“I am a patient” I whisper in my head
and I should be treated like one.
Please take care of me
as I lie in this bed
with my insides burning
scared to death of this disease.
My bones ache
I tremble and sweat
and cry staring out the window at the parking garage
where my car is, waiting for me to escape this nightmare.
I wish I could say I’m here because I’m brave
but the truth is I’m trapped here by my body’s rebellion
“I am a patient” I whisper in my head
and I should be treated like one.
Please take care of me
as I lie in this bed
with my insides burning
scared to death of this disease.
My bones ache
I tremble and sweat
and cry staring out the window at the parking garage
where my car is, waiting for me to escape this nightmare.
I wish I could say I’m here because I’m brave
but the truth is I’m trapped here by my body’s rebellion
It is true, I had a cooking blog. I love to cook and enjoyed writing about it. I shared some of my European recipes with my blogging friends. The blog was called “Bringing worlds together in my kitchen.”
I studied hard to learn English when I came here, and I did it the old fashioned way. I listened to TV and radio and wrote down the words that I didn’t understand; I looked them up in the dictionary and scribbled the meaning and the translation in my notebook.