I sit here in my bed.
Hooked up to tubes and IVs.
I watch the doctors come in and out,
fake smile always carefully in place.
I listen to their report.
Nothing has changed.
But they are hopeful.
Just like the day before,
and the day before that,
and the week before that,
and the month before that,
and the year before that.
I watch them turn and leave,
their smiles slipping.
To be replaced with the sad, calm line of one who knows how it shall end.

I know there must have been a time before this.
A time when my parents fawned over a baby me.
But I do not remember.
All I remember is this.
This is all I have ever known.
This is all I shall ever know.