"It could be it’s a cycle— she can’t work, so she gets anxious, so the pain gets worse?” My mother’s thinking aloud. I hate it when she psychoanalyzes me
A
fter another week of headaches, stomachaches, and vague, constant exhaustion, Ma insists on making a doctor’s appointment.
“Libby,” she tells me on the way, “It’s really important that you tell the doctor everything.”
I sigh. “I told him last time that I’m always tired.”
“But that’s not all, right?”
My weird aches and pains are so jumbled in my mind, I don’t know what to say. Right now, there’s just vague buzzing somewhere in my head. Maybe I’ve been imagining it all?
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