After Visit Summary

Today I cried over my body. At a young age I learned I could not pray the pain away. One night I made a deal with God. I lost the bet and woke up in the hospital. There I learned the meaning of devotion. Every night my roommate prayed the rosary inside of the closet. I was afraid I could never believe in anything as much as she believed that this is the word of the Lord (“Thanks be to God”) inside of her head. I am still afraid.

I write letters to my dead dad and wait for a response. Soon, and I don’t know for how long, things will change for me. For better or worse, I will be in sickness and will fight for health. These are the vows I write on the precipice of being sliced open.

Even though I don’t want to be a cyborg anymore, I have accepted my fate. I promise to use my powers for good. Given the chance to choose between this life and the next, I am building something for what’s to come. This is my last go round here and I must make the most of it. If I’m able to move the same ever again, I won’t stop moving. I’ve already lost so much. Ability is a relative illusion and I’ve tipped the scales. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain after all - I’m still here.

At least 3 different churches in my lifetime have added me to their prayer lists. This brings me a sort of comfort. Strangers talking about me when I’m not there, in conversation with the Lord on my behalf. It makes me feel powerful. Like I have a direct line to Raphael himself. Though deformed, so I am healed.

A week after my last spinal surgery I drove myself to a punk show in Downtown Detroit. I took my grandmother’s walker with me and used it to hobble up the stairs. I sat in the back watching the energy of the room ascend in a way I couldn’t match. But I needed to prove something to myself that night. I was fine! Nothing broken or torn and I’m left with only a vague memory of the pain.

In dreams I talk to my dead dad. Over and over again I ask him what I should know. To see him is enough. When I was a teenager I would steal his Vicodin. Having been on a Morphine drip at 11 years old I knew a thing or two about warmth - and what I would do to get it. It was impressive to the boys at my school that I should carry something stronger than Midol with me. I didn’t care about impressing them. My concern was with oblivion.

The nothingness was all consuming. When I prayed that night on the bathroom floor I was praying for my salvation. But there was no escape from it. The symptoms would persist. I would fight the insurance companies. Tens of thousands of dollars would be spent on supplies throughout my lifetime. There really isn’t a lesson to learn about the inevitability of all sickness. When I walk with my cane and someone asks me what happened to me my answer is “life”. It comes for us all.