Sunday, April 29, 2012

2012 04 29 A Love Letter to my First (five) Neurologists

Physical Therapy
soaked in sweat, vision dimming
I am supposed to be able to do this
I will do it
I am getting better

fuck it and fuck you

Sitting on my  transfer board or shower chair
concentrating on falling over and
using my newfound infantile dexterity to wash myself
For the first time in months
I repeat my mantra for success

fuck you and you and you, you fucking piece of shit, you can go fuck yourself

When pushing my wheel chair
on sidewalks or bicycle tracks,
up hill or through narrow doors,
or rolling down hill, big grin on my face
around and around at Walmart
huffing and chugging

chugga chugga  fuck you!
my voice rising to a do a "whoot whoot"  fuck you

Oh and to all the pompous docotors, gathering around my bed telling me I am going to start getting better soon, just have to plateau at the bottom first, and that anxiety is by biggest problem
so confident that I felt guilty for doubting you

May God bless you and forgive you for your arrogance
and pompasity
Even though you may not live in my world,
we both are human
That makes us infinately fallible, prone to accidents,
illness, error and the other human foibles of fuckery

I ask God to let his love and forgiveness channel through me to you
All your good works are blessings to us
but if it were up to me
I would happily weave you a crown made of
fuck you till it comes out your mouth
shaped thorns
and place it on your broad, white, holier than thou brow.

1 comment:

  1. I am glad to see that you have found a place where you can just "let it out". I have harbored the same kind of feelings towards those who have wronged me medically so I know where you are coming from. The twisted problem in my mind is that I have such evil thoughts toward them yet I also hear those words in my mind "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us". It's the "as" part that messes with me. If God is forgiving me in the same way that I am forgiving them,I'm fucked! Anyway,I am looking forward to reading all of your twisted thoughts.

    P.S. In my twentys I wrote a weekly little paper with weird stuff in it,including my poetry,and called it Sample D.

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