This morning began quietly,
with small routines held together
by effort more than ease.
The body moved,
even when it didn’t feel like it could.
Step by step—
to the sink,
to the kitchen,
to the quiet act of preparing something warm.
There was discomfort,
the kind that lingers in the chest
and rises in coughs that do not ask for permission.
Even the hand carried a dull reminder
of healing that has not yet finished.
Still, the day continued.
Clothes were folded.
Plans were made for another day ahead.
Medicine...

Today began with discomfort before the sun was fully awake.
My body felt uneasy — waves of nausea rising and falling like a restless tide. Even brushing my teeth became difficult, and breakfast would not stay.
The morning turned into a quiet journey to the hospital. The corridors were filled with many different stories — an elderly woman with a fracture, a man in pain, another patient waiting for a scan. In that observation room, strangers shared the same fragile space between sickness and...

I woke before dawn with fever and nausea, my body reminding me that it needed care.
Even so, I prepared breakfast and stepped into the morning, carrying both exhaustion and determination.
At work, kind voices noticed my hoarse voice and encouraged me to see a doctor.
Soon I found myself at the polyclinic, answering questions and undergoing tests while quietly hoping for answers.
The diagnosis came: an infection my body was fighting.
Two days of rest were prescribed — a reminder that healing is...