I’m tired. I’ve said this already, too many times in fact. I’m sick of saying it, of feeling it as much as you are of reading it I’m sure. I keep waiting for this time where I’ll feel awake, ready, where I won’t feel bone tired like I’m dragging myself from place to place. Like I won’t fall over in a heap.
This past weekend my sister went to the ER for stomach pain, on Monday she came home after having laparoscopic appendectomy, and since you probably know the meaning of the second word you’ll know she had her appendix removed. I found out at five in the morning on Sunday when she called me to let me know the diagnosis and he upcoming surgery. I didn’t really process what was happening and she didn’t really either. I tried to focus on the positives with her on the phone: that while this was her first time being admitted into the hospital in seven years it wasn’t for her autoimmune disease and that an appendectomy isn’t the most uncommon surgery in the world. For once a health-related incident was semi-normal and common for our family. Continue reading
Sarah O'Connor 