Prose Poetry (An Exercise)

Some days, I forget that I have a chronic illness (rheumatoid arthritis, endometriosis, chronic migraines) today was one of those days.

This morning, I woke up as stiff and uncomfortable as I normally do; I mentally guided myself through a ‘check’ of every body part, joint, muscle. I slowly flexed ankles, pointed toes and cracked each one-by-one, wincing (as I always do) when my right pinky toe gets stuck mid-click.

My brain and body slowly move up to my knees, largely aware that my right is still very swollen from the night before (psh who am I kidding? the years…) so, I languidly glide my right hand around right knee, checking for any new bumps or lumps or divots or cracks, inflammation or some type of divine intervention to have wrestled with my immune system while I lay asleep (tossed and turned in discomfort all night) fighting for relief.

The inflammation stays. But now, it has moved below my kneecap. It has found a resting point there, below elevation and the valley between calf and knee…There used to be storms there; brought on my miles-long hikes up wilderness trails, high heels and stiletto dancing all night long, leather riding boots seemingly painted poetically against strong, slender muscle which after hours of use–in lethargy–would spasm shift, create jolts like bolts of lightening through worn out leg(s). But oh…here comes the rain: soothing as summer sun showers, tepid and bright. Bath water did everything massaging hands could not.

Now? Now the coolness scalds, unaware of fever or speckled heat rash. Now bath water only alleviates for a moment, while the pages are turned during my nightly novel. Once dried off and composed, the pain returns (laughable) as if it never has anything better to do than spend time with me.

Today was no different. After morning body checks and late afternoon pharmacy runs, my body became confused of overuse. The draining began in my head with a feeling of a lonely balloon, flying (floating) without a string. Nausea next, tied up alongside panic and misery–what’s this? what’s happening?–checklist one, two, three. The many medications can cause such issues, but that cannot be…something deeper, the cause.

Green lights spot your vision, vivid colors only I can see. Ahead of me a night of wilderness, of unknown, of space between awake and reality, wondering if the next one (flare) will lead me down this road. The road not yet taken (or the road least travelled by?) has seen many steps by you, ironically. It knows your every move, maps your location, leaves you right where you don’t want to be.

And of all the nights–I thought tonight would be different. That the path would be clearer and the pain would subside, that whatever Star I’ve been following would lead me on a new way home.

Here. Here it is, the old familiar track I trod, smelling of perseverance and pain, musty and dank of will power and self reliance–brightened by hope.