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Last days here

I have a lot of flaws, but one thing I am is fair.  I have always seen the world the same way: balanced in all things, if you wait long enough.  It seems to me that life is just a series of interconnected decisions, a closed system; that if you had a lot of bad, you would have a lot of good to balance it out, to zero the sum.  Part of the difficulty of being sick is that, in the back of my mind, I am waiting for it to balance and it never seems to.  In the quiet moments, it leaves me disappointed and confused.
Life gets a lot less confusing when you realize that even if it balances, it is not fair, and that sometimes things happen without a reason.  It is much less confusing when you accept that sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, life breaks you in a way that can’t be fixed.
I have been trying for a while to remember a particular day: the last day when I was healthy.  It’s hard because every time I think I have identified the window in which it would have taken place, I am reminded of some previous strange illness or reaction that looks decidedly like masto.  I remember my back injury when I was 13 and the bizarre subsequent neuro issues.  I remember breaking out in hives from eating salsa and thinking for years that I was allergic to tabasco, chili and cayenne.  I remember sudden, severe abdominal pain as a child and burning lungs.  The truth is that I lived my last day as a healthy person so many years ago that the memory is lost, and I never even knew it. 
My disease has changed this past year.  It used to be that I would have sick days and then they would pass and I would feel better, normal.  Now I have bad days and normal days, except now on my normal days I am nauseous and flushed and in pain.  Like so many things about my life, it is hard to isolate exactly when it became this way, constant and more pervasive.
I cherish these normal days, so wonderful compared to the bad ones.  In the dark of night, I fear they will end forever someday.  What will I do, when they are all gone? 
I worry that maybe this feeling of transience I experience now is a sign of this happening.  I am afraid that maybe I’m living the last days of this stage of my life, and when it is gone, I will miss it.