"please let him be ugly, please let him be ugly..." is what i kept praying. i wasn't strong enough to be myself if a handsome doctor emerged from the quiet hallway and asked permission for an examination. i remember taking a look around and hoping to find something that could assist me with my seance. i kept my eyes on the glass sliding door that made a suction noise as it closed. i looked behind me; there was a machine that was montioring my blood-oxygen levels. from 87 to 92 to 98 to 100 to 95 to 83 to 88 to 91. i'm not nearly as used to nurses and doctors as i would like to think i am. doctor savage. doctor riddlehoover. doctor terrell. i've taken up a greener diet, it's not helping. i take a series of viatimins every night before i crawl in bed. i'm back to working out five days a week, give or take. i probably take too many anti-inflammatory medications and i should probably take more aspirin, and probably give up tylenol PM. when i pick up my meds at walgreens, i can't tell you how many times i've contemplated buying one of those pill boxes, where you can set aside your medications a week in advance, separating all the days of week. would i remind you of your grandmother?

the door swung open and my prayer was negative, like most days. he was just short of handsome, but he wasn't ugly. "he's going to wish that he never went to med school, even if i am half-naked," i thought. no ark in the world could have saved him from the flood of my problems. "and today, is it worse or better," he quizzed. i usually get a 0/1 on this one. "worse," i said. my new mission in life: to make every doctor, male or female, fall for the girl i am in the hospital bed. my new bourne identity. "would you mind if i take a look?" oh sure, take a good hard look. eat your heart out. joni mitchell started to play in my head.... as it usually does.

i'm a hospital goer. i have admitted it, but i still can't talk about it. if i do, it's accompanied with a pre- and post- cry, which is good - an emotional conversation between my body and soul. i'm almost honest to myself in that sense. i am still here. i'm still a ball of stress. i'm still pushing the buttons of my limits. i'm still pushing the buttons of my lovers. i'm still applying and searching for life after college. i dream big. at least it's better than not dreaming at all. and at least i'm still here, dreaming.