I sit on an outdoor couch in the late afternoon sun with a cat by my side and attempt to read. Yesterday I started a novel about a disaffected Spanish millennial pretending to excel at a job she hates while spending all of her time scrolling on her phone and taking sedatives. It’s juicy but stressful. Today I need something lighter. I pick up a book about an old Portuguese man who does good deeds. I’ve been avoiding it for months as I was afraid it would be saccharine. But today I don’t care. It’s a beautiful spring Friday with temperatures in the low 70s. I have nothing on my to-do list, but I’m finding it hard to relax. This couch is not my couch, and the gorgeous Siamese mix purring next to me is not my cat. I am housesitting for acquaintances who are out of town for a few months. My husband is on the other side of the Golden Gate with our own animals and our twins, who are home from college. My friends are jealous. “A quiet house all to yourself? It’s like a vacation!” And they’re right. The place is lovely and peaceful, my furry companion sweet, and my commute to my job now under 10 minutes. But I did not come here on a lark. I needed a clean place to stay after spending seven months in a moldy house in the city, a time during which my chronic illness symptoms flared. Thankfully I was still functional, but I felt crappy enough often enough that it became clear I needed to get out. So when a family we know reached out looking for someone to housesit in their fully remediated and renovated home I jumped at the chance.

Not long after I was diagnosed with Lyme, my doctor discovered that I also had mycotoxin illness, caused by the byproducts of mold. Mold sickness can be even harder to treat and more insidious than Lyme. One can recover, but not while living in a moldy environment. The past few years have been a blend/mix of treatment protocols and mold remediation strategies, with dubious/mixed success. I’ve gotten healthy enough to work a job as a “casual” bookseller at a local independent bookstore (my friend who spent three years in Perth recently informed me “casual” is what Aussies call a part-time job), something I’d wanted to do for years. I have colleagues I like, an amazing community of customers, and I get to talk about books all day. My nervous and immune systems aren’t taxed by constant stress or a classroom full of germy children. My job makes me feel useful without compromising my immune system, which in turn, has allowed me to sing with two choruses, practice yoga and take hikes with my dog.

Last fall, with three kids away at college, Harlan and I decided to rent out our house in Marin and move across the bridge for a city adventure. But things didn’t go quite as planned. And so, thirteen years after first falling ill, I continue to adjust my life around my health. Which is how I find myself sitting on this deck that is not my deck, with this cat who is not my cat, escaping into a book.