in that exact moment i would've brought up my story of my first ER trip that i recalled.
i had gotten an extremely bad stomach ache
and after my daily nap- due to the luxury of being a third grade-
i woke up to excruciating abdominal pain, yelling at my parents to help me.
"help me please mom and dad!"
my mom and dad, of course, decided to take me to the hospital.
but me, being fearful of needles, was more afraid of the possible injections or punctures rather than what was going on inside me.
making my dad promise no needles and no IV's would be involved, i obliged to go and figure out what laid within my body that was making me feel like the bowl of my mothers morning eggs,
being mixed and beaten before cooking on the pan, heat absorbed throughout the mixture.
the burning sensation in my belly increasing i begged my dad to drive a tad faster.
before i knew it we were passing in the hospital hallways, my dad greeted his co-workers.
ct scan,
rate your pain,
"now tell me about whats going on malia."
as i tell the doctor, i want to scream and shout at the nurse coming in with the small plastic organizer.
containing the all too familiar sections of the alcohol wipe, the syringe, the needles, the blue band that wraps too tight for my liking-
squeezing my skin in a sacrifice to find the best working vein through my arm.
my dad, looking at me sympathetically, shrugged his shoulders and told me the nurse-certified list of why i need this IV.
the steady drip of saline, guaranteed to hydrate me back to health.
but yet, i resented the IV.
the prodding of the needle as these nurses,
unfamiliar to my skin,
labeling me as a "hard-stick" for my non-existent veins.
i knew this would be the case- and i just did not want it.
before i knew it, i was being held down by five nurses and my dad.
they just needed me to be steady,
steady and it will be done in five seconds.
my dad laughed,
"what a sight to see."
that was my first time feeling the adrenaline rush as i tried to save myself from my phobia of needles.
the consequences of resistance.
the pride i felt after my dad said
for the first time in my life that i was
strong.
but dad, i wonder if you know that i am no longer strong.
are you disappointed?
have you noticed?
in the night i latch onto my legs,
wet hair surrounding my wet face,
slightly brushing my feet as i whimper and rock myself.
too alone to find a hand in this darkness of the night,
i cry into the smoothness of my bare thighs.
i wonder if you know that sometimes,
i can't help but feel the intensity of trying to find tranquility in the helpless tug of war of my mind.
the feeling too familiar to the one on the hospital bed.
young and immature,
bold enough to attempt to break free from the IV-ridden nurse.
i am unlike that girl.
older and mature,
retreating from life to save whatever's left of the broken pieces that lay shattered on the floor
after the screaming match shared
with the textured wall i stare at,
blurry and inconsistent,
i can't make my decorations out through
the clouded vision.
my eyes grapple to find a loophole through the riveting tears,
but hey,
i prefer to keep my eyes closed in trauma anyways.
i count.
1-200, why do i feel like this?
i count.
1-400, 60's are hard to get through,
but 80's are a breeze.
i count.
1-500, it seems to me
that i stumble with every number with two of the same digits.
i sob.
in between the pant of my breathe, whimpering out as i scuffle to find air.
i sob.
how does breathing feel so hard right now? i wonder.
i sob.
something as innate and powerful to a person.
i sob.
how silly it is, that breathing- out of everything striking my head: the inevitable pain shoveling itself out of the hollows of my heart,
wanting to be seen,
to be recognized,
to be remembered.
as if i could forget the bullet wounds woven into the
deep barriers of my heart.
missing the bars of the cage i worked so hard on mending.
too sharp,
too fast,
too ruthless,
bending the insufficient aviary.
the insignificant attempt at
protecting my heavy heart.
the strongest cages,
will never cope with the unprecedented
and unpredictable shots life throws.
even the strongest cages,
will deform and contort out of its shape
due to heartbreak,
pure somberness,
and exhaustion.
rebounding search for
misshapen bits of metal floating in the bloodstream.
the pursuit to retreat these scraps:
useless and pathetic.
if i scream to my mom and dad,
"help me please mom and dad!"
without a stomachache, without a backache, without a dog bite, without a broken toe or arm,
do you think they'd see the broken daughter that slipped through their fingers like porcelain?
delicately mutilated.
eyes as deep as the pools her tears have filled.
do you think they'd recognize that this girl has roots of nightmare ridden trees planted in the veins of her body?
silently screaming.
legs exhausted from the miles she runs
in order to escape.
when i was younger, i believed needles were the worst, most painful thing anyone could experience.
boy, was i wrong.
-m
