All my symptoms are worse…

Today has shown me just how much danger I am in every day. My short-term memory failure has scared me.

I left the house to go to a doctor appointment, and found that I had left the outside tap on when I watered the garden two evenings ago. I left the garden, and then realised I did not have my sunglasses on. I thought about turning back but did not want to be late. So, of course the doctor kept me waiting. But she was very pleasant. I forgot to mention what I told Martin what I would mention. Long after I was back, I realised that I had not applied my lippy. That is a first.

I washed my hair. For some reason, I delay it.

The jolt to my spine last week has altered my pain levels and my respiration. My voice is raspy because of all the vapours that pass through my throat.

I don’t where I end and medications begin. I feel as though I am a chemical being, no longer fully me. When did I last feel like me? Not since L left home. She helped me stay in touch with myself.

My feet hurt so much. My left arm hurts so much. My back hurts.

Every day, though, there is enjoyment of my garden. Laughter with friends. Talk and laughter with Martin.

I am so happy that Martin moved in.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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