The last time I had the energy to write was January 22 of this year - and it's hard to explain why. I've made a home of hospital beds, doctor office tables, my couch, you name it. But even in my extremely increased amount of rest time, I've struggled to do much of anything. Chronic illness is funny that way. Funny isn't the right word, but you get the idea. I was released from the hospital on New Years Day, and on New Years Eve I distinctly remember my family leaving my room by 7:15 p.m. Visiting hours ended at 8 p.m. 16 days in hospital gowns, managing bleeding, needing help brushing my teeth, eating nothing but soup and choking down ICU black coffee... was not a fun way to spend the holidays. I'd been admitted to the hospital for a third time the day after I turned 25. I was in the hospital over Christmas. I was in the hospital on Dec. 31. The doctors had been arguing over what anticoagulant to get me on, and one morning I woke up with my hematology and oncology ...
Welcome to the stories that have made and continue to make me who I am.