Wednesday, October 6, 2010


I wonder if anybody knows that I cry myself to sleep every night. I wonder if they know I want my fan on to move the atmosphere, not the air. I wonder if they can understand what its like to wait every morning for long strands of hair to fall loose and crawl toward the plughole in the shower. Or that I still allow at least half and hour for my showers and nearly always accidentally ask for someone's help in dressing my PICC line. I wonder if they could ever comprehend the reasoning behind me volunteering that I have cancer but hating it when people ask.
I know no one will ever understand that I miss it. I hate being well again. If I am well than I can fall sick again.

1 comment:

  1. This is not the most appropriate place for the only Australian literature reference I can make, that I'm aware of, but it reminded me of it none the less: says protagonist Herbert Badgery (paraphrased), "I didnt know it was possible to feel this bad and not be dead."

    For the record, offhand I can't understand the issue of volunteering the info vs hating it when people ask.

    Either way, profound that you miss it, that you despise wellness. Sounds like a an unwillingness to let your guard down.