Relief

 Please, I beg you, treasure your health. “Liquid gold” injection was a success, but it comes at a price. Imagine after your done, you lie still, the doctor gives you his gloved hand squeezing yours trying to give you human connection and reassurance. The pain is something I try not to think of, but later that day, it took all the energy I had to eat something, and take a few steps to bed. I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I must endure pain to find relief for the next few months. 

For the next week, I will be moving slowly. No exercise for me. I just want you to enjoy life. Enjoy what I can’t. Relish the fact that needles aren’t needed to bring joy to the body. To use the potty without pain. If your muscles can stretch and not lock, you are blessed. If you can move without strain, do it for me. 

Listening to my muscles on the machine, it sounded like a freight train. It’s not a sound anyone wants to hear. Nobody had to ask about the degrees of my pain. My mouth would lie, the machine wouldn’t. Doctor said why won’t you tell me when you have pain. I said I never have. I never will. I’m used to pain. I know you can provide answers. 

I’m not fighting what I already know. I just have to trust what I don’t understand. The questions don’t serve me. The answers may not either. Right now, I’m headed to the couch to rest. 

Love you all. 

Love yourself and one another. 

Regine