Humans love to believe that it’s going to get better. Her lungs had been the first thing to go. She couldn’t venture up a flight of stairs without a five-minute break to catch her breath. Still, she’d said she was fine. When her coughing fits overtook her sentences and her best friend begged her to go to the doctor, she insisted it was just a bad cold. Next was her stomach. There wasn’t a food she could keep down, so she stopped eating. Everyone said she needed to keep her st

Each brick of the hospital attacks each brick next to it. The fighting itself casts a shade that lengthens over the parking lot, the incurable, pampered vehicles. The sky, a vast blockage, stays cemented to each curtain-lidded room— (A flock of side effects keeps it there, prohibits the slightest blade of wind.) The doctor gazes down at his many empty patients, an accumulation of bricks and disordered questions: “Will I get my stomach back if it still doesn’t work?” “Why did

I have #multiplesclerosis . I am in an exacerbation. By the grace of the lord, and will power and the understanding producers at Netflix , I have a job. A wonderful job. I am disabled. I fall sometimes. I drop things. My memory is foggy. And my left side is asking for directions from a broken gps. But we are doing it . And I laugh and I don’t know exactly what I will do precisely but I will do my best. Selma Blair announced she has Multiple Sclerosis via Instagram. While I of

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