The Lost Years by Stephen Powell.
From the age of 39, I spent many years as a zombie due to myalgic encephalomyelitis/encephalopathy or M.E. Lying in a recliner watching a silver birch grow outside my window.
When I improved sufficiently I joined a pottery class. It was a whole day, A-level class. I usually managed 9am to 1pm, but never longer.
The price was then spending a week doing nothing but observing the tree. But I was immeasurably glad to finally be able to do something positive.
Eventually I realised my energy levels would perhaps never return to what they had been previously.
I was lucky enough to be able to gradually set up a studio in my garage, reducing my energy expenditure and allowing my activity to be spread more evenly through the week.
My activity levels are a little better now, but not too much. This week now aged 71, I’ve spent two days teaching two of my grandchildren throwing pots, calligraphy, and Photoshop.
I will pay after they go home tomorrow (I will not be acquiescent as I am today), but I’ve had the most fabulous time. I am favoured to be able to glory in the next generation of my family’s journey in life.
In the end, M.E. could not take that from me. Positives are there but, in the depths of this dreadful disorder, sometimes they are very hard to see.
The ME Association
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