Lit Hub
In many ways, I’ve known sickness my whole life. Born with eczema that covered my arms and legs in red, rashy welts, peaking as a teenager and returning, uninvited, throughout my adulthood. As a teen, I had regular tonsil infections, two strains of mononucleosis at the same time—“I’ve never seen this before,” remarked my doctor—and the norovirus. In my thirties, a friend who’d known me since undergrad told me, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you not sick for more than a couple of weeks.”