Textling #52

Suddenly a third illness looms, and I am scared and unsettled in strange, contrary ways, hoping for and dreading yet another diagnosis. Time for a professional disease (not this preposterous amateur affliction); a new label, steel blue, rule book cool, with proper treatment options, and above all else: one where fatigue is a side show and not the centre, the crummy sun around which all of life revolves.

The doctor treats my need to lie down half way through consultations as an eccentricity – my own fault, I did ride in on a steed called Rolling Pin, without a saddle. She repeats over several appointments ‘I am sure it is nothing’; another finds the scan alarming. I want it to be nothing (lest something turns out to be life-shortening), I want it to be something (lest nothing means more of the same). I am pathetically, perversely torn, as if I considered wishing a genuine source of influence. What if #3 were the sister who moves to Moscow after all and pulls her hapless siblings in her trail; the blazer who, sickle in hand, cuts paths through medical undergrowth, carves gates in walls, marches ahead with go-getting, new sight-setting good sense? What if she falters, sprawls with the other two on a bed that is much too small?


2 thoughts on “Textling #52

  1. Hello Marion – this post left me wondering how you are? I was also wondering if you have a web site where more of your art/writing can be accessed? Your writing is wonderful – you express so well the ‘felt’ reality of this illness. I am also a writer/artist with severe ME and published a novel last year (‘Conversations with Leopard’) that is in part an account of how creativity has helped me to express myself through the difficulties of a life sapping condition. I hope today is a kind one. Best wishes Paula


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