Issue 7: Health

Slow Summer Months dust drifting in the light. They danced by the lush green leaves of my indoor plants: they were my pride and joy. I gazed fondly at my tall, Asian tree, and the shorter, equally vibrant, Australian bean plant. They appeared to glow with life.

I breathed slowly. My lungs ached; my body ached. I closed my eyes as pain swept through me.

Every breath was exhausting. I wished I didn’t need to. My lungs felt so weak – as though a truck had driven over them repeatedly through the night. Now they were crushed, and each inhale left me feeling weaker than the one before. I wanted to stop.

How much I wanted the pain to go in that moment: how much I wanted the exhaustion to be again?

The house was silent for now. My sister was away. No-one outside – no cars parking, no neighbours chatting. But there was the sound of birdsong and the humming of summer insects. I sighed again. There was beautiful peace that almost made the pain alright.

My stomach growled. I was very hungry – but I had been unable to move from the sofa for a few hours. I should have eaten at least a couple of hours ago. I opened my eyes and glanced across the coffee table. My work laptop stood open but asleep, my notes scattered beside it. I looked at me.

I reached one hand out from under my warm red blanket and picked the sweet purple kitten up and feeling a warmth spread through my chest.

Only yesterday I had spoken with my mother. I’d not been well then either. It had taken a huge effort of will to sit myself at the table and make the video call. Talking was painful and exhausting.

‘It’s all in your head, sweetheart,’ she told me. ‘Just think differently about it and it will go away.

Believe you are well, and you will be. You’re creating this yourself.’

I felt a pang in my heart and a lump in my throat. I drew my gaze away from the purple kitten and up to the white ceiling. Think differently. I wanted to go outside. I missed running. I missed jumping and climbing.

– insistent. I needed food. I had to move.

Slowly, I placed my little kitten onto the coffee table, to watch over my notes. Then, with every muscle in my body screaming resistance, I eased myself up onto my elbows, then further up until I moving. I collapsed back to catch my breath. How I wished there was someone to help me.

Sweet memories trickled into my mind of days strewn with rose petals – and a wonderful man. A man who had, for a brief time, looked out for me. His gentle hands had soothed me and his soft of his perfect features with the greatest clarity – so great it could be that, for the briefest of moments, he really was with me again. My heart ached for him. I remembered the joy of preparing food for him; the way he held me in his arms; kissing him goodbye each day he left for work.

The sadness I felt tangled with the pain in my lungs and body. Food. I needed to get to the kitchen. I was wheezing. I could hear my lungs gurgling. Why must I go on breathing?

Struggling against waves of pain and exhaustion, I pushed myself up onto my feet. My heart hammered in my chest. Not far to the kitchen. I felt excited at the prospect of food. Avocado. That was my favourite. It had been my favourite for so many years now. Avocado toast was the highlight of my day. Perhaps it would give me the energy I needed to sit outside and enjoy the sun for a short while. I could lie out on my special woollen rug and doze in the sunlight to the sound of the busy bees. kling on the draining board; the surfaces were clear. The faint scent of sweet rhubarb cleaning 38