Hi all! It’s Jay. I do a link roundup (almost) every Friday. If you encounter a chronic illness-related link you think I might want to share, please tweet it at me or Chronically Lit. A ride attendant who had been working the Spider-Man ride rushed up and told Koppelman it was all right for Ralph to stay where he was. “She got down on the floor WITH HIM,” Koppelman wrote. “She rested next to him while he cried his heart out, and she helped him breathe again. She spoke to him

Hi all! It’s Jay. I do a link roundup (almost) every Friday. If you encounter a link you think I might want to share, please tweet it at me or Chronically Lit. The days I don’t want to kill myself are extraordinary. It’s not often you see a poem with an opening like that! Read “Hammond B3 Organ Cistern” by Gabrielle Calvocoressi in the New Yorker. * It’s possible that my classmates understood what I was feeling even more than I thought at the time: Nursing students have a hig

by Noah Kirby Water would be nice, you think. But the nurse wasn’t asking you, she was asking your father. He lies there dying of cancer, but all you can think of is how thirsty you are; how nice it would be to drink anything, especially water. Your dad croaks no, and the nurse leaves. He doesn’t have much strength, and so your family doesn’t speak much. You’re all worried that the simple act of hearing may be too hard for him. Him, your father, the farmer. Him, weak? Your fa