Last month, I fell after getting out of the car. My kneecaps dislocated, locked, and then dislocated again. My body has had a mind of its own for a while now. As a writer with cerebral palsy, I’m used to it. Earlier in the week, I went to my orthopedic doctor who told me what I already knew: I will need knee surgery to repair the damaged cartilage from years of kneecap dislocations.
I’ve been avoiding this for 14 years, since the 2nd day of freshman year (college) when I fell so hard that the impact shifted my kneecaps higher than they were meant to be. I can’t run from this anymore.
An Invitation to Honesty
Friday afternoon, I messaged a coworker and told him “the way I feel right now, I could write a sad haiku or sonnet #melancholy.” He thought the haïku would be best, so did I. It took a bit of time—mostly because I had to remember the form (5, 7, 5) and then wrap my feelings in that poetic constriction—but I got them out eventually! And once I started, naturally, I kept writing. This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to feel after hearing the doctor’s plan of action.
The poem, comprised of a series of haïkus, is as follows:
Sharp pain, careful steps,
I cannot trust my body.
Surgery is…good?
Chronic health issues
make me feel more like “empty;”
why, Lord? Why, Lord? Why?
Recovery is
a high mountain top to climb;
my soles are worn out.
Ahhhhhhh!!!!
Yahweh, do not hide from me;
I want Your healing.
Tears threaten to fall,
I fear the unknown but who
am I to stop now?
