My doctor touched one of my bones with something sharp. I wasn’t numb. The pain was acute, disturbing and it linger for a while. It went away right before I started to cry.
The taste of tears pooled on the back of my throat, over my closed eyes and then spilled down the sides of my face, until I felt the crying getting cold inside my ears.
I didn’t cry because of the pain in my bones. I wept because when the throbbing made me want to shake, I tried summoning memories of days when my body didn’t hurt. Nothing came to mind. I tried again. Nothing. That was when the tears began to flow. I was angry and sad and tired and wanting to scream, “Don’t be ridiculous! You know you haven’t always been in pain.”
And that’s the thing, my Wicked Luvs. My brain knows that I’ve only lived with chronic pain for about a decade, but regardless of how hard I try I can’t form a memory that tells me what it’s like not to be in pain. It hurts not to remember…
I’m not angry or sad or crying anymore. I got home to find a copy of The Graveyard Book Graphic Novel, Volume 2, next to my pillow. My Piano Man and I already knew that today’s procedure was going to be painful, physically and psychologically—I’ve gone through it before. So he thought I would need a little Neil Gaiman pick me up. Yep, my lover is a genius.
My sore bones and I need sleep… after I stroll through one of my favorite graveyards. ;-)
I was feeling too lazy to take my own picture,
so I went ahead and borrowed this one
from Genie in a Book