I am finally starting to get into some sort of daily routine: stem cell injection, physio, lunch, physio, stem cell injection, dinner, bed. After speaking with Dr. Sudeep and Jyothi (Hospital Manager Extraordinaire) about what to expect with physical therapy and how long it should last, I find that they are surprised I am only going for 15 minutes. This is, indeed, a mistake and is corrected the next day by my first full sessions: 10 a.m.-11 a.m. and 2 p.m.- 2:30 p.m. Monday to Friday, and Saturday mornings only. I feel a bit of dread in my belly as I hobble down the stairs to the basement/physio room.

My trainer, Rahul, is waiting for me with a friendly smile on his face and I begin with some yoga stretches. I'm trying my best not to look as self-conscious as I feel. People around me are each working with their own physical trainer and receiving their own individualized physical therapy plan; one girl has a severed spinal cord from a broken neck and works on strengthening her shoulders; another man works on lifting his legs and walking in a straight line after ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) has damaged his nerve function; another woman is walking with calipers (leg braces) trying to regain function in her legs. I, like many Lyme patients, am "healthy" looking — my pain is invisible. Are they wondering why I'm here?

I work through some leg lifts and knee extensions as Rahul attempts some friendly conversation: "Do you like fast food?" Uhg, really? Like I didn't already feel fat enough! I kindly answer that no, in fact, I don't actually; I eat healthy food — just a lot of it. Ha! Then I try to tell him that I used to be "athletic," or at least active: I played softball in high school, karate in college, kickboxing, running, hiking, backpacking, etc. Sadly, he seems kind of surprised. (Sigh.) I try to keep my chin up and tell myself I can feel sorry for myself later when I'm back in my bubble upstairs.

We continue through the leg-lifts, side-lifts, modified sit-ups, yoga "cat/camel" stretches, back-lifts, and other various pilates-type moves before moving on to small weights. I slowly work my triceps and shoulders and then finish with modified hip thrusts/squats, which I do while leaning my upper back and neck on a large rubber ball like the ones you see in gyms and sporting goods stores.

I hobble my way back to my room, taking the elevator even though I feel foolish because I am capable of waddling up some stairs (Rahul told me no stairs until the tendon on top of my right knee cap is better). When I walk in, Jessie asks me supportively how it went and I begin to sob. In the safety of my room, it's time to "cry it out" and discuss what the real problem with physio is: pain and ego.

Every person with Lyme is different. Many factors contribute to the disease and it really should be called "Tick-borne Illness" or something because when a tick bites a person, they usually contract more than the Lyme bacteria (Borealis burgdorferi). Most people also contract co-infections such as Bartonella a.k.a "Cat-Scratch Fever" (another bacteria) and Babesia (a protozoa), which cause other various symptoms. So a person's symptoms and degree of disability can largely depending on how long a person has been infected, the type of co-infections they have, and the strain of Lyme and/or geographic location they were bit. I have had Lyme disease and the aforementioned co-infections for about six years. The list is long, but my symptoms largely manifest themselves as lower back pain, joint pain, muscle pain, fatigue and twitching.

Over the years, I have fought pain, ignored pain, embraced pain, and eventually gave in to pain. A person like me who is in constant pain finds ways to minimize discomfort so they can continue surviving. You learn to prioritize: If I do this, then I will not be able to do that, because I cannot do both. These are often simple things that most people in their twenties would not worry about; dishes, laundry, shopping, etc.

So, why am I emotional about having to do physio? Because it hurts. Because I used to do all of these things. Because I look like I should be able to do all of these things. Because I feel like it's my fault that I don't anymore. Because I gave up exercising after my last back-packing trip last summer. Because I feel like my weakness is a reflection of me.

As Jessie and I discuss this topic, she reminds me that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks and that I am here to get well. If I'm out-of-shape, so what? Isn't that the point of being here? Aren't I trying now? Yes, it will hurt. But it's okay because it is going to help me get better: It will actually help my pain! And I don't have to balance all of the things I normally do on a daily basis on top of the exercise. All I have to do here is work on getting better. My priorities here are to get my stem cell shots, exercise, eat, and rest.

By the time we finish talking this out, it's time for me to go back downstairs for round two. This time, I fake a smile and declare sarcastically, "Bring it on!" Like my Mom always says, fake it 'til you make it!