Nothing's ever been medically wrong with me before. I sprained my shoulder skiing when I was nine, and I broke two or three toes once when I was fourteen or fifteen. Aside from that, only the first of which required actual medical attention, I spent my childhood and adolescence blissfully healthy.
Now something is apparently wrong. And it's fixable, which is wonderful. Well... by fixable, I mean maintainable. And I think that's what frightens me.
But... things will be better. Right? A cloud will be lifted. I won't... I won't be so sad all the time. And I'll feel better when I wake up in the morning, like I actually slept. These are much-needed improvements.
But nothing's ever been wrong before. And that's terrifying. I don't handle unexpected new experiences very well, I think. Anticipated new experiences are all, as my British Literature teacher would say, "fine, good, charming", but the unexpected ones aren't quite so kind to me.
Fodder for my story? Mine are physical, hers are mental, but yes... very similar indeed.
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