Friday, July 24, 2015

" STILL", a poem...

Hello again, Readers,

Writing today to share some of how living with chronic pain can get, through a poem I wrote this morning.

Whenever possible, I try to see the good in things, I look for new hope when the old hope goes into retirement.  But when pain eats nearly all of the mojo--which can easily happen if it goes on for too long or gets too severe too often, the looking gets myopic.

Certain people in my life for some reason never ask how I am--only, what my plans are or what I've been doing lately. 

The truth is, I rarely have plans and the ones I do make are always with cancellation insurance, or do not happen at all.

"Plans" for me now are just being up to the tasks of the day, or rarely, lunch out with dear P or friends thanks to painkillers--which I don't take regularly due to side effects and to further spare my kidneys.

I haven't had an evening out in almost three years now and--wow.

Thankfully, with all the horizontality in this new life, there is the Net and its host of incredible educational tools, (there for those looking).  I am most grateful for my still tres-able-bodied-brain and I sponge up every knowledge-drop I can.

That said, there are days/weeks when these post-treatment pains and the deep-boned fatigue just gets to me; when my stunning lack of chi completely derails me.  I swear I have aged 20 years since the chemo and high dose prednisone--ending most days in an aching, often less than chipper, prematurely-menopausal hunch.

So for the souls out there who really want to know what chronic pain and illness can be like, and for all of us who walk this same, ripped-up road, this post is for us.

And even though the road is so damaged, it is also lined with deep-rooted trees of old friendship and with new, truly precious saplings because of it.

And as is the tradition in my wordy-world, I sometimes self-medicate with poetry, so here's today's:

by Juanita Grande

The hole I know is often
One I stand by, at the edge
Of a tempting depth to drop in--
To like pennies, copper red

The long screws always tighten
And gravity grows strong
The ring I used to fight in
Now a show to look upon

The good days seem to lessen
And I feel the spirit fade
Dreams less often blessed with
All those animals I praised

I used to think that time would
Slowly bring it back to me
That "just another month" could
Calm these bubbling, acid seas

But slowly I am learning
That I've aged at double speed
Still, I try to cool the burning
Still, I try to slow the bleed




P said...

So beautiful ma belle... even if sad. I love it!

S said...

Great poem & post. So true!