Member-only story
What Blood Calls Us to Do
A reflection on individualism and community
Suddenly, I felt like I had forgotten how to write. Maybe I really have. Like any other craft that isn’t practiced, it fades away, slipping from memory. I’ve felt myself forgetting how to do this — placing one word after another, using these symbols sometimes to find an escape from reality, sometimes, more ironically, to make sense of it — a goal that feels almost utopian.
But being a person hasn’t been easy.
This winter has been brutal. I keep falling sick, and since January, every month has earned itself a week of sick leave, my body clogged to the bone with some virus or another.
Whether unknown or the flu A that struck me midweek and left me unable to work, battling a horrible fever. To make up for the days that aren’t vacations but are unproductive nonetheless, I try to work twice as hard on the days I’m healthy — only to find, ironically, that this stress is part of what weakens my immune system and sends me spiraling back into illness.
All these ailments — stress being the mother of them all — have affected my physical health and left my mental health in turmoil, following the tides of these viruses.
On top of all this, the repeated failed attempts at pregnancy and the recent hormonal treatment…
