I am handed a clipboard and a pen and with one of those very professional smiles I am asked to take a seat and write down any new and prominent symptoms I experienced since my last visit.

And so I start to write

about 

the heavy stone that sits in my chest some mornings

the lonely silence of a sleepless night 

the fear of never seeing my child again, of not growing old and wise together with my man

those sluggish mornings when it seems too much of a task to even get up

that futile anger with myself for being so slow 

my frustrating limits of energy

the way I am moved to tears,  suddenly and without warning, by a song, an image, a smile  

the feeling of loss that overtakes me at times

and how I worry about becoming needy, whinging and even more preoccupied with illness

and that things will get worse

And then I take the sheet off the clipboard and carefully fold it into a tiny square and slip it in the back pocket of my jeans. I get up and with my best professional smile I hand over the clipboard and step into the doctor's office.