I lie awake at night
because Pain won’t let me sleep.
There’s an emptiness on my left side
where the ghost of ovary past
rattles its chains and screams,
the endo is still eating us alive!
Doctors reassure me
that the endo is not
still eating me alive.
They stopped my periods,
sliced me open,
excised, cauterized, and gently nudged
organs back into place.
Now I feel after effects.
Side effects.
Chemical miscommunications
between body and brain,
caused by decreasing one medication
by 300 milligrams.
But the empty space won’t stop
screeching.
The lance perpetually
pierces my side, laughs, and taunts:
I don’t care how much physical therapy
you do. If you change your diet.
If you bankrupt yourself
on acupuncture,
meditation and therapy.
Nothing yet has removed the lance,
or filled the hole
where my ovary used to be.
Instead, I lie awake
with my heating pad,
my ibuprofen, my Zofran,
and remind myself
that I am one of the lucky ones.
I receive quality care.
These tears represent a chemical
imbalance, nothing more or less,
and the screaming,
stabbing, aching
hole is a memory,
not a truth.