I’ve been having a bad time.
Recently I was informed by my doctor that I will never conceive a child of my own again. This gentleman is a specialist in his field and he’s very good and also very very sorry.
Perhaps I will address this again. In fact I’m sure I will. I will tell the story. I will post a few fun facts about my diagnosis and perhaps a soliloquy on the unique, destructive power of pain. Pain is transformational and the change is not always for the better.
It’s strange.
sometimes this situation is a life-threatening vortex, gorging itself on my past, present and future in one furious blast.
And then other times it’s so unreal.
It must be a dream. It must be happening to someone else. Am I still in denial? Am I just numb? My feelings dance on the surface, to the extent that they exist at all.
Another reason it can’t be true. It just doesn’t fit with the rest of the story. My life is too uneventful, characteristically dull and disaster-free. I never win the lottery and I don’t get rare illnesses. Until I was diagnosed with an illness that affects .1 % of women. That’s Point One Percent, not 1%.
Well, I still don’t win the lottery.
But maybe I should start playing.
Least is the bee 