So here it goes..and if it seems awkward harsh, disjointed, well, it 's all in the spirit of depicting the awful nature of these contortions.
................
I get up, head upstairs reluctantly
To take a belated shower-bath.
Something feels amiss,
As if something in the back of my mind
Is waiting, for me to put down my guard,
I bathe, dry and clothe myself,
But it lingers.
As I prepare to eat the soup my mom
Has made,
I begin to turn,
My neck contorting itself with a wracking set of spasms
Where muscles, inch for inch, bit for bite
Will not quit until they've torn my head
From its narrow shoulders.
Something's wrong here!
I could tell it was from the moment I woke.
Something felt so amiss...
But why?
My head won't go back, so I limp blindly down the stairs
To my bedroom, my only visual focus
Is the ceiling, because it won't let me turn further.
I lie down, shiver and shake, pressing tired,
Trembling limbs into the mattress
And beg my mother to hold me.
She cradles me and croons an old lullaby,
As my vision, shaken, battered,
Skews from ceiing to wall to picture, ceiling.
Now my father is here, and he holds me
While my mom clamors into telephones in the kitchen.
I lie in the sheer agony that has suddenly engulfed reality.
I keep saying to myself in my mind,
Barely able to speak aloud
Due to twisted lips, teeth, jaws and spine,
But keep narrating with my writers mind,
Trying my best to stay sane:
It's gotta be okay.
Now I'm being hauled outside to the truck
Where my father waits anxiously behind the wheel
For my mother to appear in the garage door.
My view is composed of clouds, cabin roof, seatbelts,
And phone poles as my parents shout into cell phones
Wired to Poison Control
And the Hospital.
It's gonna be okay. It has to.
It's gonna go away, or else I'll die in the pain.
I didn't care, if TimBuktu were our destination,
If they had medicine to fix this,
I'd go. I spit up some, then some more,
And cram napkins into my mouth to absorb the
Hydrochloric acid that lingers on my sensitive taste buds.
Still contorting, my spine, jaws, neck and face
Contort and writhe like a colony of snakes.
In the ER, I am wheeled by a rickety old wheelchair.
A person hovers, asks my name,
And through bile covered clenched teeth, I tell them.
"Is she nonverbal?" one doctor asks,
And I want to sit up and say, "You idiot, are you insane?"
"I can very well speak but this, you see, is my reaction to some medication!"
But I could not do so, instead calling out in strangled syllables
To my mother to stand over me, by me, to hold my hand as blood pressure cuffs
And needles find their way in dexterous hands
To positions on my arms.
Still contorting, still thrashing, I lie there
Waiting for the medications to have their effects.
Eventually, almost asleep, I re-emerge from
A sleepy state,
Exhilarated by the absolute control of my limbs.
Slowly I get to the bathroom, I eat, and drink,
With family members standing anxiously
In the wayside.
Tides of nurses, EMT's, and others hover about
Beyond the curtains in the ER information center lobby.
Eventually, I calm, and I return home, relishing the
Sheer bliss of contorion-less living.
.........................
so that was my day. It scared the pee out of my parents, and the heck out of me. But I am better now..
PS: feel free to critique me out the door if you wish!
