Karen Havelin

Even as I get through the week and the pain slowly eases, I can’t stop thinking of how things could go wrong. The fragile structures of our hopes and how unnecessarily thoroughly they’re struck down. Our dreams could be wrecked a lot more easily anyway, with just a change in the air and light. The smallness of what we need - one more day of safety, another day of touching and talking to the people in our lives as if we have all the time in the world.

I just need one problem to be solved, or at least have its skin broken before I can deal with the rest. Instead, more and more weigh down on me. I just need one good day to sit down, put them on the table, and look at them separately, with a clear eye and solve each problem like a puzzle, maybe even find something that could help several at once. Something that won’t make the digestive problems worse, that won’t make me throw up, or feel dizzier or give me headaches, because all those symptoms are past capacity.

There must be something I can do, some sort of penitence, or level of enlightenment I can ascend to. I can give up ever eating anything tasty again, no problem, eating has already become a chore for nine months. I can exercise and take every kind of vitamin, mineral, or supplement under the sun. I can do without working, without going out, drinking, even without friends. [...]

If only I didn’t have to take quite so many painkillers, I could think a little straighter and find a way to live with it. If only I could sleep. If only I could have one doctor-free day. If only I didn’t have to spend all my energy on dressing, showering, keeping food down, getting the minimum done. If I didn’t have to get these injections that sit like an enormous wasp’s sting under the skin, if I could at least take medications that didn’t worsen each other’s side effects, as if someone had worked it out like that on purpose. If only I could think clearly for five minutes.