Dear Wendy:
The following is my contribution for the PD book:
UNINVITED GUEST
Looking outside, a feeling growing in me,
a feeling that something had changed.
A twitch, a tingle, the index finger moving
moving, quickly, not stopping, can't stop it.
I kept looking around, all over the house
trying to see what was out of place.
Was it the air, or maybe the food I eat
opening the door a chill wind blew in.
The wind brought with it a frigid cold,
it surrounded me, as I grouped for my collar.
This guest, this Uninvited Guest, said my name
told me of a life to be, a life full of pain.
It talked of doctors who had little knowledge,
of aches, pains, and "Off" and "On" with meds.
It mouthed the words Chronic and Progressive,
wheelchairs, canes and research funding.
It's shivery chill was holding me tight, tighter
my fingers are shaking so violently, a sound
escaped from the wind, it doesn't miss a beat
dizzy, lightheaded, pushing me over, falling.
The wind is waiting, building power, to tackle,
cower on the floor, a thought, a tear and a smile.
The laughter comes from my belly, and it tickles me,
the Uninvited Guest hates joy, laughter, happiness.
I feel it's power wane somewhat, giving me time
to rise, to laugh in its face, to see my fear, to know it.
To take control, with doctors, hospitals, meds and me.
To show the Guest, the Uninvited Guest the door.
The Guest is always at my door, waiting to get back in.
With no time for pity, no time for anger turned in, I go
go about my day. My Shaking hands, bobbing head, uneven gait.
It seems the Guest thrives on sadness, pity, hatred, negative.
I can only keep the thoughts I have, positive they are
and yes, there is anger in me, but it keeps me going.
That I will fight, for all of the survivors now, waiting
just waiting for a cure. Funding research, knowledge, soon.
