“You know that feeling, in the pit of your stomach, when something terrible is out of your control. You immediately imagine the worst-case scenario. Your eyes widen, your breathing gets jacked, your heart rate spikes, you hover on the edge of fear… “

“I thought about letting go of control of my partner. A piece of me felt relieved imagining it. I thought about letting go of control of my children. That was harder. A parent must control their children, mustn’t they? I asked myself this question many times over the next few years.”

“I thought I could heal myself and tried my best. But three years into the almost constant infections, I knew I had little choice anymore. I could have a horrible quality of life and die young. Or I could potentially improve my quality of life and see my grandchildren be born and raised. The second option left me with a permanent poop bag.”