Before I say hello,
what will happen.
I will stutter.
the string of words
that will flow
out of my mouth,
there will be a bump.
This is okay.
won’t kill my flow.
A big bump
that causes me
to use a trick
won’t stop me
is that I share
I speak for
speak for me.
I continue to learn
how to navigate
the strong waters
when there’s an uptick
in my stutter.
How I approach
conversations has shifted.
I have gained
I never could
I still say
what I want
but I may not
ramble on the way
I once did
when I was comfortable
with the stutter I knew.
For things have shifted
and that’s okay,
It’s apart of stuttering,
nothing is certain.
"We will just wait," my doctor reassures me at the end of another long visit.
The limited resources I have to aid my symptoms
cause more damage than improvement.
So I accept what I cannot change
and wait for change to occur.
I just got my vision back after months of fuzziness,
oh what it's like to see clearly, such a wonderful thing.
With new glasses, my vision is close to what it was
before it drifted away without saying goodbye.
I accept this knowing my vision will likely shift
once again within the next few months.
As I wait for time to go by, I thank modern medicine
for relieving me from my personal hell for the moment.
These obstacles I face have no solution or cure,
the only thing I have on my side is time.
In time, this disease will pass thru my body
and one day it will become a memory.
There's no telling when that will happen,
every person who has this is completely different.
One year, two years, will eventually
blend together in my depths of my mind.
My mother waits longer than she had anticipated for me to walk back thru the door I entered half an hour ago. Whenever she’s left in the waiting room, nothing good comes from it.
The first time, I lost three wrong teeth. I was twelve. “You’re old enough to go back by yourself,” she told me. When I was in the chair, the dentist told me they were taking out my expander, something I wasn’t aware of. But I was too young to be my only advocate. I tried to speak up but I was told I was incorrect. I didn’t question it and assumed everyone in the room was on my side.
This time, I learned yet another thing is wrong with my eyes. I’m twenty-five. When the eye doctor, whom I had never met before, came in to talk to me and do more testing, I felt like an adult since my mom didn’t come back with me like she always does, which felt kind of strange.
I like a second pair of ears when it comes to doctor situations. Casual check ups at dermatologists and dentists, I can do on my own. But when it comes to appointments where some part of my body is being looked at more seriously, such as lungs, eyes, or thyroid, I prefer to have someone else in the room to hear what the doctor is saying, someone who has my best interest at heart.
But there I was, sitting in an examination room, taking tests and speaking with new doctors and nurses, being my own advocate. While waiting in-between tests, without a phone or book (I left them with my mom), I reflect on what she said when I left. “You can do this on your own,” she told me. This surprised me. I had presumed she would come back with me like she always does. Later, I would learn that she had assumed I would be back out after testing, ten minutes tops.
I have been to enough of these doctors in the last couple of months to know that I get placed in an exam room after testing. I guess I am old enough to do this on my own. Why wouldn’t I be? I was able to communicate just fine. It just feels weird not to have my mom back here. It feels even weirder with nothing to do to pass the time. I stare at the screen in the mirror that I can’t read. Letters appear fuzzy. My eyes hate me.
The nurse takes me to another room for additional imaging and I begin to plot a plan to get my water bottle and maybe get my mom back here with me. As the nurse is getting the test set up, I ask if when we’re finished, I can go and get my water from my mom. She says that’s perfectly fine and I stare at a blinding light four times because the first two times didn’t get a good look at my eyes.
When I go and grab my water bottle, my mom asks me what’s going on, I’ve been gone for thirty minute. I say I’ve been having tests done and motion her to come with me. I’m surprised she’s been wondering where I’ve been. Though, whatever the miscommunication was quickly gets pushed aside as I introduce my mom to the eye doctor and we’re told I have Keratoconus. As soon as we’re told why this is, the possible treatments, and the process of monitoring the disease, we’re sent on our way.
“Why does something bad always happen when you go back by yourself?” My mom jokes with me as we leave. I can’t help but laugh myself. It’s ironic how these things happen when my mom sends me off own my own. And it’s surreal to be told yet another thing is wrong with my eyes. To be honest, I’m still processing all of it.
Spring has arrived along with the remnants of winter.
Snow one day, seventy degrees the next.
