When a loved one is sick, it's one of the worst things in the world. Especially when there's absolutely nothing you can do except send encouragement. Even that isn't enough, because you have no other way of contacting them. The illness is a mystery. Then the crisis comes: surgery. You're panicking, thinking constantly, "Will they die? What do I do?!" There's nothing you can do except wait. And wait. And wait. At long last, the surgery is over. You're still worried; the first 48 hours are crucial. They make it through, and things start looking up. You even visit them! But then infection, fever, and a second surgery. They're so weak by this point you're sure they won't make it. But they do. They go home ten days later. Everything is good, or so it seems. Months later, you still have memories that induce panic attacks. They're still getting used to the changes in their body. Panic, happiness. Panic, happiness. Panic, happiness.
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Thoughts
PoetryBasically a beautiful mess of poetic and... erm, decidedly less so writing. Beware of the occasional full-on speech.
