Dangerous Compassions

my problem

Yesterday we went to a meeting clear on the other side of town, and I couldn’t stay awake as Ming drove us on the freeway.  But then I was awake telling him this:

What I went through with my health felt like the stuff people get tattoos about.  Needing to mark what happened.  Needing to acknowledge, this was a big deal.  I’m changed, I’m a new person.

I txted my niece that when I was discharged, I thought they would cut off my hospital bracelet with a golden scissors and confetti would fall from the sky.

In reality, they just had me sign a form and gave me a bunch of paperwork about GI bleeds etc. 

At home, I was in bed and asked Ming to cut off the bracelet for me.  Wanted to smash it, kill it, burn it.  But it was plastic, and I think he just threw it away.

I would like to do some kind of ritual.  Oh, but I was telling Ming, some people go the other way (anti-tattoo) and just try to forget it, drink a lot of alcohol or do whatever drugs to numb it and pretend that it never happened.

I’m eating a banana and Ming is out at an appointment.  In the hospital they told me I was potassium deficient.  They had me swallow four big white potassium pills in a row.

The nurse warned me, they taste really bad. 

I was like, who cares.  If swallowing disgusting-tasting pills is my problem, I’ll take it.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *