Mitochondria,
research says,
holds the key
to this malaise –
DNA failing to generate
required energy
I push against
facts, strive
to hoist
this stricken body
from the tedious mire –
fail,
plunge,
succumb
await renewal
of momentum,
push again
a hopeless cycle.
(Penned for DVerse’s Quadrille #59, prompt: cycle. Thank you to kim881 for hosting.)
Time
exists…
…in moments
fleeting
intervals
that pass…
a vast ocean
stretching…
we are but tiny sails
the water pulls
I am tethered
prefer concrete
to uncertainty
not ready to launch.
To stroll amongst giants –
straight-backed arrows
whose green bows aim skyward –
a directional pull so uplifting
that earthly matters diminish –
this is contentment.
I am contributing!
Are these lessons not
abundance – success?
Authorities are dissatisfied;
want me back in the game,
insist disability has an end –
analyze me to depletion
their plans shutting me down,
unforgiving –
Encouragement is called for,
and hopeful help,
something to prod progress
This bureaucratic tapping
turns on me,
creativity breaks down.
Problematic situations
invite expansion – ego
near the point of torment
I am outcast –
newcomers fail to understand –
this missing motor
so I retreat –
into distraction
fail to reveal
caregiver
left to seek
scattered connections
self-absorbed
needy, settled
idly moving towards
desolation
abandoned on the edge
of initiation –
ego contracting.
Suggestion of blue
framed by barren, hopeful branches
underscored by coniferous tops
fronted by yellow-green optimism
and a floor of brilliant new growth
as filtered through metallic screen
and black-framed windowsill
focus interpreted by progressive
lenses of the one confined inside
perspective horizontal.
Compromised,
scaling a steep
dangerous
cliff wall
desiring relief,
a sign to indicate
a turning point
an exit
nothing worldly
can calm anxiety
uncertainty
life on hold
kindness
warms, reassures,
cannot counter
looming reality
stifled, begging
willing to deal
response absent
pleas hollow
surrendering
to fear is not an option
strength called for
and courage
love and compassion
the only sword
of significance
battling disease.
(May 12th is Myalgic Encephalomyelitis Awareness Day. M.E. is a debilitating disease that attacks all systems in body leaving 25% of its victims permanently bed bound. To date, due to lack of research, there is no effective treatment or cure, even though this disease effects over 1/2 million Canadians and many more worldwide.)
Shards of light cut around the edges of blinds
puncture the bubble of sleep, my eyes
resist opening, consciousness absent
from body, lying corpse-like
under a mound of blankets –
the furnace failing in the night.
Incessant chirping accosts my ears
not yet ready to respond to birdsong,
brain encased in a cement-block fog,
the mournful coos of a dove more fitting
for this somnambulist state.
Mouth, cotton dry, dreams of that first
honey-sweet sip of hot tea, smells coffee
brewing, the warm, encouraging aroma
of toast, weakly considers the possibility
of moving, but body still bears the weight
of death – refusing to respond.
Minutes will stretch to hours –
these mornings when illness wrestles
me into submission, the harshness
of its reality wrapping me mummy-like,
imprisoned in immobility – sentenced
without crime, trial or jury.
(Today’s prompt challenges us to use all the senses.)
Intensity drops in,
early, before I have a chance
to set the day in order –
puts me on the defensive.
She clings, encourages me
to hold on, her sick creativity
awake with impulsivity –
I am ailing, loyal, compelled
to launder the linens,
desperately trying to find corners
in the circular fitted sheet –
dependent on daily chores.
She wants to talk about feelings –
but I am still numbed from sleep,
from this never-ending illness,
from this perfectionist drive for optimism.
She wants to embrace, hug me
into submission, lecture me on the benefits
of organics and loose-leaf teas, and I am
too busy avoiding her to be grateful.
(My chosen prompt for today’s challenge is “circles can’t have corners”)
A look back to two years ago. Sometimes we need the perspective of the rear-view image to put the present in better focus. How far we have come. (Photo from our earlier, healthier days.)
Preoccupation with my own woes blinded me to my husband’s suffering, which culminated in a heart attack on Saturday night. We are shell-shocked.
“That’s what happens to caregivers,” a callous nurse commented. Am I supposed to feel guilty?
Unable to either drive myself, or push my own wheelchair, I am reliant on the goodwill of others to get me to the hospital, although even then, my body’s limits scream: Halt!
I trust that my husband is in good hands, and getting the help he needs. Meanwhile, I am home, alone, processing a gamut of emotions and what if’s.
This is not his first heart attack. The first was silent, and according to the specialists, all but fatal. It caused sufficient damage to have us all on edge. Thank God I saw the signs and called 9-1-1 this time around. The hospital said they will not release him until either medications…
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One Woman's Quest 