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Show in my father's house/ 105 would weep again. He held her in his arms and kissed her brow. "You'll get well, I promise you," he said. "You must have faith and stop worrying." But when he left the treatment room, his face was tight with concern. "Let's try that new vitamin combination that helped Mrs. Shevinski," Aunt Helga suggested. My father sighed and prescribed the new capsule. Each medicine afforded new hope. But after a few days, our faith crumbled as each hope failed. One morning, as I hovered near the bathroom door watching my mother clean the bathtub, she suddenly stood up and shrieked. Then she ran into the hall, scratching furiously at her fingers. "This eczema! It,itches so!" She began to cry, digging at the running sores that had broken out on her hands and spread up her arms. She paced into the kitchen, to the window, down the hall, then whirled and went back, her movements frenetic. She rubbed her arms, then hugged herself and moaned. "These nerves. They crawl. Why do they crawl?" She turned her tormented face to me. "Look. Look, you can see them crawl." She held her arms out for me to see. I could see the weeping sores, but I couldn't see them crawl. "Little worms. Little snakes. Wiggling all day long. How can I stand it?" |