Rocinante’s Secrets

The worn grips where I held you tightly,
through foul winds or gentle breezes;
the subtle change in color there, pleases –
where hills become valleys resting in those old wraps.

Every scratch, no matter the size,
when I carried you impatiently from place to place,
or tangled with you imperfectly at my own disgrace,
are hints at the strength beneath your skin.

The dirt that hides in strange corners,
the oil, the grease, the wires, the gears,
sometimes too much, or too little are my fears,
that the care I can give you is not enough.

The way the two of us consort,
inspiring the earth to move, the wind to blow,
and in that ambiance becoming only the now I know;
free, finally, from times attempt to capture me –

Soft words whispered to eyes keen enough to listen.

Palm Reading

When you work with clay
you learn to enjoy the dirt,
the silt feels like silk curtains
drawn on an autumn day.

You learn to listen to the skin,
hear all the whispers spoken,
and whisper back tender questions,
that teach of the two of you together.

When you work with clay,
you explore abstract places,
pursuing adventures of vulnerability,
to discover (not exactly create) truth.

You learn that truth, alone, is nothing,
without you to define and assess it.
You make yourselves a part of that truth,
and what you sculpt together is your truth reforged.

When you can no longer work the clay,
you instead knead the aches and pains,
worn, cracked hands rather than a bust or vase,
but a landscape of passion all the same;

where peaks and valleys boast of conquest,
scars and coloration sing of compassion;
nowhere is the silence of smooth skin.
With clay my hands have been broken in.

A Confrontation

I cross the threshold between two rooms,
to see you there, tall and bright;
happy again to let your words spill out,
carelessly like a flagon carried mid dance,
confident there is plenty more
and rags at hand to clean the floor.

I haven’t seen you like that in a generation,
who we were- long since old and dying,
making way for who we are now;
reduced to somber stones with names-
                                  only visited on occasion.

I feel those old ghosts resurrected,
bursting through coffins, through earth and the fog of years;
desperate for relevance again.
Crying out please, see me friend!
through laughter breathe life into these lungs!”

But how could you now see the ghost of me,
or anything between who you are
and who, in all this time, I have come to be?

Joy has propositioned you from this world,
while I, before, was naught but misery.

Let me retreat, satisfied as a memory.
Settle those spirits within and lay them to rest,
I beg the fates on our behalf,
please, don’t see me, lest
            in all these years,
                  neither of us be free.

An Effigy (w/poet Riley Seidel)

I saw your hand
reach out from behind the cloth
a fragile thing
beguiled by shadow and pomp
though your face flush
the hand was molded plaster
disembodied
as if it had no master
but you it served,
of this I can be certain;
the gift it held
brought from behind those curtains
I gave to you
all those many years ago.
Why now return
that whittled ivory rhino?

I loved you then
that I am sure of my dear.
So romantic
but with you, it was austere.
In such patience
my dreams slipped from reality
contradicting
your love for hyperbole.
I filled myself
with the visions of your rhino
grandiose, yes
amongst my humble fallow.
Your confusion
Lends all hands towards your grief.
I must tell you
It is time for me to leave.

Exultation

A dispute can always be found
between two competing parties
who know the others desire
and will gladly set it on fire
humbled
to see the other on their knees
they return back home and retire
forever in range of the sound
of those who the action inspired

What brings us to this horrid place
where the last bastion of hope dies
on the parched lips of empathy
uttered in the night breathlessly
concessions
like there could be found compromise
between the futile entropy
and the encumbrance of space
to bring light to life desperately

But there can be no forgiveness
between a rock and a hard place
though each needs the other defined
all that is in the self they find
disavowed
seeking another’s warm embrace
the memory of something kind
despite all that has been witnessed
share the loss of a world maligned

Humbled concessions disavowed.

Austin

I need no light to feel your shadow
surely in light it is well defined
but in darkness you are all around me;
I see you better than I see myself

Moments alone with you are savored;
only then can I truly disrobe
shed the skin that I wear throughout the day
and bring to bare the self kept at bay.

I want more for you than I can give
to provide a life fit to live
rather than a long list of tasks
we complete because we are living
to that end I offer my love
it’s ups and downs and subtle motions
the strange and twisting contortions
and the oft abstract expectations,
the unflinching courage to seek this life’s end
with you – my love, my inspiration, my best friend.

Drowning In Confusion

Drowning in confusion. That was the state of my existence for approximately two months, maybe longer.

I was not given information about what Crohn’s was, or how it would impact me, aside from it being “an inflammatory bowel disease characterized by inflammation throughout your digestive tract”. In an attempt to inform myself, I tread upon thin ice, fell through, and found myself drowning.

I read about everything that could go wrong.

I took existing statistics and mashed them together to create new, more terrifying, super-statistics.

I was afraid of doing things that the month prior I was doing with great joy. I had anxiety before this year, but because of the self administered drip-feed of medical propaganda, I was on the verge of agoraphobia. I was away from work for almost two months and had tremors at the thought of returning. 

My husband struggled, I’m sure- actually, hear it from him yourself.

Brendon, how was that experience for you?

