I tell the story because I’ve found if I admit there once was a problem, but claim to now be okay, people are quick to believe me. The truth is, I’m a liar.
I still become nervous every time I begin to feel the familiar tickle of a sore throat form behind my tongue, but I no longer live paralyzed by the fear of something unavoidable.
That’s the thing about developing alzheimer’s: one only has room for few, specific memories. They’ll try to hold onto these memories as much as possible, but in doing so, they end up forgetting that anything else ever existed.
3. Nobody wants to get the IV right on the first try more than us.
I feel sick and possessive and jealous. I want to throw myself off something high. I want to break things loudly. I want to go to his place and smash his windows. I feel out of control but I know I can’t do any of that because I’m worse. I have no claim on him whatsoever.
I began to make meticulous lists. Lists of people I needed to tell I loved them more often. Things I needed to do before I died.
I bet I know what would make you feel better. Judging your other sick friends and finding out just who to blame for your ill predicament.
At some point, I learned something important: that being ill could dissolve the uncompromising infrastructure of your young life like so many bad dreams. Instantaneously, sympathy! Others to do for you what normally you were left alone to manage! And most importantly, liberty from obligation.