aftermath

Tuesday Fiction: “Out On a Limb”

~ Bon Steele ~ 1 Comment

After, people said that it “would get better.”  Or that I “would learn to adjust.” My personal favorite was the one along the lines of my gaining “extra senses to compensate.”  I got a great many platitudes those first few weeks. Email after text message after card all boiled down to the same thing: I would survive. I would be stronger for this. I would overcome.

I noticed that none of these uplifting messages came in person. I got a great many cards and flowers. There were balloon-a-grams, cookie plates and fruit baskets, sure –  by the dozens. But, no one came into my hospital room to hold my remaining hand, look me in the eye and say that they cared about me. That I wasn’t a freak whose bad luck could rub off on them.

Oh. Oh, ACK.

~ Bon Steele ~ 3 Comments

Being sick for a week with some sort of lung ooze is awful enough. But you wanna know the *worst* part of it? Recovery. Because recovering from lung ooze means that once your bout with the infection is over and the cilia starting doing their thing again, they are working like bad bastards to rid you all that mucous.

Walking down the stairs and coughing up a slimy chunk and having to wait til you get downstairs to get rid of it ’cause you don’t have a tissue handy is made of Tim Burton-level jibblies.