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Person wearing a hospital gown standing with a monster

Still Living With a MonSter

I’m not sick, but I fit the description. So, I keep going back to the hospital. We exit the car, check in, and wait for my name to be called.

The back room is cold and the lights are dim. A curtain separates each space.

“Please remove your clothes and put this on.”

Paper dress with an open back. Ass out like Prince. Strange relationship. World turned upside down. Blood rushing to my head.

My life of coping with MS complications

The emergency room is just a rest stop. Six hours waiting for a bed. I fell asleep watching television. I woke up while being transported on a rolling cart. Heading to the main floor.

Frequent UTI symptoms. Peeing through a catheter. Lucky me. I got a private room with no privacy. People continually in and out.

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So hungry. But no food or drink. They need to run some tests. Throat parched from swallowing pills all day. The nurses bring them to me in a little cup with a sip of water. On extended stays, I watch as it goes into my veins from a hanging bag on a pole.

This is nothing new

I should be crying, but it’s normal for me to be in the hospital. I’m a frequent shopper. Been here so many times. I don’t show the pain anymore. The doctor’s strange faces bring me comfort.

Thousand-dollar wheelchair in the corner. I can’t stop myself from thinking about my former life. Was it real? I’m not sure. It’s so far away from current reality. My mind holds onto pieces of things that have long been erased.

Spacing out

It must be bad luck to speak on why I’m in here. Because no one talks to me about it. They all address my husband like I’m not in the room. So, I space out. Reflecting on my predicament. Penny for my thoughts. I got a million dollars now.

Half the time I don’t know what’s going on. I stay confused about the current day of the week. It all seems the same. Tuesday looks like Friday. Thursday is just like Sunday. I go to sleep Saturday. When I wake up its Saturday again.

Window shades stay pulled down. I haven’t seen the sun in a while. Can someone tell me if it still comes out?

Praying for a miracle

Social worker asked me my religion. “If you want, someone can come pray with you?” Yes, please! It’s lonely in this room and I’m bored. Plus, I need all the prayers I can get.

They must have seen my head was under water. And thought I needed to be baptized.

Preacher showed up. Stands over me mumbling. Sounding like he is speaking in tongues. He tells me, “Call on God for help.” I sealed my eye lids shut. Squeezed them tight and shook my head. As he talked to the universe and hummed a gospel tune. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling at me.

I guess no miracle today. Because I’m still in this hospital room. Still in this body. Still living with a MonSter.

This article represents the opinions, thoughts, and experiences of the author; none of this content has been paid for by any advertiser. The team does not recommend or endorse any products or treatments discussed herein. Learn more about how we maintain editorial integrity here.

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