hope it kicks in soon.

Or, plot twist, anemia could be sneaking back in again. I won’t see hematology or get updated labs for a few more weeks, so for now it’s a waiting game.

And somewhere in all of this, that old fear pops up — worrying people might think I’m overreacting or imagining things. That probably comes from childhood, when I was always the sick kid who didn’t bounce back as quickly as everyone else. Rationally, I know better now. My symptoms are real and I have a bunch of “ologists” on my team confirming that fact. Something very real happened in my body to make me sick. Still, those old doubts can be stubborn.

Mostly, though, I’m just tired of how long this process takes. Healing feels less like a straight path and more like one of those airport moving walkways that randomly switches directions.

When I look at this photo, I really do love how my hair turned out. Unfortunately, I also see the toll that trying to get better has taken all over my face.

I see how pale I am. My eyes look hollow. And some days it feels like the past six months have aged me five years. Apparently chronic illness comes with a complimentary express lane to exhaustion chic.

And yet, I’ve always lived in the land of, “But you don’t look sick.” As if illness is supposed to come with a visible warning label. Spoiler alert: most of us out here fighting invisible diseases look perfectly fine right up until we have to go lie down after doing something wild… like folding laundry.

So yes, I see how tired I look. But I also see someone still showing up, still fighting, still doing everything possible to get better — even if my face sometimes looks like it needs its own nap.

And honestly, if great hair and sheer stubbornness are what get me through this phase, I’ll take the win.