Tuesday, March 17, 2009

10 years or less, please

I wouldn't go so far to say that being demanding is against my nature. I'm old enough at 35 to know, that growing up just never seems to end. If that means I'm getting better at being honest, or just apologizing less for being sure, then what's the difference? You either love me or you hate me, or you love and hate yourself in equal measure. I'm no psychologist.

This stem-cell research is a blessing, this I know. And among my homeschool Christian friends, I cannot lie. The future of my child is in embryos, while your disdain for all your fears is "in the sky". I won't hold back my views, my friends, nor will I try.

We've ten years or less to get the cure, and that's the truth. My daughter's nerves will start to shred, or blunt, or curse. I haven't found the reason for this side-effect, nor do I plan to look, I'll just invest. In stem-cell cures.

Ten years is all we have until, the doctor says. Ten years until she's seventeen, and driving. Her feet will reach the pedals, she still can steer. But her feeling of it all will disappear. That's not called thriving.

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