Memory stretched backward, all the way to when I was first diagnosed. Diana had been impatient from the start.She refused to accept the reality of it. She refused to hear me talk about it.I, fool that I was, told myself she was afraid–afraid of losing me, afraid of being left alone in this apartment.So I went to every appointment by myself. Every test, every prescription, every IV–alone. Every wave of fear and dread, I swallowed alone. I did not tell her how bad it was getting. I was terrified of watching her grieve, of watching her lie awake at night the way I did.Then, later…When Diana found out that her first love had been diagnosed with a similar illness, she locked herself in the bedroom and cried for an entire day and night, no food, no water.The ridiculous part was, at the time, I thought she had learned my condition had worsened, and was worried because of me.I stood outside that door thinking she had finally heard how serious my condition was and fallen apart ove
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