She stopped for a moment, taking in her frail form in the mirror. This had almost become a nightly ritual.Įlla took one shaky step, then another, holding onto every surface she could along the way for support. Regurgitated chicken covered her nightgown, as well as the bed covers. She grasped the bedpost to steady herself and surveyed the damage. Her legs shook as she slowly stood, trying to resist the urge to vomit from the effort. It was another rough night thanks to the chemotherapy. Wake up! Please wake up! Not this dream again, please!Īs if on cue, dream Ella lifted her head out of the bucket before wiping the vomit from the corner of her chin with the back of her hand. “Ella, would you come in here, I’ve got the bath running.” a female voice called out from the bathroom in a flat monotone pitch.
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