Treatment
Quick note before reading: OK, I wrote this just reflecting on observations and conversations with and about what my mom's going thru with her treatment n stuff...I've never gone thru this, I think I'd be a BIGTIME wimp--my mom is AWESOME and such a COURAGEOUS person to endure this excruciating process--so I'm just venting a little.....this is therapeutic for me to help me process and understand, and I mean no offense, it's an artistic, healing process of creative expression. I'm truly amazed by the juxtaposition and irony of healing through poisoning aspects of a disease and the entire process.
Thanks for reading!
Killing to heal.
That's what they're doing,
That's what it feels like
what it seems like
when it burns thru my veins.
Can't remember such pain!
Close my eyes, all the same
Sick lump of...
Well, well, un-well...
what's this hell that
I'm living night and day,
day after day.
Either way,
puke and pray
that
those last tufts of hair
(and my pride)
stay attached to
this disheveled head--
falling apart, no place
to hide in my unmade bed.
Somehow,
by an act of God,
I manage to
choke down a bite or two
with my meds,
feel like I'm "Better Off Dead"
Such a lovely, laxative feeling
can't relax when I'm screaming--
I've gotta fever from the feeling
(Oh, if only it were the "flavor
of a Pringles!")
from that stuff they pump me with.
My arms bruised, bare, and
more full of tracks
than most junkies
or deejays could handle,
yet I do, somehow.
How? I don't know.
Not a choice, really--
it's do or die--
Lucky me,
I won't lie!
Can you see
how much better
I am getting
by my skin,
by my eyes,
by my bubbling,
sparkly personality at 3am--
So surreal to me!
How did I ever succumb to be
poked, prodded, and guinea-pigged
to the edge of insanity
is simply beyond me.
I never knew existed
until this,
this unmaking,
this undoing
this unwholly, yet
trusted maddening,
this pretty poison
YOU keep insisting
is making me whole,
healthy, all better,
is killing all the bad in me--
Are you kidding me?!
Medically murder that
blatant abomination within--
do you not see the skin
stretched to its breaking
while I sit, druggedly stinking,
and vomit while dreaming
It really works,
radioactive glowing in the dark.
Unexpected perk, that--
I can now read at night
when I ache too much to sleep.
Of no more wires, no more
toxic cocktails that keep me
going down the rabbit hole,
swishing and gurgling those
latest FDA-approved
Flavor-of-the-day.
Clinical trial?
You don't say!
Sign me up today!
Where there's a will,
there's a way....
I just wish
they'd get to try this themselves
at home first
before giving it to me
so they could see
just how it feels
to catch a chill all the time,
while your eyes burn from
the inside out of your skull,
feel exhausted, weak, dull,
and nauseous
at the
mere thought of
eating or catching
hideous flicker of
reflecting back the alien
monster you've become.
A shadow of yourself
slumped, sallow,sucked
thru your trusty-little bendy straw
into a healthy dose of
daily Vitamin D
as you soak up the sun
and rare warmth by the window.
Forgetting the crazy chemo
for a moment,
wonder when you'll muster up
enough strength to go outside
in the sun, feel the breeze
blow thru your hair
all grown back again.
I'm dying to feel
like myself again.
Literally.
One by one,
treatment down,
who knows how many more
"miles to go before I sleep"
before I'm cured or killed?
Honestly, I'm not quite sure....
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Thanks for reading!
Killing to heal.
That's what they're doing,
That's what it feels like
what it seems like
when it burns thru my veins.
Can't remember such pain!
Close my eyes, all the same
Sick lump of...
Well, well, un-well...
what's this hell that
I'm living night and day,
day after day.
Either way,
puke and pray
that
those last tufts of hair
(and my pride)
stay attached to
this disheveled head--
falling apart, no place
to hide in my unmade bed.
Somehow,
by an act of God,
I manage to
choke down a bite or two
with my meds,
feel like I'm "Better Off Dead"
Such a lovely, laxative feeling
can't relax when I'm screaming--
I've gotta fever from the feeling
(Oh, if only it were the "flavor
of a Pringles!")
from that stuff they pump me with.
My arms bruised, bare, and
more full of tracks
than most junkies
or deejays could handle,
yet I do, somehow.
How? I don't know.
Not a choice, really--
it's do or die--
Lucky me,
I won't lie!
Can you see
how much better
I am getting
by my skin,
by my eyes,
by my bubbling,
sparkly personality at 3am--
So surreal to me!
How did I ever succumb to be
poked, prodded, and guinea-pigged
to the edge of insanity
is simply beyond me.
I never knew existed
until this,
this unmaking,
this undoing
this unwholly, yet
trusted maddening,
this pretty poison
YOU keep insisting
is making me whole,
healthy, all better,
is killing all the bad in me--
Are you kidding me?!
Medically murder that
blatant abomination within--
do you not see the skin
stretched to its breaking
while I sit, druggedly stinking,
and vomit while dreaming
It really works,
radioactive glowing in the dark.
Unexpected perk, that--
I can now read at night
when I ache too much to sleep.
Of no more wires, no more
toxic cocktails that keep me
going down the rabbit hole,
swishing and gurgling those
latest FDA-approved
Flavor-of-the-day.
Clinical trial?
You don't say!
Sign me up today!
Where there's a will,
there's a way....
I just wish
they'd get to try this themselves
at home first
before giving it to me
so they could see
just how it feels
to catch a chill all the time,
while your eyes burn from
the inside out of your skull,
feel exhausted, weak, dull,
and nauseous
at the
mere thought of
eating or catching
hideous flicker of
reflecting back the alien
monster you've become.
A shadow of yourself
slumped, sallow,sucked
thru your trusty-little bendy straw
into a healthy dose of
daily Vitamin D
as you soak up the sun
and rare warmth by the window.
Forgetting the crazy chemo
for a moment,
wonder when you'll muster up
enough strength to go outside
in the sun, feel the breeze
blow thru your hair
all grown back again.
I'm dying to feel
like myself again.
Literally.
One by one,
treatment down,
who knows how many more
"miles to go before I sleep"
before I'm cured or killed?
Honestly, I'm not quite sure....
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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OK, y'all have been kind enough to "hear me out"& n stuff, so let me know whatcha think, if I've rattled yer cage, voiced a shared thought or concern, or if you're gonna attain Enlightenment upon reading these DEEP THOUGHTS, or if ya think I'm just plumb WACKO--but please be decent in your expression of your sentiments, there's no need to sling mud, unless we're in POTTERY CLASS or at the BEACH! Thanks for reading n stuff...Laters!