When I turned 50 in 1997 I moved to Scotland. I truly felt I would live to be 100 and the rest of my life was just beginning. In 2002 at the age of 55 I was swimming every day and feeling pretty good when I started having a problem with double vision. This was accompanied by intermittent postmenopausal bleeding. The eyes seemed to be the greater concern at first because the tests presented monocular diplopia. This means that the double vision persists in either eye when the other is closed. Binocular diplopia is most often caused by refraction problems but monocular diplopia can have cerebral causes. The optician sent an urgent letter to my GP to follow up on this. My doctor wasn't particularly concerned about the bleeding but the eye thing worried her. She sent out two referral requests: an urgent one to Opthalmology and a routine one for an Ob-Gyn exam. This being the NHS, there are usually waiting lists unless the urgency is highlighted (in which case there are SHORTER waiting lists). Screening for the opthalmologist was quick but the practitioner who performed the test was inordinantly rude. She normally dealt with children and the tests were geared towards subjects who had not yet learned to read. We clashed immediately but interpreting the pictures of things for which I did not know the British words still got me through to the next level and ultimately an MRI. This eliminated the cerebral cause but did not really identify the source of the double vision. I would have two more appointments with him over the next year.

Meanwhile, as no urgent letter was sent, my Ob-Gyn appointment was slow in coming. When I was finally seen, the consultant was furious with my GP for not requesting an urgent appointment. An ultrasound led to an exploratory D&C two days later, the results of which indicated endometrial cancer that was millimetres away from breaching the wall. I was scheduled for an immediate bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy that removed the womb, cervix, fallopian tubes and ovaries. All went well and I went back to work in the prescripted 12 weeks though nobody pushed me to do this. In hindsight that was too soon. Part of the reason I went back was a planned trip to visit my family in California during the Christmas holidays. My upbringing said if I was too sick to go to work, I was too sick to go on holiday.

It was great to see the kids again, but my son's mother-in-law was not well and and his wife needed to be with her, so it fell to me to take care of my grandson who had the flu. After several days of holding him close, memories I will cherish, I caught it, too. When I got back to Scotland I had a raging fever that didn't seem to get better. I was eventually referred to a rheumatologist and for years was treated for a non-specific inflammatory polyarthritis. They were not that bothered to identify the precise illness as the treatments for all were the same. Still, having the words rheumatoid arthritis and scleroderma bandied about didn't make me feel any better about it. The only thing everyone agreed on was that it was an autoimmune response triggered by the unidentified flu strain I had. In addition, they added good old-fashioned osteoarthritis (wear and tear arthritis) in my hips and knees. It wasn't until three years later when I was examined by one of my regular rheumatologists for my US Disability claim that the Sjögren's diagnosis surfaced. For five years I was given a disease-modifying anti-rheumatic drug (DMARD) called hydroxychloroquine. It works by blocking the effects of the chemicals released when your immune system attacks your body. (Yes, this is the one the Cockwomble recommended as a treatment for Covid-19.) Side effects included mood swings and fatigue (also a symptom of the disease itself) and so I was given fluoxetine, a type of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). The combination caused me to gain 20 lbs. It also caused a significant amount of brain fog. After five years they do not give it to someone my age as the risk of certain side effects outweigh the benefits. When I stopped taking the DMARD, I also stopped the antidepressant. Throughout the whole process, pain killers kept getting changed for their side effects, including gastric bleeding.

Sjögren's (SHOW-grins) syndrome is a disorder of the immune system characterised by its two most common symptoms — dry eyes and a dry mouth (sicca syndrome). Because these symptoms exist in the general population, it often takes years to identify. When it occurs with other immune system disorders, such as rheumatoid arthritis and lupus, it is called secondary Sjögren's syndrome. This can be more difficult to live with because of the other disease.

When Sjögren's syndrome exists on its own, it is called primary Sjögren's syndrome. Your eyes burn, itch and feel gritty all the time. Swallowing is difficult and there can be a persistent dry cough. All mucous membranes are involved impacting sex life, skin and teeth.

