Sometimes I like to narrate my life to myself. Just to make sure I know it is real.
(Do you do this? Please tell me I'm not the only one...)
For instance tonight after work:
Jessica is entering an operating room in Chi.na at her place of work, a children's hospital...
Jessica is in the ICU speaking Chin.ese to nurses while machines pump life into children...
Jessica is getting blood drawn threw her hand because the nurses think she is too fat to get it taken out of her arm. Jessica doesn't care that they call her fat every time. Nurses in America can take her blood just fine. What's their problem here?
Jessica doesn't like blood/hospitals/people in white coats/beeping sounds on hospital machines. But Jessica is getting braver/less wussy with each passing month. Come on Jessica, suck the heck up.
Jessica has latent tuberculosis. In Chi.na. And is in an operating room surrounded by half-dead children getting her blood drawn to make sure her medicine isn't killing her.
Jessica is indebted to many Chine.se people who help her.
Jessica is thankful to be alive.
walk slow. xoxo.