An Early Adieu

Watercolor by moineau: In the Hospital

If this were actually it,

I'd have to admit a lot of anger for

the last 14 years of my life,

the loneliness, the loss of friends,

the mistrust of my family,

and all the ignorant doctors who

tried to make me see that I made

much too much about being in pain,

pain without end, exhausting,

often excruciating, until that

hour comes and I take my pills and

wait for salvation, relaxation,

and maybe even resurrection

if I'm lucky... for a few hours.

I read today that if only I
practiced cogitive behavioral therapy

I could make myself happy, like

the way you can be happy even

though it's raining outside...

I think I could be happy if it

were raining, if it were hailing,

if bombs were falling on Iraq

or children were starving in Africa--
I have the facility like you to ignore--

but these things are "outside", not "in".

The interior is not so easy to partition

or wish away or meditate through,

and when the clock strikes three

and I've already been waiting

four hours for that relief,

well, it's a penetrating fact,

that burnout.

Where people are concerned,

the emails and support groups,

how I loved my on-line friends!

They were easy, slippery and fun;

they'd wait days for a response.

But those off-line chums that

never called or those that tried

but did not get an immediate

response, especially when I was too

over the top to answer the phone,

they felt so jilted, ignored and angry.

I'm sorry to them all, and

wish I could jump to the phone

with enthusiasm, but there are

times, weeks, months, when

I just can't budge, and even if

i did, could you stand to
hear about it?

Or seeing my grandson a few times

per year and knowing that family

takes so much more but not

having the energy to survive the

two-hour trip to visit,
the car sickness so extreme, and

then the guilt and near torture of

feeling less than mother human or

feeling nothing and nowhere at all,

trying to rise above the nausea,

the constant curves and edgy vertigo

and endure... and love...

My partner of 17 years has

seen it all and was angry too,

but he had to give up something

intrinsic to be with me:

sex, big hugs; just little touches, a small

foot rub perhaps because

I feel like I've been beaten up with

a hammer and it's the day

after and each bruise scalds

and so... ouch! sorry...

that's a hot spot I suppose, not

your fault, how could you know?
He's become a good cook,
dishwasher... and my best friend.
But is it enough? He says "yes",
that good man, but he gets more
and more tired as the years
wear on and nothing changes;
no libido, no concerts, no outings
together. Yet, love can be strong
in spite of pain. Dare i say
we're lucky?

But oh the emotional flatness

that comes with narcotic use,

and the paralysis and low

blood volume, orthostatic

intolerance: I just don't want to

move sometimes, its movement like a wave,

and yet, move, walk, force,

grow strong, go to France
and then crash with nausea

and sudden increased pain

and bam! you're back exactly

where you were two years ago;

back on the couch,

and everything's dark and

vertiginous... again and again
and again... the same day.

When will I recover enough

this time to get up? And when will I

feel like talking on the phone,

taking a ride to the beach,

eating out in a restaurant,

making love to my mate?

When will I get up and not

feel like throwing up

because of some strange

whiplash, some odd brain

dysfunction no one understands

except some Japanese researcher

at the University of Kyoto

who puts out an abstract that

everyone ignores about how
pain shrinks gray matter?
I look at the date,

2004... Where's the follow-up?

Where's the drug?

So if this is it, if the heart attack

comes or the stroke or even

a suicide... no, my darlings,

I can never do that to you although

I think about it every other day,

and wonder, Would you forgive
me for it? Is 14 years enough time to
suffer 24/7? Is life on a couch worth

this much grief?

Or another trip to France where I will
be sick sick sick with stress and

ridiculed by the airline personnel?

Will they laugh among themselves
again or roll their eyes at the next
heavy white women traveling alone who
requests a goddamned wheelchair?

In my dreams, everyone is laughing;

I'm completely humiliated.

Doctors do the same, passing

around the dossier and steeling

themselves each time they come into
the room and have to deal with

one of us chronic pains-in-the-ass.

Must be tough never to have an

answer, it must be very deflating.
I feel for you... I'm full of feeling
for everyone...

I'm so tired. My eyes tell the story.

This is my early adieu

just in case I don't make it another

decade. Just in case nature takes

its course. Just in case they don't

get me to the hospital in time

or they decide to lock me up for

a month. (If they do, make sure

they've got my pain pills, ok?
Last time they never requested
them, the worst irony of all.)

Just in case my heart stops

by itself or with some prodding.

Just in time for sleep...

Just in time for rest in peace...

Just enough time to say,

I loved you more than myself:
I did my best to live for you:

I really did love you all.

Watercolor by moieau: Tu m'as laissée seule