Sometimes I write a comment in response to someone else’s comment and it has so much content that it really should be a post of its own. This is one such comment with….hmmm….a few modifications.

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Photo complements of The Body Consultants.

I know!

I KNOW!!

But being macho is not just a male trait, I’m female and am just as guilty.

I don’t want to be seen as a ‘WUSS’ or have the label ‘HYPOCHONDRIAC’, but that’s no excuse for dancing all night on a broken foot and boasting about it to the technician putting the cast on at 2:00 am.

The truth is that the nagging messages we get from our bodies are pleas for help.

backache (1)

Thanks to Lotus Love for this image.

Years of masking acid reflux with a bottle of Tums…a lifetime of drinking Coke even when it will melt a nail overnight…a nagging headache that just won’t go away…shortness of breath after climbing the stairs each night…

My body speaks to me constantly, begging for mercy, but I’m so busy I deliberately tune it out. I’ve become entrenched in the habit of ignoring the messages and it’s more comfortable to live in pain than to make an appointment with a doctor.

My suffering has grown to status symbol importance, like MacDonald’s golden arches, and I constantly remind all within hearing that “My Back is KILLING ME!” when, in truth, it is me killing my back.

abdominal pain

Complements of UCMP Helathbeat

And, all the while, my body has been building a backlog of stress from the pain and is reacting by dumping more acid into my stomach, increasing my heart rate, and keeping me awake at night so I can’t heal.

Then…when something breaks and can’t be fixed I proudly say such things as, “I haven’t been to the doctor in 30 years! Never been sick a day in my life! How could this happen to me???” It would be more truthful to say, “Why didn’t I pay attention to the signs and take care of this before it reached epic proportions? I guess I brought this all on myself.”

MamaCatThe funny thing is, although I feel that I can’t afford the time or expense for my own medical issues, I take my pets to the vet if they don’t eat right for a few days, or they mope around like they don’t feel well. But I never consider the owner of the pet. What will happen to them if I can’t get up at feed time or take them out?

I know maintenance is necessary for other things so I take my car to the shop if the engine sounds funny or the brakes don’t work, or the windshield wipers make noise. But what about the driver of the car. How difficult will repairs be when I have a stroke while driving? And what about that family in the  minivan next to me?

 Why do I always feel that I am invincible?

NaPoWriMo13

I’m normally a writer of short stories and am currently struggling to find time to complete a novel.

Poetry is a new form of writing for me so I’m taking the opportunity of this challenge to explore the seemingly endless forms of poetry. Bear with me on the journey as I expose the inner workings of my often confused and frustrated thoughts.

Sometimes they take on a life of their own – those are the good ones.

Any and all comments are appreciated and I’m not easily offended so be true to your heart and leave a comment if the spirit moves you.

Just A Thought

Yesterday I read a story about veterans
living in cardboard boxes in the United States.

An email came from a friend somewhere
working for peace in the Middle East.

Later on the TV news I heard about
dispossessed families living in their cars.

Suddenly it was coming from everywhere:

a mother and child shot by teens
who feel entitled to what they didn’t earn;

jobs lost due to businesses closing down
under the weight of impossible taxes;

record number of home repossessions;

diplomas awarded to kids who can’t read,

decadent, extravagant White House parties…

Every day I drown in an overwhelming,
oily, writhing, stinking mess of bad news.

I hurt with the pain of loss and misery
on the faces of those I see.

My soul cringes at the thought that
dedication is repaid by ignorance.

Another hole is opened in my heart
with every story I read; picture I see.

Sometimes, when the sun goes down
and darkness falls over the land,
events of the day merge and tumble
in the hollow spaces of my mind.

I close my eyes and scenes replay,
words scroll past on screens of black
played over actions, blend, converge;
as I struggle to understand.

Sometimes, everything morphs,
a thought is born from the chaos–
my thought—effervescent and glowing
in the dim recesses of my inner cave.

I can not fix the world, but I can try,
with what energy and resources I have,
to fix the area around me—make it better.

Before I stretch myself to lands afar,
let me work on what is close to home.

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