I'm having a wonderful summer.
The other night I had a nightmare in which the purple spots I get on my arms also appeared on my face. Then, like in a horror movie, tiny red specks formed on my forehead, and blood began to spurt from them.
It was a sure sign that I had relapsed.
That's it. I'm cooked, I thought.
The fear was visceral.
I awoke during one of the worst thunderstorms in recent memory. Maybe the noise stirred something deep within me.
It could also have been from suppressed check-up anxiety. I have an appointment Monday at Dana-Farber after my longest hiatus, six weeks.
But who knows why this fear arises to rattle us, whether we're sleeping or awake.
I wonder if it ever goes away.