Cackling While I Was Naked

My eyeball is healing. But we’ll be on a few medications, rocking glasses only, and seeing the ophthalmologist a lot for the next few weeks… just to make sure things continue to improve. I noticed the infection early, so there has been none of the agony or blurriness I had to live with the last time my cornea went holey. Alas, no sexy eye-patched pirate this time around.

The last few days were for listening to audiobooks, resting, walking, taking care of logistics, and for running s l o w l y (I did other things too, but they involved cackling while I was naked, and this isn’t that kind of post). My legs and lungs are regaining their strength quicker than I expected. I’ve been good to me—taking a lot of breaks while exercising, even when the pauses weren’t prompted by fatigue; and I’ve been sleeping. I’m following a hybrid version of my former Daily Thirteen, Jeff Galloway’s 5K Training, and guidance from my physical therapist/trainer. I was about to start Week 3 of 15, when my eyeball got its dot… so I’ve decided to start over from week one… on Monday, I think… No rush, right?

I want to thank every Wicked Darling who sent me get better soon wishes and hysterical jokes—you rocketh very mucho and your sense of humor is freaking delicious! My inbox is about to explode, so please don’t think that I’m ignoring you if it takes a bit before I reply.

To those of you who emailed me to ask different versions of: “How did you beat chronic pain?” (perhaps inspired by the fact that I’m running again). Well, I haven’t “beaten” pain. I doubt anyone can do that. I work with mine. Running hurts; doing calisthenics hurts; walking downhill hurts; holding a book in front of me hurts; sitting down, other than on my bed, hurts a lot… But if I keep my arms very close to my body while I run, the pain doesn’t make me lose my balance; if I modify my position when doing crunches, my back gives me a slight break; if I walk downhill sideways, with my strong side turned forward, my nerve pain doesn’t steal my breath… Small consistent compromises work for me most of the time.

Chronic pain is a rather personal thing, methinks. Many of us share the physical throbbing, the emotional burden, and often the rage. But the ways in which our bodies function and fight are different. There is no beating this, at least not for me. Most of my chronic pain comes from physical trauma, so I suspect that things will get trickier as time does its thing. I also know that I’ll come up with new tactics in order to help my mind and body dance with the trickster. This is the only advice I can give: Listen to your body; never allow pride (or misplaced badassness) fool you into believing that you know more than what your body tells you it feels… Then glare a lot and bare your teeth. I do it all the time.

On the writing front, the conclusion of the Laila Flynn web serial shall be published on Friday. It’s already scheduled—no spotty body part can postpone the mayhem. I’m almost done with the first draft of a Lum and Darlene novella, for the second book in the Blooming Howls Series). Oh, and I’ve been having some serious research fun while I learn about the haibun, haiku and senryu Japanese forms of short poetry.

That’s all, my Luvs. I showed you mine. Would you like to show me yours? If you aren’t too shy, that is *cough, cough, cough*. Seriously though, what kind of trouble did you get into while I was gone?

P.S. Feel free to roar at Fate’s obliteration of my recently-born schedule; I did… Then I grabbed a pencil and notepad and drafted another… What if Fate feels the need to murder my latest effort? Well, I have writing supplies galore… plus endless stubbornness to boot.

P.P.S. I shall lurk around your cyber homes tonight… Muahahaha!

TenacityNature’s tenacity, as portrayed by this tree, had me grinning like a lunatic, for at least a quarter of a mile… 🙂

Teeth Flashing Lightning

The cackling
of feet smacking sand
thunders back into the world;

filling muscle and bone
with blood so hot,
that the tongue licks
nearly forgotten triumphs.

Under the ribs,
a knife births a burning flinch;

in the house
where thoughts craft
life’s clay,
Brain kisses Endorphin
that melts into a rushing sea
and swallows quail.

