One year ago I posted my first blog entry. Compelled by the sense that there had to be people out there like me—young and living with multiple chronic illnesses—and that if only I started to write about it I might connect with them, I started slowly and hesitantly. Would anyone read what I’d written, and more importantly, would anyone care about what I had to say?

The first couple of months I only posted once or twice—between graduate thesis work and my goal of posting essay-type pieces that offered some sort of insight and could hopefully stand alone, it took me a little while to find my rhythm. I began to notice a pattern—people started commenting, and their insights helped me think of things in new ways and pointed me towards all sorts of blogs and perspectives. I am deeply grateful to those of you who have found something that resonates with your own experiences enough to keep on reading.

When you live with rare diseases or multiple diseases, it’s easy to feel isolated, both in terms of day to day to experiences and also in terms of a writing community. Not many people write about PCD or bronchiectasis. I knew I wouldn’t have the huge, thriving audience that a well-known disease like diabetes would, and that while a lot of my experiences with things like infertility and chronic fatigue or celiac disease and thyroid problems related to things other people have or write about, I wondered if the fact that this wasn’t a disease-specific blog would somehow isolate me.

My hope was that the overall experience of living with chronic illness—the ups, the downs, the minutiae of daily life, the relationship moments—were universal enough to apply to anyone who clicked on my blog, that issues of identity, acceptance, setbacks, and hope transcend any one disease or condition, and, of course, that there is humor in all of this craziness.

That’s still my hope.

One year later, I think I’ve found a rhythm, one that wouldn’t exist without the people reading it on the other end.

To my surprise and appreciation, Elizabeth at fluent gave me a Thinking Blogger Award. Unwittingly, she has made my job of selecting five blogs that make me think, make me question, and challenge me a little bit harder because hers would be right at the top! Thanks, Elizabeth, and your musings on writing, writers, and life in general always give me something to ponder.

With no further ado, then, here are five of the many blogs that make me think:

Musings of a Distractible Mind: This doc’s curiosity is matched by his intelligence and wide range of interests. A great read.

Managing the Sweetness Within: If there’s one thing Lyrehca likes to do, it’s ask questions. She’s asked a lot of terrific ones as she juggles Type 1 diabetes and pregnancy, and she is as insightful as she is hilarious.

Swimming Upstream: I first found this blog through Elizabeth’s site and have been engrossed by this writer/MFA student’s honest, thoughtful prose.

Tundra Medicine Dreams: The thoughts about medicine are as striking as the amazing photography and descriptions of Tundra life–an intellectual and visual treat.

Emergiblog: Kim’s blog is informative, interesting, and always satisfying.

I am sitting in a Starbucks right now, ostensibly preparing for my next class, but in reality I am distracted by the wonderful, luring aroma of espresso. Its scent lingers on my clothes and I can almost taste it. It is my Siren calling for me, tempting me with promises of pleasure and joy.

I am drinking tea. And I’m clearly not that psyched about it.

Before I totally martyr myself, I should probably mention that I gave up espresso-based drinks for Lent and cut down on relgular coffee, but I didn’t give up caffeine altogether (that would be a kamikaze mission for me; I tried it once a few years ago and within two days, my boss politely wondered if I might think of something else to give up since my productivity had taken a noticeable nosedive and my headaches were blinding). But since I do waste a sizable amount of money on sugar-free, nonfat latte concoctions at least six days a week and haven’t attempted to teach a late class without an espresso infusion in three years, it is something.

I’ve already acknowledged the absolutely disgusting amount of caffeine I drink in previous posts—a pot of coffee on my own in the morning, and the life-saving latte in the afternoon, at least. At this point, I’m beginning to see it as more than just a conversation piece (you think that’s gross? Listen to how much coffee I drink!) and as some sort of personal failing—how in hell did I get to this point? And to top it all off, it doesn’t even help. I’m still brain-foggy and slow-tongued by late afternoon.

Combined with my other Lenten resolutions, I hope the caffeine-cutback makes me less disgusted with myself. I’ve also cut out eating in between meals (my equally night-owl husband and I have been known revert to college behavior and run out to 7-Eleven to buy frozen yogurt at midnight or throw a bag of popcorn in the microwave in time to watch the Daily Show, not really the best way to eat).

Over the past few years, though, I’ve started to see the merit in not just giving things up for Lent but in making changes/improvements and adding positive behaviors to my life. My theme for this Lent is balance, not just in terms of maintaining health conditions (that’s a given) but in terms of setting aside time to reflect and also in terms of clearing my mind of negative or hurtful things: not getting so buried in student papers and revisions on Sundays that I don’t make it to church; not backing out of weekend plans with friends or my husband because I’d rather use those five four hours for work; not getting bogged down by passive-aggressive anger when calm confrontation would cause much less pain, etc.

So that’s where I stand. As my good friend said yesterday, you can do things for Lent for faith-based reasons or because you like the personal challenge (I subscribe to both), but either way, it is a chance to let go of some of the obsessions, indulgences, and pettiness that we’re better off without.

So here’s to less caffeine, less workaholic tendencies, more introspection and reflection, and more mature ways of handling problems. (But I’m not going to lie, I’m already salivating for my Easter Sunday sugar-free, nonfat cinnamon dulce latte!)

The instruments were sub-par, the lighting wasn’t ideal, and the surgeon was plying his technical trade for the first time, but against all odds, the surgery was a rousing success.

In the grueling pre-operative moments, I went through many emotional states. There was disbelief: I can’t believe this is happening (again). There was sorrow: I can’t imagine what I will do if I have to suffer this loss. There was anger and denial: But I’ve done everything I can, I’ve taken all the precautions and safety measures, I’ve performed all the maintenance and follow-up. This can’t be happening to me.

In the end, though, an eyeglass repair kit hastily purchased at 7-Eleven and the two sturdy hands of my intrepid husband proved enough to perform a delicate operation on my sickly little Powerbook G4.

The bizarre DOS language that took over the screen, the incessant kernel panic message that froze and crashed the computer every 10 seconds, the horrible shrieking sound it omitted whenever I tried to run a disk repair, the terrifying hieroglyphics that appeared where a lovely Microsoft Word document had flourished only moments earlier—in the end, all these malignant forces were no match for the two of us, battle-weary and used to the wily ways of the shifting internal network card whose movement wreaked havoc for my hard drive.

We’d experienced cataclysmic moments with it before, we’d tasted fear and considered the worse-case scenario, so we thought we were veterans by now. Nothing could have prepared us for the full onslaught of last night’s carnage and disease, the symptoms of which first appeared at the corner coffee shop around 8pm and whose groans and machinations did not end until this morning. For the first time, I really thought all hope of salvaging my beloved little titanium wonder was gone.

But with a flick of his wrist, the turn of impossibly tiny screws, and the re-alignment of one pesky, wriggling network card, John brought my computer back to life. Since my G4 is almost an appendage at this point—I use it easily 14 hours a day during the week and only a little less on weekends, and practically twitch if it isn’t in my vicinity at all times—the prospect of losing it was inconceivable.

Luckily, my computer is again whirring and clicking away as it should, the picture of health…and life for me can go back to normal. You gotta love it when acute triage solves the problem.