The welty, itchy Pangaea is spreading, and now covers 1/3 of my face. Soon, my entire head will be covered with this rash, itchy and swollen to twice its natural size.
When I’m in the hospital having emergency head reduction surgery, my Mom will visit me.
Dropping to her knees, she’ll weep, “I’m so, so, so, sorry I didn’t listen! My daughter, my daughter, my favorite daughter, so disfigured…..” She’ll pound her little fists against the side of my hospital bed, furious with herself, suffering from guilt.
I’ll weakly raise my hand and place it gently on her head, much like Mother Theresa would have done, “Forgive yourself, little one, ” I’ll whisper hoarsely, “you couldn’t have known.”
Except for, you know, when I told you this would happen.