I spent most of the night in the ER, feeling so lonely and desperate. The room I was in was cold and dark and empty after the first three hours, other than the tech who came in to reset the breathing treatment the second and third time. I managed to talk myself out of an admission on the promise of nebulizing faithfully every six hours for at least a week and returning immediately if I started coughing again, but not the solumedrol (steroid) IV.

When I came home, I sat outside on the bench, trying to let go of the turmoil I feel. Even in the dark, I could see that I have probably killed the new azaleas because I haven't watered the yard in the past few weeks. My house is filthy. Other than trying to keep the rug clean for those who've come over, I have had the strength to do little about it. Laundry is piling up. I keep missing Kashi's medicine. I forgot to feed the birds yesterday. All because most of my energy is going toward ignoring the pain in my back and the constant nausea and pretending I feel better than I do when in pubic--the polite thing to do.

I may be forgiven, but I am also very, very tired of being ill, of fighting all the time.