Maybe it could also be the other way about. What came first, chicken or the egg? Maybe the immune abnormalities we had BEFORE the virus. Maybe they made us more susceptable to catching it?
Well, what Dr. M said in the RGJ article was [bolding mine]
"We have immune system profiles and we can tell by the immune system how the XMRV is doing the damage, she said. So we could have a diagnostic test to follow clinical treatment and show that peoples immune systems go back to normal. Thats the latest data thats really amazing."
If they can actually tell how it's doing the damage, that indicates that XMRV came first. Or if it turns out that treating XMRV restores the immune system, that will answer the question.
Up until now, most of my hopes about XMRV have not really included the hope that I could recover. I have hoped that they're right about XMRV causing ME/CFS, so that there will be a diagnostic marker. I've hoped it would lead to respect and compassion for ME/CFS patients. I have hoped it would lead to treatment guidelines that recognize the immune system issues. I have hoped that it would lead to social support systems for patients. I have hoped I'll never have to hear that CFS is a "disease of unknown etiology" or any of the psychosocial gobbledygook that goes with that, again. I have hoped that with proven immune system damage, they would at least start testing for and treating the various opportunistic infections that we get. I've hoped it would finally lead to decent epidemiological studies.
But I haven't let myself hope that treatments for XMRV would let me get my life back. I kinda figured that whatever damage XMRV does (assuming it turns out to be the cause), has already been done to me. I'm way past that 5-year mark. The most I've hoped for is that maybe antiretrovirals would keep me from getting worse, so that I wouldn't have to always fear ending up bed-bound and unable to care for myself.
I'm almost afraid to hope for more. It's been so hard for me to achieve a level of acceptance, so painful to give up the dreams of what my life would be, so that I could stop grieving and say "Okay, this is my life, let me make the most of it. Let me enjoy what it is." I don't want to lose that. But I think I'm ready to entertain the possibility, the small hope, that I could be among those fortunate enough to recover.
It's painful to think about the things I might do one day, because it's a reminder of how much I've lost and what I can't do today. I prefer not to dwell on that. But maybe I can risk the tears, to imagine that one day I might be able to walk in the woods again, to plant a garden, to feel that good tired that comes from working your muscles, to dance, to meet my grandson...
It seems like such a small flicker of hope to hold up to such an immense desire.