My condition

According to the doctors, I hadn’t had enough of that ‘tea’ to be fatal. It made me violently ill, and if I had been pregnant, the effects probably would have been much worse.

Better safe than sorry!

              
Gordon drove me home from the hospital. I feel terrible; he called in sick to work, and has been doing nothing but worry. We had a very long talk, in the car, and now I don’t know if I feel better or worse about how distant we’ve been from each other.

He was apologizing for things, like being inattentive. Being so busy. He said that he hadn’t been working very hard on our marriage, and he regrets that. I don’t think he was ever cheating on me. He said, he’s just been so tired. Dragging himself, day in and day out, to work or to the kids’ practices or even just out of bed. I think I know how he feels.

Unbearably dull?

Half-dead.

Now you’re getting it.

Took you long enough.

It all just makes the things I’ve been doing - rather, what you’ve been doing to me - so much worse. You made me cheat on him. My marriage could be destroyed. It’s lucky my family hasn’t already fallen apart.

Yeah, but, hey, if we work on that, we can get it done by the end of the month.

I just have to treat this like, living with a disability.

I can be a better wife and a better mother. I just have to work around my condition.

If you try to do that, I’d be careful.

Your condition’s terminal, after all.

And it’s about to get worse.  For you, not for me.