Dear Doctor
Dear Doctor,
Since day 23 of the pain, my body has been new land.
You have colonized me, in every way known to man,
needle in my veins, invading but not conquering the pain,
contrast dye, MRI
but no one can tell me why it hurts,
except that I might be faking it,
or that it really shouldn’t hurt this bad,
or any number of excuses to override what I know I feel
or what I thought I knew I felt.
I’ve been spoken for
spoken over
and spoken against, never spoken with.
Made to feel as if
my opinion does not and never will matter,
and even if my bones shattered on the spot right now,
you’d find a way to say I have no reason to hurt.
I have been in the waiting room
for 2 years and 20 days.
I count every day of the pain
the way a man in a drought
counts the days without rain.
I count missed opportunities
and missed plans
and missed days
because I couldn’t get out of bed
without hurting,
and I couldn’t laugh
without hurting,
and I couldn’t speak
without hurting
and I couldn’t live
without hurting.
I do not hate you,
Doctor who told me it was normal
to feel this way,
and I do not hate you
Doctor who admonished me for crying
in the hospital bed
because “most girls with your condition
don’t hurt much at all!”
and I do not hate you,
Doctor who did not tell me
that the medicine
would give me depression,
and I do not hate you
Doctor who sent me to the wrong specialist.
I do not hate you, doctor,
but I hate this pain,
and I hate the unknown
and I hate being afraid.
I do not hate you, doctor
but I hate
that 2 years
and 20 days
have passed since I wasn’t in pain,
and I hate the fear
that one day
it will have been 20 years
and 2 days
and I will be doing this again.
dear doctor,
dear doctor,
dear doctor,
do you know what is wrong with me yet?
Sincerely, Invisible.