A handful of hope
A handful of hope
It seems illness is not shared democratically, finally
every individual experiences, how something was given and how taken away.
I sit in the enormous hallway of the Faculty. My back
is supported by a large glass construction. I don’t feel the cold, I only
observe the shiver of the palms, where study literature rests. Two thousand
pages and some more. I would rather read “For whom the bell tolls”.
Arbor vitae (the tree of life – the cerebellum) is
loosing control over coordination in my body. The muscles contract in their own
way, their time-table is unpredictable. Pain in the abdomen is sharp, the
colour of my face is somewhere between the fifty shades of green.
I feel a touch on my shoulder – a professor addresses
me, worryingly: “Facies gastrica”, right? (the face of a patient with a ulcer).
I nod without any expression. He squeezes my shoulder even more strongly and
leaves without a word, probably thinking I am worried about the exam. But it is
not the book with thousands of leaves, not the fear of the test of my
knowledge, inside my, a dream is shattering.
 |
| Thought |
Guidelines for the patient: live a peaceful life,
avoid stressful situations, sleep plenty, don’t drink alcohol, limit sports
activities, make note of photosensitivity (sensitivity to light and quickly
changing light rays), rest, etc…
Hope moves into the hand …
