Independent Lady

'It's not my turn!'

Gut Wrenching! I know what that means now.
We are what we eat they say, which means I must have scoffed a heap of infested, flesh eating pirahnas, as they have been gnawing away at me all night.
My library store of self diagnosis, self help books have made a sombre read, as I ticked off the hours, like a prisoner scratching days on a damp cell wall.
Ah well, the pain pales away when I consider a dear friend who is about to have part of her bowel chopped away forever.
I feel the guilt of a hypochondriac who knows they are attention seeking, but why does not that make the pain any less?
I could take troubled nights in my stride, but my new young husband sleeps soundly while I pace the floor in agony.
Muffled moans and wretching only increase the stress, and mortality sneaks up and terrifies me.
It was not so bad when I did not have so much to loose.
Watching someone battle with cancer , makes me realise what a coward I am.
Could I smile so sweetly and be so selfless?
I will want to scream form the roof tops about how unfair it is.
'It's not my turn!'
I cannot go now, I have not tidied my desk, said goodbye to my friends, or made peace with my family!
So, I shall make a deal. If I prove to be healthier then my symptoms dictate, I shall be a better person.
I shall be kind to animals, polite to my friends, and get rid of my ironing pile.
Well, it's a start.