I must be crazy. I must be insane. The doctor said so. The doctor said so
As told to Rochel Samet
For the first hour, I’m glad to be back at school. Then I escape to the bathroom, lean my aching head against the mirror, and try to work out why, exactly, I was eager to leave the house this morning.
Pesach vacation was a long blur of dizzying symptoms. Of course, Ma insisted that we go to the rheumatologist appointment. More questions, more blood tests, more mysteries. The results were all okay, except for something to do with thyroid. Thyroid? We’d been through that before.
So the road was closed. No more doctors, no more tests, no answers. Just joint pain and stomach cramps and nausea and exhaustion and fears, and nights waking up in cold sweat.
Pesach cleaning was impossible, and Pesach itself not much better. Last week was Chaim’s wedding, it’s a blur in my mind already. And now I’m back at school, and hiding out in the bathroom, feeling nauseous.
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