Symptoms that occur outside the glands are seen in one-third of people with primary Sjögren's, but rarely in those with secondary syndrome. These extraglandular symptoms may include joint and muscle pain, neuropathy, brain fog, low-grade fevers and prolonged fatigue similar to the symptoms of the other rheumatic diseases and also to some of the side effects of treatment.

I won't go into great detail about my 6 year battle with the Social Security, but when I went to California for my request for reconsideration hearing, the judge who read the long history of notes let me know that he had made a determination in my favor; no hearing was necessary and he apologised for any "inconvenience" I had been caused. At this point I was a year away from my full normal retirement benefit, so the retroactive payment allowed us to buy our flat and have a comfortable income. This payment, btw, was a full year in coming.

In 2009 I had reached my highest life weight. This was the main reason I stopped taking the SSRI. Seeing the numbers in red on my open file was a wakeup call. I enrolled in a formal weight loss program. It took several years of working on the weight loss (three times through the program and the rest on my own) to take me back to my original weight—the weight that was already higher than it should be when I started swimming in the first place.

Meanwhile, I continued to be checked for cancer and on each visit had relatively benign skin cancers removed caused by the combination of California sunshine and a very fair complexion. Five years after the hysterectomy I was given the all clear. Unfortunately, a different cancer showed up. This was a slow growing basal cell carcinoma on the end of my nose. I had Mohs micrographic surgery to remove this tumor, then a flap reconstruction taking skin from around my face to rebuild the nose. Psychologically I was not at my best when this happened, but this surgery was extremely noticeable. Autoimmune diseases are often hidden from the outside world, causing one set of problems, but try embracing the world with Frankenstein stitches all over your face. I never used to be an introvert.

At the time I had it done I was told that if I wasn't happy with the results I could qualify for future cosmetic adjustments. When I look in the mirror now I see two different noses stuck together. The skin is very thin over certain bones. Each nostril has its own personality. Before this happened I had already created an avatar for myself based on the Klee painting Der Paukenspieler (The Drummer Boy). I added a bird to the head and immediately bonded with it. A bird on the head became my persona and headed my blog, for which I had previously always used c:\echo.on from ancient days working with computers. I later learned that Klee is believed to have suffered from an autoimmune disease for most of his later life, but he persisted with his art. This note is from my bird on the head website at that time:

We all have our days and some have a harder existence than others, but Paul Klee is a real inspiration to us, a great example of why we should try to keep active with those things that drive us mentally and creatively. I have dabbled with arts and crafts through the years, but my main interest has been writing. With the 'brain fog' associated with my autoimmune illness, I am finding it more difficult to write these days, but in spite of difficulty with my hands, I continue to experiment in any medium that presents itself, be it photography, wood-burning, modelling clay or drawing. Damn the results, it is the process which heals.

By 2005 treatment and the resulting fatigue effected my ability to process words, requiring me to give up the parts of Fandango Virtual that depended on interfacing with other human beings. I reluctantly suspended online and hardcopy publication of all of my literary periodicals by 2006. I kept the fvbooks.com domain as a portal to sell my husband's novels and books of poetry and short stories hoping at some point in time I might be able to whip my own body of work into something worth adding to the collection. Weaning off some of the treatment drugs over five years eventually allowed me to read again, then slowly to start working on my novels.

I wrote my first novel in 1998 when I arrived in Scotland as I was not permitted to take a job while my leave to remain in the UK was being approved. Some of the Fandango contributers introduced me to American Zoetrope—Francis Ford Coppola's Virtual Studio. With registration you can give and receive feedback on short stories, novellas, screenplays and poetry. A particular focus on novellas allowed me to develop my skills and meet a wealth of talented Fandango contributors. Work in the novellas group was responsible for the birth of what would eventually become Gator Springs Gazette. By 2002 I managed to start my second novel, Foolscap Quarto, and develop the character for my third novel, Blind Carbon Copy through a series of short stories.

