I don’t look like a patient, I don’t act like a patient, I usually don’t feel like a patient. Yet here I sit, with the unmistakable white plastic bracelet that identifies me as “one of them” ~ the people I take care of, not the people I sit in the midst of. There is an odd mixture of denial, bravery and resignation running rampant in the air. Some of us choose to ignore this ritual, spending the majority of our time carrying on as if life is perfectly normal. And it is, most days. Normal in the sense that I still have duties, responsibilities, choices to deal with every day. Whether I am functioning at 100% or 10%, I still have the desire to take care of everyone else. Yet here I sit, temporarily sidelined for the afternoon, waiting. Always waiting.

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