Saturday, December 1, 2007

A hole in my life...

...has become the whole of my life.

It colors how I see the world,
and how the world sees me.
It affects me physically,
not to mention mentally.
It gives rise to the need for caregivers.

It alters perception of time.
It modifies schedules.
It upsets plans.

It drains energy.
It saps strength.
It exhausts.

It plays on emotions.
It angers.
It confuses.

It disrupts thoughts.
It disturbs dreams.
It interrupts sleep.

It narrows focus.
It plays tricks.
It blurs vision.

It destroys self-esteem.
It breaks trust.
It dashes hope.

It revises notions of fair.
It reorders priorities.
It reshapes expectations, spoken and unspoken.

It impacts friends and family.
It imposes itself in all aspects of our lives.
It continues to tranform everything.

-dp
I wrote this before surgery...
And I still feel torn, shredded, ripped asunder.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Diana dear - I hope that soon you can replace the frustrating, frightening and confusing feelings which envelop you at this time with thankfulness for the fact you have friends, family and caregivers who love you.....who do not define you by your illness or capabilities. Your circumstances have certainly changed but you are still YOU and for that we give thanks. Love, peace and prayers, Nettie

Anonymous said...

Well said Nettie.

Cranium Man said...

Glad to have you back at the keyboard, DP,in any mood you may bring. Write more.

Everything transforms everything.

nancyturtle said...

I don’t know what it feels like to have cancer.
I don’t know what it feels like to have brain surgery.

I do know, however, what it feels like to have my friend hurting and unable to communicate. As Sam said, it’s good to have you back at the keyboard and able to tell us a little bit about how it feels.

Anonymous said...

Iced in with the sniffles. DAMN!

Lying in bed still dopey with the anesthesia you looked so good to me. Scarfing down ices with that horrible wound on your neck, you looked good to me.

And your poem, your anger, the fact that you are blogging, breathing is to me a joyful thing.

That day you came out of surgery, lying on your side so groggy, Kevin was, as he has been for years, at your side. What I saw in Kevin spoke volumes about you both. The tender look on his face as he held your hand, the concern drawn so plainly on his features. He was love incarnate. I will never forget those moments. Never. Without saying a word, he spoke to me about you.

So let it all out. BIG HUGS!!!