Chronic
Nov 1 2022
He asked where it was
when it came
how it felt.
Offered helpful words
like sharp, burn, pulsate.
The interrogation continued,
appetite? . . .sleep? . . . urination?
I thought of Inquisition,
thumb screws and whippings
Torquemada's victims.
The infliction of pain.
The forced conversion
to a blighted life
of pointless suffering
you can't explain.
And worse, invisible to others;
no bruises or scars,
surgical incisions.
And although it's intermittent
it's also unremitting;
the memory
baked into my body
inscribed on my brain,
the anxious anticipation
of its random return.
They never found a cause.
Chronic, he eventually pronounced,
as if a name
even one so vague
was answer enough.
Which is all he had,
questions and answers
and inconclusive tests,
a pat on the back
and hands in the air.
The pain is still there.
A life sentence
with only the power of prayer
to please my Inquisitors.
An interesting piece in today’s Atlantic (https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2022/11/living-with-chronic-pain-philosophy-lessons/671958/).
I admire people who suffer like this, who are sometimes doubted, and who exist with constant uncertainty, but still manage to live meaningful, productive, and fulfilling lives. And how useful to read these personal and philosophical reflections: a reminder of my good fortune; a prod to gratitude.
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