The doctor’s words echo through my brain. Chronic. Illness. Lupus. Won’t ever go away

As told to Rochel Samet

Nine pills a day. Starting with five over breakfast. Urghhh.

But on the plus side, I wake up on day three post diagnosis with a weird surge of energy. I guess it’s back-to-school time.

Everything still hurts, but less, so I can actually walk down the stairs. The swelling is going down. I feel strange, different.

Of course you feel different. You’re sick. You have lupus.

Lupus.

The doctor’s words echo through my brain. Chronic. Illness. Lupus. Won’t ever go away.

I have a chronic illness. I’m never gonna get better.

I shake my head at the hallway mirror. It’s not true, I’m already feeling better, the medication’s going to help and I will get better....

It won’t ever go away.

I push a loose strand of hair out my eyes, lean into the mirror, and whisper, “Hi, I’m Libby, and I’m sick.”

I sneak a glance around; no one seems to be nearby. I continue my commentary to the skinny kid with large eyes, the sick kid, me. “I have lupus. It’s not cancer. But it never goes away.”

The mirror grimaces back at me.

Ma’s in the kitchen when I come to get a drink and take my pills. Ugh, I hate doing it while she hovers, watching.

“Back to school today, that’s great,” she says, with that same wide smile she keeps putting on every time she sees me. I nod and turn away to down the pills.

It’s hard enough to cope with that over-cheery smile, without having to read the pity in her eyes.