By 2004 I had joined NaNoWriMo (I normally use lower case). This program sets aside the month of November each year for a concentrated blast at writing a novel. This is basically a way to keep to a schedule writing a certain number of words a day for a month, at the end of which you will presumably have the first draft of a novel of 50,000 words.

Blind Carbon Copy was started in 2004 on nanowrimo and finished in another year there in 2005.

I was returning to California twice a year to visit my seriously declining elderly parents and to provide some respite for my somewhat less seriously declining brother who was caring for them. My mother died in 2014 and my father died a year later. The family history has been fraught with negativity for my entire life and these visits were extremely stressful.

When I returned in November 2016 to help my brother sort out their affairs, I stepped onto a plane with news proclaiming Hillary Clinton the new President Elect. When it landed, TVs in the SF Airport reported a win for the Great Pumpkin. The porter who picked me up in my wheelchair asked me what I thought of my new president. My dumbfounded answer was, "Not MY president!"

I got a good draft of Tidewater in 2016 and a much sketchier version of Milledgeville in 2018. There were a couple of other projects doomed for the trash heap as I could not keep my focus.

The next four years was much of a psychological and emotional hell both nationally and personally. In 2018 a hostile intruder under the influence of various chemicals broke into our home, knocked me to the ground from which I was able to reach the phone; I lay there until the police eventually arrived while he fought with my husband trying to get him out of what he thought was his own house. For the next year life was overshadowed with a state of dread so we started thinking about relocating. When Covid-19 appeared, we were frustrated by how long it might be before we could move. During this time I continued to search for new homes online. I was in awe of the amount of information that could be handled through this medium. Even if I was unable to go see these properties, the act of searching had a soothing effect. I enquired about one lovely wooded property after another only to find they were already under offer. Confident I would find something, we started packing things and sorted out a whole room full of things to donate.

Then I found the dollhouse. This was a virtual tour of a property located 20 miles away presented as an animation of real photos from every angle. The property was a split level mid-terraced townhouse built as part of a new town development in the early 1960s and a ten minute walk from its town centre. I immediately warmed to the property. My husband knew the neighbourhood well. Our existing 3 bedroom flat was on the edge of a small wooded area that was filled with wildlife, but our building was four floors high with 7ft ceilings. We had people living above and below us and you could hear through the walls and floors. It was a constant battle keeping trash cleared from the woods. The new building had roughly the same footprint but the five floors were all ours. There were three bedrooms (providing a separate office for each of us), a large kitchen and two bathrooms. Masonry walls are great for soundprooofing and the stairwell provided potential for a gallery for our art collection. No woods, but each house had its own pocket sized garden, even if it was on a steep hill. The demographic in each location was similar but the terraced houses were built better and the people seemed a bit more responsible. I spent hours daily with the virtual tour and made an offer. It was accepted and we made arrangements to move in November 2020, fully masked and with appropriate social distancing.

My brother expired in October 2020 of his own failings and my beautiful-in-all-ways offspring helped to tie up the huge mess he left of the family homestead remotely as I couldn't travel because of Covid-19 restrictions. Biden replaced the other guy and time will tell whether the huge mess left behind for him will ever be resolved. I haven't been back to the US since then.

The new house may not be the best property for an elderly couple, but the stairs provide plenty of exercise and the wee garden is a haven for birds. I am recovering my ability to write and feel confident I will be able to finish the work I have planned.

Since we were moving in November I skipped nanowrimo, but by 2021 I had done quite a bit of research for pulse — a dystopian novel; my first. I wrote over 53,000 words but it was nowhere near to being finished. In 2022 I continued to work on the novel but changed the title to locked. Nearly 58,000 words added, but it is still not finished. After reading a couple of excellent Chinese books I found a few plot holes in mine that have me rethinking the whole thing. I want to finish it, but I need to give it a different spin. This year I am putting my nano energy into finishing the Fandango Virtual archive. In many ways this project is a living breathing novel.