As I lay here in the dark, I recognise all the sounds I hear.
The intermittent crackle of the monitor.
The snuffle of breath in the air.
The teeny tiny cry of Molly wanting a cuddle.
These are all sounds I know. I hear them all the time, but in darkness I hear them loudly and clearly than ever before.
This should be reassuring, this should be what I know. But tonight they are taunting me, reminding me I’m still awake.
Awake? That’s a laugh. I don’t think I’ve been awake for months. I’m going round in a fog. I don’t feel myself and kind of look like someone I used to know.
That girl who had spirit, who had fight; she is dwindling under her own weight. The one year check is looming and all the little things leading up to it are pushing you into thinking something isn’t right.
The appointment being brought forward from a Thursday to a Tuesday.
The way the MRI technician didn’t quite meet your eye when you asked if it was all ok and you were waved off with ‘Your Doctor will discuss this with you’.
The endless rounds of bloods needed. By Powell and by GP.
The weight loss again coupled with tiredness.
Yep, I’m looking into it too much. The big black dog is getting to me, more often than not these days.
The Noise is a constant hum in my left ear.
I know I’ve come so far but I’ve lost lots along the way and feel like I’m losing more each day.
I’m treading water and I’m getting tired but I’m still managing to hold my breath for a few seconds.
Tuesday 11th can’t come quick enough. It’ll then be 10 days until I turn 30. Something I wasn’t meant to do.
I should be shouting from the rooftops and letting people get sick of me going on about it.
But instead I’m in darkness. Willing the hours away. Willing the ache in my chest to pass. Willing the tears to stop falling.
Willing to be anywhere but in darkness.