The human body is incredible.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been pricked with a needle in the last six weeks. I lost count after 34.
That was two weeks ago.
I miss the fear. Of the needle. It doesn’t scare me anymore. I don’t like that it doesn’t scare me. It should scare me. Needles are supposed to be scary.
But I’m not scared of them. They prick me and pierce my arms & hands and break my skin and bruise me. Sometimes I can’t feel them at all and other times my entire body aches from the puncture.
But they still don’t frighten me. I’m used to them. We’ve become friends. We’ve become enemies. Either way, we’re comfortable with each other.
It’s a strange relationship.
Blood disorders require lots of blood work to be taken. And I’m surprised at how strong my body has been with me. You’ve been so strong. Don’t you miss all of the blood they take from you? Don’t you want to take back everything lost from the bruising and the petechiae and the blood clots and the nosebleeds? The nosebleeds are the worst. Doesn’t it pain you when my nose turns into a faucet of crimson red liquid? When it drips so much my arms get tired of holding up tissues and towels to stop it? Doesn’t it pain you?
Doesn’t it hurt when the drugs burn you from the inside out? Don’t you want to quit when none of them are even working? Don’t you feel the heart stopping melancholy that comes from every CBC that comes back with the low numbers…4…5…3…12…4…3…? Why can’t it just go up to 100 so we can be safe again?
Don’t you want to give up when the doctors around you are totally stumped? Didn’t it sting when he said, “I have no idea what is going on.”? Doesn’t it make you cry when you have to hold it all together when everything around you is literally falling apart?
Has the depression not made you want to stop? To just give up? Do you see the secret tears my parents cry behind closed doors? Doesn’t that destroy you? To know how much they are hurting but not being able to do single thing about it? To overhear their hushed whispers of concern?
How are you still standing? Still surviving? Still pumping blood? Still making platelets? Your antibodies kill off what you’re manufacturing but you continue to push through. You work so hard and to make and push out everything we need to survive…but then we turn our backs on you and eradicate all of your travail. We deceive you. Constantly. How are you still fighting?
I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’m sorry for not appreciating you more. I’m sorry for not always welcoming you in the best way. And I’m sorry for not taking better care of you.
I’m sorry that we are hurting each other. I’m sorry we haven’t been doing the best for each other.
You are quite extraordinary. The doctors and the nurses and the medications and the depression and the loss of having any sort of control over your body…all these things, they push you and shove you to the ground relentlessly. They beat you up constantly and damage you. You’ve been shoved into overdrive at this point but you still stand secure and do your job. You won’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I welcome your power and bravery. I value your strength and courage. I appreciate your endless struggles towards keeping everything running smoothly and for being a healer. My healer.
I love you for protecting me and for unendingly fighting. Fighting for you. Fighting for me. Fighting for us.
We will beat this.
We will beat this.