Friday, September 27, 2013


There is a disease, supposedly rare, which seems to have determined to hit my family with everything it's got (and, no, it is not genetic; indeed, by "family" I do not mean people who are all related to each other).  This disease is the reason I stopped watching House years ago; it seemed always to be the first BS idea they threw at the wall to see whether it'd stick, and after a while I found myself shouting "STOP IT" at the television more than was comfortable.

One of my loved ones is facing a re-run of cruel loss, and another, who has become one of the funniest people I know through a course of illnesses now running a couple of years now, is facing mortality itself.  It's a bitter thing, and there is nothing to offer these two people who mean so much to me.  My heart contracts for those who make it expand, and I am angry at the diagnosis, angry that prayer feels powerless, angry that life just is not fair.

We all must die of something.  Why is it so many I know seem to have to die of this supposedly-rare, murdering disease?

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