Elephant-in-my-room-Suzanne-GrenagerYes, there is an elephant in my room. For lack of a better idea, we call her Adrenal Fatigue. And this big girl has almost sapped the life out of me, confining me to rooms in my (fortunately beautiful) house. It’s most often the bedroom, where I spend much of my days lying on my cozy bed resting, because there’s literally nothing else I am able to do.

This has been going on for well over a year, and I’m tired of being tired.

The good news is that my fabulous medical and related support team has pretty well ruled out life-threatening conditions like cancer, Parkinson’s disease and lupus. My wonderful naturopathic doctor has me on herbal remedies to knock out Epstein Barr and Lyme Disease, in case they are in play.

Adrenal fatigue, like so many chronic conditions, is not a bona fide medical diagnosis. Rather, it’s the name given to a group of symptoms that the allopathic community doesn’t understand very well or have tools to tackle. Fibromyalgia is another one you’ve probably heard of. And the women such auto immune conditions usually attack are often told it’s all in our heads.

It rarely is, but we do keep checking to make sure I’m not clinically depressed. Although I probably should be after so many months of feeling like shit and being able to do very little, I don’t think I am. Neither do my doctors. But we’re all pretty damned discouraged if not yet giving up.

“Wired and tired.” In case you’re wondering, that’s what adrenal fatigue feels like. I’m not sleepy, I’m simply depleted to the point of no return until I lie down. The best metaphor has me in a Maserati. I am geared up, foot on the pedal ready to go for a spin. “Wired!”

But, wait a minute. My fuel tank is empty. There is absolutely nothing there to power my spinning wheels. That’s the “tired” part. Imagine how endlessly exhausting it is to be in Hans Selye “fight or flight” mode 24/7 for months at a time with no power to feed it.

How has it come to this and why am I not getting better? We all suspect my condition is a delayed reaction to the tremendous on-full-alert stress of dealing with Trond day And night as he died from dementia. Not to mention the grief of losing my beloved husband of fifty wonderful years.

But other than that, no one seems to know what’s up. No one…except perhaps for a man who has suddenly and magically shown up in my life—to strengthen my blood and chi, says he. He appeared out of the blue two weeks ago and says he is fully committed to taking care of me until we can bring me back to life.

He’s a brilliantly trained, well-seasoned Chinese medical practitioner referred by my friend Carol. And while I thought I was hiring him to help with cooking and driving, he clearly has bigger, better ideas for being at my service. It’s pretty darned wild!

Why on earth me, I keep wondering, sometimes out loud. He patiently repeats “Well, you paid it forward for a long time …” suggesting that because I’ve helped a lot of people, it’s now my turn to receive. Although we just met, and he knows almost nothing about me, he somehow knows that. And he sees it as *his* job to repay—and repair—me!

I have told a few people who know I’m not totally woo-woo that he must be an angel Trond sent. It really does feel that bizarre.

It remains to be seen what comes of the acupuncture needles, cupping, moxibustion et al. But one thing is for sure: thanks to a loving new team member totally dedicated to my healing—and with the entire Chinese medical tool kit at his disposal—I see a glimmer of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. But *not* the tunnel leading to light on the other side. Not quite yet. I’ll keep you posted.

About the Author: Suzanne Grenager

A seasoned writer and mentor with a gift for helping people see and be their most authentic, empowered Self.

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