Blood work. Glucose tolerance tests.
Appointment following appointment.
Cat Scans and MRI's. Radioactive liquids to ingest and fainting spells.
An awful rendition of some woeful soap opera is playing day by day updates on what is ailing my seemingly healthy shell.
Maybe it's hypoglycemia? Maybe it's not. Maybe the oxygen that my brain is writhing for isn't being delivered because options A,B, & C are the direct result of head trauma age 14. Or was it 18? Forgive me; I can't recall information lately.
I'm not even surprised that somewhere within my cells the ATCG format to my beautiful helix strands aren't aligned. I suspected.
Instead I go through phases of crashing emotions. Each wave more dizzying than the last. Maybe that's my blood pressure plummetting again?
In any case, the most consistent emotional response I experience is not questioning what, but considering the maybe. Maybe I deserve this? Yes. This may be what I deserve.
