“I’m sorry,” she says, without looking up. “I’m OK, Mom. Don’t worry.” For the thousandth time I realize anew how hard my disease is on her. It’s the only world I’ve known, but before me she had my brother and my dad. She traveled and played soccer. She had a normal life that did not include being cloistered in a bubble for fourteen hours a day with her sick teenage daughter.
Tsk tsk tsk
