Monday, December 20, 2004

the sickness passes...

Kids, there is something I want to pass along. Be grateful for the fact that in the middle of the night you can roll out of bed, walk to the bathroom, do your thing, and go back without it being a massive production.

The other major thing that I've taken away from this experience is that no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to wrap the Ace bandage as well as the doctor.

Haha. But there is improvement, much improvement. The throbbing pain has passed, along with the heavy drain of fluids through my leg whenever I stand. I no longer lie with drugged exhaustion wanting to sleep through the rest of my life, as it was the only thing I was capable of doing somewhat well.

I am feeling more like myself again. I'm antsy to move, to advance, to escape the hermitude (is that a word?) I'd built. I need new thoughts inside this mind. Sparks to set blazes which will reveal previously darkened paths.

For now, this is a lull. I think. I write. When the time comes, I will be swept up again in living.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

painkillers, friends, and poetry

I was so afraid of going under
but now, the weight of the world
feels like nothing, nothing

It's done.

I cannot lie that I grew more and more nervous as I read a scintillating article on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson from an outdated Cosmogirl. Periodically, various doctors shook my hands. We'll see you soon.

"...We'll give you this breathing device that will be in your throat and breathe for you..."

Good God, what are they doing to me?!

Scoot down a bit more...a bit more...They call me something, I don't remember, something to do with my shortness.

Needles. I act brave. "We'll give you a sedative first."

The ceiling begins to swirl gently. "It's working already."

I wake up, slightly chilly, covered with white blankets. My leg is moving back and forth gently on a machine. Did I dream this? No, I'm moving, I must be done. I mutter something incoherent to my mother and fall back asleep.


Last night confused images came into my mind while I slept. I'm not sure if it was the drugs or the situation.

Why would I want to go through this? The pain and the blood. I awake slightly and alas, there it is. I wonder about you and how you might have changed the circumstances. I wonder if this would have happened. Maybe not, but there may have been other pain, slower and more chilling to the soul.

In one way, it's choice, and in the other, it's duty. Ethical duty.


After reviving myself from a groggy state, I miss my friends. Thanks for coming over, Priedes, you brightened my day! Buddy, I did follow your advice and it served me well. Mike, I hope you're not too devastated by "the news" - perhaps the photos will help.

Much love, much love. :-)


The night before, I decided to take a stab at poetry.

For me, poetry strikes in a moment. I put down the words of the now, of the urgent. I do not labor extensively, or else the effect is lost. Stream of consciousness.

It may be poor and the words never correct, but I like the narrative it creates. I speak to you, of you, while giving you a piece of me.

What will you do with it?

Tuesday, December 07, 2004



So I looked through the poetry section of my notebook to see if I could find any useful notes. Useful? Ha. But I did find some pretty pictures and random song lyrics all running on the same theme. It's good to see that some things don't change.

I'm proud. I dimly recall the girl of months ago fearing she'd never make it this far. I've lasted and continue to go strong. Endurance became difficult. I don't know how many pages I've written. Certainly over fifty. I feared burning out and hating what I once loved. Nope, not yet. I feel I write better now (at least academically -- my rambles haven't shifted much). I have learned a few things. The passion remains.

How did it get so late so soon?


Can I be honest?
(No, no, of course not! Geesh, Di, what were you thinking?)

I'm scared of surgery. Going under. Pain. Being immobile again. The violent need to pee. (Only kididng about that last one, but Buddy very passionately urges that I do it beforehand.)

But I know that the moment I wake up marks the beginning of a full recovery.

I have a little secret. A goal I don't want to say too loudly. But I can see it. I really can.

Monday, December 06, 2004


You are an exceptionally fine writer. I expect to hear great things of you.

As I work on my final paper, this is a boost and a simultaneous warning: Don't write without passion.