Your post really moved me Tosh. That sense of living on a different clock—the medical clock—rings painfully true. Waiting, adapting, measuring days not by plans but by symptoms and procedures can feel like being quietly exiled from ordinary time. I admire the way you’re meeting December 23 with such clarity and even a wry grace, calling it a Christmas present. That kind of reframing takes courage.
So much of what you describe—the exhaustion, the dizziness, the careful choreography of eating, sitting, sleeping—feels familiar to me. My own health declined sharply after I was hit by a car while riding my bike five years ago. Since then, my body has never quite returned to the self I assumed was permanent. Balance, focus, stamina—things I once took for granted—now require calculation and restraint. Like you, I learned to organize my days around avoiding falls, managing energy, and accepting that I no longer have the strength to ride uphill on my own power (I bought an e-bike to compensate.)
That frustration—wanting to engage deeply with books or thought, but finding your body won’t cooperate—is its own quiet grief. And yet there’s also something human and sustaining in the small salvations: ice cream and peanut butter, a show that pulls you out of yourself, those moments when illness loosens its grip just enough to let you forget it’s there.
I’m really glad you found a way to stop the weight loss, and I hope the biopsy brings clarity, or at least a next step that feels less like free fall. Please know you’re not alone in this strange, narrowed existence. Many of us are learning, reluctantly and imperfectly, how to live inside altered bodies and altered time. I’m sending you steadiness, rest where you can find it, and the hope that this season—though it may be—will eventually give way to something gentler.
You’re going to be fine. I endured all this and more when I first got GERD in 2011. I bled in the toilet and vomited after eating. It takes awhile to adjust. I could only eat mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. You must prop your upper body up when sleeping and only if a side sleeper lie on your left side. Good luck with the biopsy!
I know someone who had other medical problems, who also found sleeping lying down to be problematic. On bad nights, she began sleeping in a La-Z-Boy, and it was a game-changer.
So sorry you’re going through this. But glad you’re able to fight through the fatigue etc… and write. Even in small doses, your work is always brilliant, valuable & entertaining—
oh, man. I'm sorry, Tosh. Lemme just say: I finally snagged a copy of A Violent Life yesterday. Amazing, disturbing, entertaining collab between u and Erin Alexander. First thing I read this morning and still thinking about it.... <3
Your post really moved me Tosh. That sense of living on a different clock—the medical clock—rings painfully true. Waiting, adapting, measuring days not by plans but by symptoms and procedures can feel like being quietly exiled from ordinary time. I admire the way you’re meeting December 23 with such clarity and even a wry grace, calling it a Christmas present. That kind of reframing takes courage.
So much of what you describe—the exhaustion, the dizziness, the careful choreography of eating, sitting, sleeping—feels familiar to me. My own health declined sharply after I was hit by a car while riding my bike five years ago. Since then, my body has never quite returned to the self I assumed was permanent. Balance, focus, stamina—things I once took for granted—now require calculation and restraint. Like you, I learned to organize my days around avoiding falls, managing energy, and accepting that I no longer have the strength to ride uphill on my own power (I bought an e-bike to compensate.)
That frustration—wanting to engage deeply with books or thought, but finding your body won’t cooperate—is its own quiet grief. And yet there’s also something human and sustaining in the small salvations: ice cream and peanut butter, a show that pulls you out of yourself, those moments when illness loosens its grip just enough to let you forget it’s there.
I’m really glad you found a way to stop the weight loss, and I hope the biopsy brings clarity, or at least a next step that feels less like free fall. Please know you’re not alone in this strange, narrowed existence. Many of us are learning, reluctantly and imperfectly, how to live inside altered bodies and altered time. I’m sending you steadiness, rest where you can find it, and the hope that this season—though it may be—will eventually give way to something gentler.
Hope you get good and useful results from the doc. Sending my best for your recovery,. R
You’re going to be fine. I endured all this and more when I first got GERD in 2011. I bled in the toilet and vomited after eating. It takes awhile to adjust. I could only eat mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. You must prop your upper body up when sleeping and only if a side sleeper lie on your left side. Good luck with the biopsy!
Tosh,
So sorry that you’re going through this difficult time. Let the good times come again. As some old song says.
i hope you can find out what's wrong and fix it. Your voice and ideas are important (and your health)
I know someone who had other medical problems, who also found sleeping lying down to be problematic. On bad nights, she began sleeping in a La-Z-Boy, and it was a game-changer.
So sorry you’re going through this. But glad you’re able to fight through the fatigue etc… and write. Even in small doses, your work is always brilliant, valuable & entertaining—
Thank you sir.
I'm so sorry to hear this, Tosh. :(
Sending all good energy your way.
Good luck with that biopsy, and I hope you feel better soon. Hang in there. 👍
I hope your biopsy is negative . . . take care, dear Tosh.
Wishing you well, and for a return to health. And please keep writing!
oh, man. I'm sorry, Tosh. Lemme just say: I finally snagged a copy of A Violent Life yesterday. Amazing, disturbing, entertaining collab between u and Erin Alexander. First thing I read this morning and still thinking about it.... <3