Thirteen years ago, my life changed overnight. I was happily living my life of normal routine. Then suddenly I found myself living with constant worry. I was fearful of financial ruin.

I went down a rabbit hole of unpredictability: checking numbers incessantly, wiping down surfaces, washing hands, and applying for social services like food stamps after losing my job.

Back then, the numbers I was checking were not the daily percent of positive tests for an invisible illness in my community or the number of local hospitalizations. The numbers I was checking were the numbers of different blood cells my son had.

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