Feet slow dance to a walk,
lungs work natural magic:
1, 2, 3… 28 breaths

before thunder smacks again,

teeth flashing

Process Note (told you I was addicted to these things *sigh*): I was going to take a break from poetry, maybe two weeks… but Michael (AKA Grapeling) shared a prompt full of Neruda’s words and made me a liar. I mean, how could anyone resist? Look at this selection: “fragment, insistent, withdrawing, sea, clay, gnawed, empty, knife, suburb, face, house, blood”. By the way, my Wicked Luvs, can you tell that I’m completely drunk on running? And it’s freaking delicious!

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Grapeling’s Get Listed for May: Pablo Neruda)
Two Women Running on the Beach, by Pablo PicassoTwo Women Running on the Beach, by Pablo Picasso

One Almost Forgets about Broken Doors, When the Entire House Is on Fire

I’m sure my regular word-drinkers have noticed that in the last few weeks, I haven’t said much about chronic pain. My fist-shaking-and-cursing has been reserved for my gut. It isn’t that my muscle and bone and nerve pain has gotten better; in fact, some of it worsened—the softening of my abdomen is putting extra strain on my lower back, and the weakening of my upper back muscles makes my shoulder throb more often than before.

So why the silence… Well, one almost forgets about broken doors, when the entire house is on fire. However, now that my eyeball and stomach fire-demons have been appeased, I can focus on the rest of my bits.

A week or so ago, I shared good news with friends on Facebook: my cornea ulcer is completely healed, so I can wear contact lenses again; and my gastroenterologist said that I could go back to eating a regular diet—I was on Low FODMAP for a while… and a Low Residue Diet before that. I’m still on medications, which might never go away (I’m not sure how I feel about that yet…), but that’s all right. One deals with things when one must, right?

I didn’t give you all the good news, though… I wanted to be greedy, and keep the yum to myself for a bit… But I’ve had enough time to adore the new possibilities, so some sharing is in order: after visits to my neurologist, microbiologist, and podiatrist, I was cleared to run again… as long as I keep the balance between “harm and hurt”.

Harm and Hurt are common topics in the life of a person living with chronic pain; especially when the illness or trauma responsible for the pain exists alongside other conditions (i.e. gastroenterological hell *yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the scientific name for it*). And when the one doing the pain-full living is a witchy Aries Marine (who tends to forget that she is no longer invincible, like when she was nineteen), then the importance of the difference between harm and hurt must become a mantra. It will always hurt to work out, but I have to be careful not to push my body hard enough to harm it.

I’m going for my first run/walk/hobble in a few hours. I need to lose the weight I put on during the strange dieting, medication musical chairs, and exercise restrictions (about 14 pounds). I must lose the extra yumminess because I can’t bring diabetes into the medical mess that is my sexy body. I must remind myself that I’m no longer a teenager or a twenty-ager; heck! I’m almost not a thirty-ager anymore… so need to take it s-l-o-w… or my tummy and nerve issues will remind me who’s driving the train.

I know how slow this process will be. I also know that it will be extremely hard on me—both, psychologically and physically. Still, deep inside, where the soul dances and cackles… I know, I know, I know that there isn’t a thing that Magaly Guerrero can’t adapt to or overcome. But I won’t promise that there won’t be considerable bitching and moaning while the deed is being done *cough, cough, cough*.

P.S. For the longest time, I wrongfully suspected that the items in the picture were a gift from my friend, Rommy. Partly because she has sent me a present in the past, and waited for me to guess that it came from her; but mostly because she is one of my few friends who would know that I would laugh like a lunatic when opening a package that contains Edward Gorey’s The Curious Sofa: a Porno-Graphic Work by Ogdred Weary, and Terry Pratchett’s Where’s My Cow? The running belt should have given me a clue, but it didn’t…

Anyhoo, to the one who sent me the gift (your wife told me *cough*), to the one who believed I could do this (even before others thought it medically possible), I promise that I will give it my all (and I will do it safely), only if you promise to continue to stay alive while you save lives.

Where's My Cow, by Terry Pratchett