The UnwellIllness began as unusual pains,
Vision blurred in one eye, an arm
Or leg with passing numbness,
Better ignored than dwelled upon.
Improved tomorrow, after a nap,
Few pills from reassuring bottles.

Thus begins plight of the unwell,
Another unwitting person who
Contracted disease or disorder,
Who learned to tolerate impair-
Ment, coping daily, with chronic
Debilitation, young and old alike.

At some point, lumps and bumps,
Veiled hopes, or fatigue cannot be
Ignored, something is wrong
Beyond a single doctor’s visit
Familiar remedies that once helped,
In animosity ceased working.

Now a doctor hastily scribble notes,
Talks on the phone, tick-tacks on
The computer, as if all cures
Reside therein, consultations,
Specialists, referrals, diagnosis and
Hoped outcomes merrily pirouetting.

It’s the clinical way terms are stated,
Like flowers, not waving gently
In sunlit fields, but placed stoically
In brass funeral urns, brutal options:
Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation,
Numbers dazing, metered doses.

Voices on the phone are much the
Same for the unwell: quiet, cordial,
Educated yet equally debilitating
As disease, lingually lethal strings
Of vowels and consonants, spiders
Screeching to insects ensnared.

Dilemma of the unwell, caught on
A carrousel, a revolving medical
Maelstrom, new medications and
Treatments, riding painted ponies
In and out of hospitals, beyond
Faith and prayer, life expired.

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