My poor arm. I want to cry when the nurse appears to do more bloodwork
As told to Rochel Samet
Sunday dawns clear and crisp.
“Oh, what a beautiful moooorning…” Henny sings, passing my door. She’s going wedding shopping.
I want to look for a gown too. I want to call Shana; I got a dozen missed calls last night. I want to catch up on my homework and help Ma and play games with Sara.
I flop back down. My head spins.
I may as well dream of flying to Israel for the day.
I sleep. I wake up. My eyes burn, my head aches. I sleep. My throat is sandpaper. I wake up. I need a drink. I crave food so badly, normal food, bread and cake and pasta with cheese. Then I feel nauseous and lose my appetite completely.
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