Pain for days now. Stabbing, knifing pain in my left abdomen. Nothing new. It comes every thirty days. Endometrioma. Dilaudid. 4 mg. Repeat. Barely touches it. Throwing up. Family turns away. Sometimes alone is the only way to live this. I smile. I limp. I crawl. I wait until the door closes this morning to cry. Then I put a happy face for email and facebook. God, could I be a blessing in this? Just think about someone else. Encourage someone else. (I'm not trying to earn Grace, just be anything but this waste.) Wrestling God with a hip out of joint. I hear a song. I get on my knees. It feels like broken glass. I see His face. Cleveland Clinic doctor calls. He's on a trip. I need to have imaging done now in this flare. I need to treat the pain better. Dan is working. Mom is working. Dad is working. Kids are so tired and have tomorrow off school. Delaney has a party and then a sleepover planned here. Dan and I have an overnight date planned this weekend around my surgeon appointment Monday. We haven't touched in days. We need to touch. I need someone to touch me. I waffle between surrender and anger. Two stations play in my head. Foo Fighters blares. The best of me. Turn it off. A bird sings. How can this be redeemed? I have to shave my legs. This is the next step. Gather my bag of meds. Brace for the nightmare that plays over and over and over with no resolution. PTSD is a real thing.
Tweet, chirp, triiiiilllllll.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops
At all
(Emily Dickinson)
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