Joy is elusive this month. I leave home early and return after a long day in darkness. My sleep is broken and unrefreshing. My dreams are invaded by oxygen flow meters, masks, monitors, and breathless patients. I am tired, but that word is inadequate to describe the ominpresent fatigue that seeps into every cell of my body through the day, and which sleep fails to banish.
But there is hope. There is always hope. And right now it’s name is mutual aid.