Translating Chronic Pain: Moments and Fragments

'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!

Tag: Isolation (Page 2 of 5)

‘Superheroes in PJs’, by Grae Salisbury

March 2, 2019 /

This is shocking.

 

              I am not an object and I am not broken but

                                          the pain tells me differently.

 

This is chronic.

              Why am I not adjusted yet?

 

It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness

                                                        or

                                          all I want is to lie down.

 

And when I come into work I lie about my days off.

 

Why do I look tired? Maybe,

              that’s just how I look. Maybe,

              they think I am just not very ‘together’…

 

This invisible pain cannot be talked about because that will only make work relations worse-

because they never know how to interact with me after, but

                            my anxiety aches like the bits between my legs.

 

I am not used to this.

 

I am managing well and privately proud, but sometimes

 

              I wish they all knew.

 

I guess all superheroes probably feel like this sometimes.

 

              I bet there’s a lot of us.

 

 

  • by Grae Salisbury

Canada
Instagram:  @jellybeancomix

‘Flare*’, by amymillios.blog

September 28, 2018 /

I’ve slept through Christmas. I shiver and pull the covers over me; sweat, and throw the covers off. My head bobs with nausea as I hobble to the bathroom to pee. The cats stay away, though at some point I hear them sliding across the living room floor, chasing that knitted ball with the bell.  They sound far away.  I sink into scalding bathwater—steam rising around me, my skin red—but it doesn’t feel anywhere near hot enough.  I eat a deviled egg. Hear the glass of seltzer fizzing on my nightstand as I turn onto my right hip to relieve my left.  Awake time for the day: 45 minutes. Sleep time: 20 hours. In-between these two: three hours of semi-comatose wondering, wondering if I’ll ever get back a bit of the life I once had.

*from “Sick Notes: The Story Inside the Illness: Memoir Meets Case Study”

 

  • by amymilios.blog

 

Link to Master’s Thesis on ProQuest

 

United States

‘The hook’, by Sarah Sasson

September 20, 2018 /

Our minds latch to narrative,
it’s how we learn, remember, interpret.

I went to hospital to have a baby,
I should’ve returned more, not less.
Subtracted: my ability to rise, walk, move;
In my pelvis, broken bone.

What is the premise?

What is the character’s motivation?

What is the hook?

That feeling: ochre, electric, waist down.

The hook is me on the edge of my bed, listening for my baby.

My doctor: you will probably heal 

what if I don’t

things that were part of me: walking, laughing, being in ocean.

My editor draws lines through this section. 
[The pacing is slow, nothing happens]

Days are triangles between the bed, the couch, the bathroom. 
Pain tethers me; a dog on a rope.

I’m on the bed trying to stand, the collar pulls my neck
to breathe or growl
I watch from the other side of the room how I’m changed.

  • by Sarah Sasson

WordPress:  https://sarahsassonblog.wordpress.com/

United Kingdom

‘In the name of Pain’, by Suchitra Awasthi

September 14, 2018 /

Pain is a pre-requisite to Creation. Take for example the process of bringing forth life. Albeit it is a painful process, nevertheless, it is also a glorious creation. History stands testimony to the fact that all the great ones who ever walked the Earth have

risen to great heights walking through the aisle of pain. “Love till it hurts” is the beautiful message bequeathed to us by Mother Teresa. I consider myself fortunate to have known a few “chosen” ones who have borne the cross of their lives with a brave heart.

Their lives have made me understand the significance of the maxim of “Grace Under Pressure “. Living in the proximity of pain, at this watershed moment of my life, I endeavour to explore the uncharted realm of Metaphysics and as I inch towards it silently,

I experience the power of the Void in my own quaint way.

 

  • by Suchitra Awasthi

UK/India

‘The Break of Day’, by Jacqueline Woods

August 26, 2018 /

Pain paralyses. 
It hurts too much to move,
to unlock, unhinge my joints,
put pressure on my tender limbs.

I will wait for my Carer: 
my lover, my friend,
who will lift me from my bed,
magnificently.

My arms encircle his neck
as I breathe in the salty sunshine
of his skin, pressing my lips against
the cool ripple of his shoulder blade.

He carries me to a bathroom
of sunken marble and satin cushions, 
a garland of candles guides our way,
I am Ophelia light: baptised, reborn.

His devotion will wash 
the wounds of night away,
unclench the claws which trap
my dreams.

I will bathe in his tenderness:
my twisted hands and swollen knees
brave and beautiful
in his eyes.

All will be well
when he arrives.

 

UK

‘Nobody’, by Wayne Roberts

June 26, 2018 /

Four walls,
Four walls and me,
Four walls a fistful of pills and me,
Silence
Surrounded by silence,
The silence that reminds me me myself and I.

Except you,
You’re never silent,
The voice that never stops,
The endless alarm that disturbs my slumber,
You rattle round my brain in whispers and shouts until I scream.

Then I’m heard,
Outside of this box,
Outside of this cell walls have ears who swallow my words,
And even photographs in frames refuse to listen,
Because I have no voice.

 

  • by Wayne Roberts

UK

‘Footsteps’, by Jacqueline Woods

June 16, 2018 /

Pain permeates her dreams,
Seeps into this anaemic morning.
Sucking breath to unhinge each joint
stuck fast through the cramp of night.
The bathroom is an agony away,
Tender feet must scrape each step while
Wincing fingers trace the rails along
her jagged journey.
Tap turners levered by cankered wrists
bring the gush and plunge of warm water,
A pure moment of relief.

Her baby wakes in a scream of urgency
unanswered by her stumbling mother
who struggles to dress herself,
To start another day.
Soon her child will grow to patience,
Learn wisdom beyond her years,
Wait, while snaps and buttons
are fastened with fragile hands
And desperate cuddles given,
cringed with wrinkling pain.

  • by Jacqueline Woods

For further information see: arthritiscare.org.uk

United Kingdom

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