As I watched the Write India video the other day, I teared up and realized I wanted to tell the stories of my stories, the lessons I learned, and express my gratitude for the Write India program.
The doctor enters. I know what he’s going to say. He’s said it before. My hearts can’t take much more. My blood work matches perfectly to a girl my own age. I feign sleep. Maybe he won’t bother me. He doesn’t. He and my mother talk in hushed tones. Their words grow fainter as the blood throbs faster through my body. The sound has reached my ears now. Their voices become just mumbles. My eardrums thud with the pain of the increased blood flow. I have made my decision, yet still feel at war with myself somehow. Lub, dub. Lub, dub.