In The Still

You wake at 2 am and can hardly breathe. The pain in your leg is worse than it's ever been before. It's hard to think of anything else and every position you pray for relief. You can't believe that it got bad enough to actually make an appointment to see the doctor, pay for a visit that will answer nothing. But, because this disease is what it is, a test is scheduled. Just to rule out blood clots. Getting back in the car, you cry. You can't help it. You sometimes hate that this disease won't kill you, but will mimic everything that can. Test after test after test after test and people with the actual diseases get relief of one sort or another...but you? Nothing. Again. You feel like you are going crazy. You feel like you can't catch a break, nor a normal day. The pains and questions drive you insane.

The clock rolls over to 2:30 and you hear the faint "Mommy!". You wipe your tears and gear up to attend to another. His feet hurt too, the product of yet another growth spurt. He crawls onto the bed and shows you where it hurts and you do your best to rub his pain away. Fifteen minutes later and he's fast asleep again, but you are still searching for that elusive position that will mean sleep may actually come. As you sat in the waiting room of radiology, you briefly hoped for the clot. You know you don't really mean it, but if it does happen to be there, at least there would be things to do to fix it. You look up, just in time to see a young couple come out of the ultrasound room in tears. She's doubled over in pain, having a difficult time catching her breath. The husband is trying his best to be stoic and there for his wife, but the pain is visible on both of their faces. It feels voyeuristic to have to watch as this couple makes their way through the waiting room, obviously mourning. Your name is called. You are instantly at ease with the radiologist as he does his best to get through the test quickly. As everyone (even you in your heart of hearts) suspected, the test is negative. He seems happy to pass along good news, but you hurry out to your car so the tears can fall. Frustration wells up to the breaking point and you have no choice but to let it out. This damn disease is breaking you, mentally. You wonder how much longer you can hold on this round, until it settles again. You wonder how much longer your saint of a husband can hang on this round, until it settles again. Because, while it hurts now, the pain does always subside.

You wake up on the couch in the family room. It was the only comfort you could find, but sleep was sketchy, at best. Your leg pain is already numbing, but you know another flare could be right around the corner. So you don't breathe out, yet. Instead, you get up. You go about your day. You try not to let your sweet son see the pain you are in, but you still get glimpses through the day that he knows. He's aware. And, because of that, another, different kind of hurt moves into your heart. And you realize that while this condition may not kill you, it will destroy other things, instead. And you are resentful and filled with grief, vowing to fight harder. To keep it in check. To keep it at bay.


(her diamonds, rob thomas)