July 9th was the 24th anniversary of my Mom’s death.
I decided to honor her life that day by taking care of my own.
I’ve had a fire in my chest for months, my breathing is ragged and the aggressive coughing has lowered my voice an octave.
Honestly, it’s kinda sexy.
Anyway, I’ve avoided the hospital because I didn’t want to go alone.
Why don’t I have people? I hate this.
What I did have was the burgundy head band the kind-hearted butcher had given me from the t-shirt and tennis skirt set she made. In an attempt to not feel alone, I wrapped it around my wrist as a reminder that there’s a person in Atlanta who cares about me.
The chest x-ray and EKG were painless. And then, they sent me for labs.
Physical pain hardly bothers me.
Trauma has given me the ability to increase my tolerance as needed.
People wreck me with words but rarely take me down physically.
Life has made me feral. Come at me.
Yikes on bikes, lemme head back to the present.
Bloodwork, yes…
T…
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