It might be a bit cold, she warns. The ultrasound tech moves her monitor over my flesh. What a sentiment. To be warned when something unpleasant is about to happen. She makes a face. Taps on her keyboard to capture an image. Moves the monitor. Hypochondriac, she said. What a fun word to say. Now they say words that are much less fun. Inflamed. From all the times I choked it all down. Held it in for the sake of everyone else. Total failure. I guess now it’s my turn to watch as everyone else breaks down. Stay constant in my state of resistance to their wants and their needs as they shatter in front of me. List. How very selfish for me to not even consider their feelings. To not even wonder how they would feel without me in their lives. As if the last six months hadn’t happened. Probability. As if choosing to walk away from her children, choosing some random stranger in the grand scheme of things over her own flesh and blood so please report if you experience any of theses symptoms.
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