 Long poem--about my Dx
(I was just sitting here at my computer, and started thinking about what went through my mind the night of my dx. It sort of shaped itself into poem form, so here it is. It's long, bear with me.)
Flat on my face,
Cheek pressed into the pillow.
Dark, it’s night. I should be asleep.
But I won’t let me.
I try to close my eyes to the pictures
Flashing behind my lids, the emotions
Running wild through my mind.
I’m normal. There’s nothing wrong with me.
Except maybe this one little thing.
This one controllable little problem
That I can conquer. I’m young enough.
No big deal. Right?
No. Not right.
And the pictures won’t stop.
Doctor’s office, needle, plastic gloves, clear tube.
The crimson river siphoned out of my arm.
But I will not look.
Do I want to know?
Do I want to know there’s really something wrong
With me? That I’m not whole?
That I’m not working right?
Something inside me is wrong,
Out of whack, screwed up.
But do I really want to know?
When I can put my finger on it,
Read it as numbers on a red-tinted paper,
As abbreviations on a notepad,
Will that make it all better?
Or will it make it worse?
I have to change my life,
My food, my habits,
My body chemistry, even
Through the magic of
Tiny white tablets.
My focus in life,
To first accommodate, then destroy
My trouble,
Suddenly the little disturbance
That might just be part of
“growing up”
Has become a menace,
A menace that lurks
Sometimes sleeping,
Sometimes crouched just inside my head,
Softly caressing my weary brain,
Seducing my fear-filled thoughts.
What good am I?
When you think about the purpose
Of all living things: to survive
And reproduce,
To produce a strong, healthy addition
To the species
I am a failure.
Survival of the fittest?
Then I should be dead.
My genes,
With this one little mistake
In their mechanics, their workings
Don’t deserve to endure.
I don’t want anyone else
To have to deal with what I do.
And they probably won’t.
A blessing in disguise?
The very nature of me
And what’s inside me
Prevents a future generation
From the same pain?
Well, maybe.
But does it balance?
I don’t know what to think.
The shadows are falling,
As my lids droop.
The slideshow of
Swirling pens, rotating scale dials,
Disappearing fetuses, pink plastic
Dissolves with my exhaustion.
My pillow is wet and salty. So is my face.
But that’s not my problem now.
Tomorrow I’ll confront it again.
Then, the next day, again.
And again.
And again.
Until I conquer this demon.
Or until it consumes me.
I’m too young to tell.
My life is set out for me, in this fight.
__________________
Cherish forever what makes you unique, cuz you're really a yawn if it goes! --Bette Midler
Dx October 2000
Ortho-Evra (bc patches)
Trying for 120 lb. (HA!)
1 FAT brat cat sweetie pie fur baby (8 yrs., orange tabby)
When I was younger people used to tell me I had the body of a dancer. Well, I don't anymore. I have the body of a goddess. | 
