Day 5: Umm, awful. Most days, most ways, I hate my life.
Day 6: Savor every last little thing because you don't know it now, but it's ALL slipping away.
Day 7: Most people are unreliable, and in the end you are the only person you can truly count on. Some will be fleetingly there, some will be great while they're there but be infrequent. But at the end of the day it's just you with your symptoms and your feelings. No one understands.
Day 8: I can't. I don't have an image of that. I was to believe I will get better and resume a life that involves coaching and working and exercising, but no doctor has really sold me on that dream. And I can't imagine living another 5 years like this. So to reference Twilight, I can't see her future anymore.
Day 9: Acupuncture and chiropractic work. No and no. Though I haven't tried either for the latest issues. Doesn't seem worth the out of pocket money with all I have to dole out for copays...and the track record of ineffectiveness.
Day 10: There aren't many... But my Dad gives me unwavering love and support. Kevin does every day-to-day little thing there is (i.e. carrying my laundry downstairs, making most of our meals, driving me damn near everywhere, helping me move around...) Oh, and Peapod grocery delivery from Giant.
Day 10: There aren't many... But my Dad gives me unwavering love and support. Kevin does every day-to-day little thing there is (i.e. carrying my laundry downstairs, making most of our meals, driving me damn near everywhere, helping me move around...) Oh, and Peapod grocery delivery from Giant.
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