We are three days in now and I am no less creeped out by the plethora of meds shooting into my body. What are they doing in there? Are they killing any bad things? Will I get the good stuff back?
Felic sent me a song once, “I know that (God) is for me. I know that You are for me. I know that you will never forsake me in my weakness.”
Well, here I am totally in weakness, totally freaked out by this process. And I’m very cold. I find myself unable to understand why people in lab coats keep showing me bags of medicine, why during the PICC line procedure they mererly asked me to lie down then started sterilizng me like they were prepping for an operation. Why can’t they hear me screaming inside? Where are the bed sheets to tie me down? How is Flight Risk not WRITTEN ACROSS MY FOREHEAD. (Alright Mom and Michael, who forgot the Sharpie?)
And you think I’m kidding but no. How am I still voluntarily enduring this – wheat thins every 2 hours and all – why haven’t I started the kicking and the screaming?
I think it’s because of Emma, Mr. Knightly, and you. Mr. Knightly kept believing in Emma, hoping one day she would do his faith in her better justice than she did it now. I want to do justice to your faith in me.
I bought the hats. I even sang about them this morning. I don’t care if I go bald/At least I have new hats. It was eloquent.
So you keep believing and I’ll save the kicking and screaming until after it’s over and the kicking is the dance of joy. Deal?