Concerns about the inequality of being an independent woman. |
Gut Wrenching! I know what that means now. We are what we eat they say, which means I must have scoffed a heap of infested, flesh eating pirahnas, as they have been gnawing away at me all night. My library store of self diagnosis, self help books have made a sombre read, as I ticked off the hours, like a prisoner scratching days on a damp cell wall. Ah well, the pain pales away when I consider a dear friend who is about to have part of her bowel chopped away forever. I feel the guilt of a hypochondriac who knows they are attention seeking, but why does not that make the pain any less? I could take troubled nights in my stride, but my new young husband sleeps soundly while I pace the floor in agony. Muffled moans and wretching only increase the stress, and mortality sneaks up and terrifies me. It was not so bad when I did not have so much to loose. Watching someone battle with cancer , makes me realise what a coward I am. Could I smile so sweetly and be so selfless? I will want to scream form the roof tops about how unfair it is. 'It's not my turn!' I cannot go now, I have not tidied my desk, said goodbye to my friends, or made peace with my family! So, I shall make a deal. If I prove to be healthier then my symptoms dictate, I shall be a better person. I shall be kind to animals, polite to my friends, and get rid of my ironing pile. Well, it's a start. |