Archive of ‘new perspectives.’ category

2013 Rhapsody, in A Major

A year of sailing seven seas, internal.
Year of the spirochete, infernal.
Mortal heart of a child, eternal.

Girl + Infection = Outcome Unexpected

Girl + Infection = more pills than Lego pieces, per capita

Rectangles, round, ovals, gel caps,
    pasties, sublinguals, compounded, and tablets.
    (to navigate the bottles, you’ll require maps!)


I’ve swallowed more handfuls of pills
    than fears.
I’ve dripped more drops of medications,
    than tears.
I’ve flown beyond this body,
    but always come back.

If life = chronic infection:
    hold close the light: it’s more illuminating than blackness
embrace love: let it heal and guide you
    follow you heart, to your path
lead with hope, and courage will follow
    find this moment, and you’ll receive the present
trust in happiness: it never left
    welcome life, your old friend
live in your life: you’ll discover it’s waiting

open your arms, and embrace your future
open your mind, and wisdom and perseverance will arrive
open your heart, and love will fill it.

The beginning of the journey never promised
    a fairy-tale ending,
    the truth? At the end of five years?

Girl > Infection.

A note: This poem came to me this morning while watching the clock change from December 31, 2012, 11:59 PM to January 1, 2013, 12:00.

All Possible

Today was a very special day. I went to real school AND a real class. Whoa. Careful now. Next you’ll hear I’ll be globe trotting. Small steps at a time. Steady wins the race. You all know this.

I went to Spanish, which is such a fun class, and always has been. Once you hit grade 12, you are no longer ‘required’ to take a language, so the people in a language class really really want to be there, which is a nice change. I love speaking Spanish. I still can, which surprises me, although I get my ‘you’s’ and ‘me’s’ and ‘they’s’ and stuff confused. I mix stuff up just like I do in English. We learned all about ‘se’, which is a handly little pronoun (I think that’s what you call it), but it does a lot of work for us in Spanish.

I’m so happy to be back at school, in Uniform. It feels so normal. I don’t feel as out of place, I don’t stick out in a group of people I’ve known more than a third of my life. I love you guys! There is peace in familiar chaos.

I’m very tired though. I feel like I’ve been through the wringer washer the second time round, my heart is in my stomach somewhere, my stomach lost in my throat, my legs jelly (god knows where they ended up) and my brain squished too tightly against my skull. I’ve been reorientated. Reorganized. I feel my pulse all over, like my heart is a hammer and the blood nails driving into me all over.

I worry sometimes, that the feelings won’t go away; that the pain will endure, that it will have learned a lesson about patience and endurance from its victim. I worry it will fight as hard as I fight it. A fraction of the will, even then I’d worry. But I know all things pass. I’ve read this in books. I’ve heard it said. They say that life will change and endure. I hear time heals all wounds. I know this is true, or partly, but time heals all wounds, except the tracks it makes itself through a life.

A New Perspective

I’m really unremarkable. Just a nose, eyes, lips, curls…the usual right? So why is it that everyone stares? Honestly…

And I don’t mean just a glance-over-once-or-twice-when-you-think-they-aren’t-looking or the extended gazes staring or the speaker on stage staring either. I mean like flat out gawking. 
I’m still the same girl I was a week ago and 6 months ago. Practically the same girl. I mean, besides the IV, occasional weight yo-yos, hair cuts, drop of 2 feet, different eye liner color…wait. OH!- just struck my thesis head on. I just fell across it so artfully that you might have almost believed that I was thinking this and writing this as I go along, which I almost am incidentally. 
I think it’s not ’cause I’m Caucasian in a town of such a culture mix, I don’t think it’s because of my ‘striking beauty’. I don’t think it’s ’cause of the way I talk or look or walk, which is why they SHOULD be staring, really, if at all. It’s because I’m suddenly two heads shorter than the rest of them and I’m seeing eye to eye with toddlers. It’s ’cause I’m sitting down and wheeling around. It’s SO ’cause I’m in a wheelchair and that’s so NOT the reason I wanted.
I walk…well no…let me rephrase that-> I get pushed around the supermarket and people straight up stop and stare. It’s like some freaked out fire drill: stop, drop and roll. I can see their eye widen and I’m like ‘what’? I want to turn around in my seat and then turn back and shrug my shoulders. But as most genius thoughts occur, they occur too late. But next time. 
And the stares, it’s not just people my own age…it’s grown ups. I often wonder if they haven’t seen a sick kid before. Honestly, you’ve got to wonder if they shut up disabled people here if someone genuinely hasn’t seen someone in a wheelchair before. 
Honestly! The nerve of some people! I feel like I aught to wear a sign and a mirror to deflect stares and questions. Its so awkward. It makes me so…aware shall we say…that I AM in a wheelchair. I didn’t feel like that back home. 
It is strange to be in a country you once called home and now feel like…feel…and now feel like something has changed for the worst and it’s spoiled your memory. It’s made me question how I viewed disabled people before this. They’re just people, right? I mean what is the point of staring?
I should just wear bright purple and green leggings and a yellow jean skirt and put dreads in my hair and wear a coral tube top and a parka and I think they would stare less. Really…
I swear it’s ’cause I’ve effortlessly manipulated people into pushing me around since I’m too lazy to walk. HA! -> as if. But hey, who am I to judge? 
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