INESSA KALABEKOVA

Iron deficiency

Me: Morning. It’s 5:30 AM. We need to get up and prepare breakfast for the girls.

Myself: Ugh, it feels like a concrete wall is pressing down on us. How are we even supposed to move today?

Me: We have to. Remember Mom’s words when she was feeling awful? “Well, when will I feel better?” We’re living that right now. It’s been a week of this misery.

Myself: But we can’t give up. They need us. Let’s just keep breakfast simple today. They’ll understand.

Me: Yes, simple. Just for today.

Myself: Now everyone’s gone. It’s just me, these suffocating walls, and the soft, inviting sofa. This homemade wall of exhaustion follows me everywhere.

Me: But we have to go for a run. We’re strong. We’re already in our running uniform. We can do this.

Myself: Alright, let’s go. One step at a time. We’ve been running for five minutes. This shortness of breath is unbearable.

Me: We need to turn back. This invisible wall is dragging us down. It’s so hard to breathe.

Myself: There’s the threshold of the house. Here’s the key. We’re back inside. Can we just lie here by the door?

Me: No, we have to get up. We need to take a shower. We have to find the strength to move this crushing weight.

Myself: Find the phone. Write to the clinic. All days are booked except Monday morning. Two more days of this torment.

Me: We just have to survive until then. It’s just so hard to breathe right now.

Myself: When will this end? We have anemia and a severe iron deficiency. Monday’s IV can’t come soon enough.

Me: Yes, Monday. Just hold on until then. We can make it through this. We have to.

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