Exquisite torments merge in morning thoughts before I wake. I swim in chocolate – guiltless, sated. I dance – no fear of flying. I laugh with friends – unmasked and free. My body is divinely made: It eats. It works. It plays. It loves. It knows its worth and feels no pain. This moment is a holy thing; each breath a sacrament. Then comes cruel light. Blurred vision fills with rows of meds I need to rise without fainting, to eat few foods, forever, to move with caution, to breathe with effort, and muffle screams that hide between my wants and cannot haves.
Valerie Zimbaro, a retired college English professor and academic dean, writes books and articles on literature, education, faith, medicine and disabling chronic immunological disorders. Find Valerie on Counter Social @WordDoc and on Facebook @valerie.zimbaro.39.