How do you write about a wound you cannot describe?
Writing is usually cathartic for me, but I find I can’t write about this. But at the same time, what else can I write about? My new cell phone? The book I read? It would seem like a complete lie to pretend those were important right now.
I can say this: it hurts. Like when I was little and fell off the tire swing and the air was knocked from my chest. I tried to take a breath but couldn’t fill my lungs. It’s like that, but instead of struggling for a moment, you struggle for days to find air.
But I can also say this: I love my family and few close friends. When you’re lying there and can’t get up, you find their hands slowly lifting you, nudging you to walk. And you do. I’ve always known they would be there when I needed them, and they were. And are. And I’m grateful.