You never know what you're going to get.
The grass is greener as bees fly
and house cats beg to come back inside.
Days are longer, thoughts are shorter.
Everything looks different upon reflection.
Awareness changes thoughts and perspective,
for once I can look at my interactions without judgment.
The keys on a new keyboard are the best present I could ask for.
Smooth and shiny while working together
without pause or hesitation of a key falling off.
My dry eyes make things coming closer appear
like the wizards from Harry Potter, out of focus
and then all of a sudden clear as crystal.
I’m in a familiar place in uncharted waters
People are arriving but I don’t know why.
I park the car I’m driving and look to see if I’m in the space.
Moments later as I walk away, more cars appear,
filling the empty spaces around me.
I walk into a room backstage, someplace I do not know.
A man walks up to me and it’s clear I know him.
I’m not who I know myself to be. I’m someone else.
This is true by how I walk and hold myself up.
I watch people walk in and out of random doors.
I hear people speak but I can’t understand words.
I pace back and forth on a red carpet.
I’m impatiently waiting, mindlessly anticipating
walking thru a red curtain.
For what? I will never know.
Poetry that flows like water so natural
as though it was always meant to be.
I wrote this when listening
to a poet release a poem into the universe.
They were speaking with ease and grace
yet the power of their words spoke
high volumes to those of us who listened.
Their poem held truths about life
that allowed the soul to breathe.
Not allowing fear to shatter
your future or prevent you from
revealing the depths of your mind
to those who are willing to listen.
Failure is the part of understanding
what you're capable of accomplishing.
Motivation comes from the most
unlikely places and unexpected situations.
Riddles reveal secrets without
saying anything in particular.
The power of poetry lingered
in the newly spring air
as the sky faded into night.
I wake up in the morning and do not feel like myself.
My body aches in unfamiliar ways.
The joints in my hands crack,
my right thumb somehow feels unnerved.
The muscles in my back and neck haven’t
been the same since experiencing multiple panic attacks.
I look in the mirror and do not recognize myself.
My cheeks are puffy, resembling a chipmunk,
reminding me of when I had my jaw surgery.
My eyes are strange, for my top lids are pulled back,
giving me an unwanted stare I don’t realize I have.
The puffy pockets underneath my eyes indicate
swelling that somewhat subsides by the time I say goodnight.
I look out onto the day and everything has changed.
My vision has been on the decline
for the last two months and has suddenly
taken a nose dive into the great unknown.
I can’t see much beyond twelve feet,
it’s like looking into a fish bowl,
everything is fuzzy or blurry or double.
I see double if I look up and tilt my chin down.
My reality shifts into two, pulling apart from one
another like something is breaking from being
overstretched, people often look like their souls
are leaping out of their bodies like fading ghosts.
This has been occurring since October, it seems like
a lifetime ago and yet it’s still jarring every time
I watch something transform into perspectives
no one else can see. People often have four
eyes, which is always the most alarming.
I haven’t felt like myself in a long while.
This temporary normal that’s constantly shifting
will never feel normal. I woke one morning
and everything had changed without a warning.
I’m still process everything that has happened,
it’s overwhelming and terrifying to have no
control over what is going on with your own body.
I just want to see again. More than anything,
I want to have my vision back.
I want to be able to see things far away
without fuzziness or double preventing me
from appreciating the beauty around me.
I want to walk around without feeling
my depth perception being off.
I want to be less sensitive to bright lights.
I want to look up with my eyes
instead of craning my poor neck.
I want to not feel my eyes focusing.
I want to no longer feel eye strain.
I want to no longer feel like my eyes are buzzing.
I didn’t realize how much I took my eyes
for granted until things unexpectedly shifted.
Though my viewpoint tends to focus on
the negative since they’re more overwhelming,
there are a few shining spots in all this chaos.
My eyes are not budging out of their sockets.
Though my eyes are sitting in different places,
it can go unnoticed if you don’t know it.
They may look a little different and certainly I can tell,
it’s not my biggest problem by any means.
I have a prism on one of my lens that corrects
the double vision when I look forward.
I don’t know what I would do without it.
The support I have from my family is unconditional,
they continue to help me through this process
as we figure out the best avenue to take
to relieve the discomfort so I can move forward.