Love in the Time of Measles
“In the emergency room, my instincts exploded from protective to full-blown primal. And it felt like love.”
Yes, she’s allergic to Compazine; no, I don’t know her guarantor’s social security number.
the worst in you brings out the best in me
The little emergencies I responded to each day—diaper rash, fevers, skinned knees—didn’t feel big enough to contain the love I was desperate to give. I wanted something bigger and more dangerous, a wild and unkempt landscape in which I could rescue and uphold. Because mothering, to me, meant being someone’s hero. But so had being a daughter.
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More in this series
On the heels of my diagnosis, I feel there is no way to construct a narrative around what’s happening to me—a deep betrayal for a writer.
In the emergency room waiting for a potential diagnosis, I soothe myself with loops of pudgy toddlers tripping into the antics of babyhood over and over again.