There are a lot of layers to that struggle. First and foremost, I love my wife very much and was heartbroken to find out that something like this could affect her so severely, forever. I understood that there were ways to manage it so it wasn’t debilitating but even ‘managing’ it is more than what I would want for her. But there is more than that. We are not just individuals anymore, we are a couple, a family. I was upset for Austin the person, for all the reasons above. 

But I was upset for Austin the wife too for entirely different reasons. Austin, my wife, was scared to do the things we enjoyed doing together. Biking, exercising, running, etc. But I myself, (Brendon the husband man) still wanted to do those things. These opposing situations created friction that was difficult for us to deal with. In doing them I felt guilty because I knew the impact it had on my wife. In not doing them it made Austin feel guilty that her medical issues were limiting my enjoyment in life. Both of us developed an underlying resentment on top of the other stressors inherent in the issue. That resentment also developed a sense of guilt, and it was all cyclical and felt rather hopeless.

On top of that there was Austin, the family person, who’s same fear impacted the relationship she had with our children and the things she was willing to do with them. The emotional toll all of this was having translated to bad moods, poor communication and isolation behavior which is never well received by kids. Watching that as the other half of the monarchy that rules over our family was difficult and disheartening as well.

Financial impacts were hard on both of us too, but how can you value income over one’s health? You can’t without feeling like a monster. Yet at the same time very real threats to our livelihood rose out of the ashes of the old Austin the diagnosis had tried to lay to waste. As a caring husband you can’t really say anything, but you can’t hide the calls you have to make on a weekly basis to your mother for help, or trying to apply for other jobs to either supplement the income or replace the income you already have with something better. That too developed into some very guilt heavy resentment over those months.

Eventually you just have to tackle that fear though. You have to identify the value of what you’re doing to protect yourself from any and all risk against the value of living your life in a way you love. That’s how we broke the cycle without breaking each other. Because we realized that we were worth taking some risks, and we always had each other to see us through to the otherside. 

Thank you Brendon, I appreciate you sharing what that experience was like for you. I am incredibly grateful that I have you in my life and that you were there for me when I needed help resurfacing.

It wasn’t easy. We fought a lot. At the time, I believed that I had every right to live in fear, and I felt like he was telling me that I didn’t. I applied every grim statistic to myself because I had every right to, but the point that I kept missing was that I didn’t have any reason to. He was always trying to help me understand that distinction, and eventually I did.

Stress is a very large contributor to “flare-ups” , a sudden showing of more severe symptoms, in Crohn’s patients. In “educating” myself, I was causing myself so much unneeded stress that was actually perpetuating my symptoms and increasing the possibilities of certain frightening circumstances, such as cancer, becoming a reality in the future. I was making myself sick! In choosing to be afraid, I was choosing to abandon my family, and live a very sad, and most likely short, life. 

So I started thinking more positively, letting go of the things that I had no control over, and prioritizing the things that I love. I can’t control whether I get cancer in the future, but I can control how often I get to feel the satisfaction of kicking my husband’s ass at a bike race.

I’m still working on myself, and staying positive and productive is a constant battle, but I believe that it is worth it.

If you find that you have a diagnosis, are confused, and you are wanting to know more about it, I would recommend that you find resources that can help guide you and support you rather than attempting to go at it alone. At the very least, have a support system of friends and family on standby to help give you a more positive perspective on things.

Living With a Chronic Illness

Living with a chronic illness is something that I am new to. I was diagnosed at the start of this year. Here’s how that happened. Forewarning, I discuss bodily functions in this post. Don’t read it, if that kind of thing makes you squeamish.

About two weeks prior to my diagnosis I was bloated, gassy, and constipated which I had taken milk of magnesia to try and relieve. Constipation was not new to me.

One day at work I felt abdominal cramping and when I went to the bathroom I found a substantial amount of bright red blood in my stool. 

I was freaking out because my Dad has colon cancer. Because of that my mind immediately defaulted to “It must be cancer!”

I broke down crying while on the toilet at work. I called my husband to let him know what happened and he calmed me down, and helped me remember that we wouldn’t know what’s wrong until I saw a doctor; he then recommended that I speak to my manager. I had a full-blown panic attack in my manager’s office and then went home.

I went to a clinic where, for the first time in my adult life, someone looked at my butthole. The doctor checked to see if I had a hemorrhoid that may have ruptured, but I didn’t, so she referred me to a gastroenterologist. I went to a gastroenterologist the next day and was scheduled for a colonoscopy the day after. 

The bowel preparation for the colonoscopy was one of the worst things that I have ever experienced. 

After the colonoscopy I was informed that I more than likely had Crohn’s Colitis but they would have to wait for the results of the biopsy that they took to come back to know for sure. The biopsies came back within the next 48 hours and I was officially diagnosed with Crohn’s Colitis and prescribed an anti-inflammatory medication that I would potentially have to be on for the rest of my life, this is when I got to experience medicated enemas for the first time, 30 days worth.

As a woman in her twenties, already struggling to be confident in her own skin; having diarrhea, mucus, and blood coming out of my ass multiple times a day, wasn’t exactly a confidence-booster. 

My self-esteem took a huge blow. 

My relationship suffered. 

My outlook on life was bleak.

I was drowning.