They call you my lifeline.

They tell me to protect you at all costs.  No watches.  No bracelets.  No handbag straps or shopping bags.  No needles.  No contact sport and blood pressure tests right arm only.

I followed the instructions.  I looked after you and I checked you daily.

For a while you were  strong.  I could feel your thrill with the lightest touch.

But something has changed.  You are hard to find.  You are weak.

What did I do wrong?

They say I will need you.

I don’t want to need you.  Not now.  Not ever.  So I am not going to fix you.  I am not going to have more surgery.

Today you are not my lifeline.