Dedication (Scroll down and skip to the poem if you want-remember to click "read more")
Despite the pain I deal with on a daily basis, I never
forget that I am undeniably fortunate. According to the Migraine Research
Foundation, over 90% (other estimates say 93%) of people with migraines cannot function normally in society during them. When I try to calculate the
statistics of my situation, accounting for the fact that I have migraines many,
many days a month, as well as severe to moderate headaches most of the other
days (which also can reduce productivity by up to 50 percent or more)...let’s
just say... the vast majority of people with my level of Chronic Migraine
Syndrome can’t function in society. And, of course, there are people with
different types of chronic pain in the same situation. Those people lose
everything because of something they can’t control. I know several people
through online migraine communities who have had to go on disability and quit
their jobs. Some of them can hardly ever can get out of bed to wash their hair
anymore.
Yet, here I am, going to school, an honors student. It’s not
very easy, but I can do it. I don’t think this because I have some sort of strength the 90 plus percent of people
in my situation are lacking. In fact, I think they are stronger. I don’t think many people realize the kind of strength it must
take to keep holding on through days of crippling illness, the strength that the so called “invalid” must have. I’m very, very lucky, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I
don’t think of those who aren’t.
This is a major reason I am pushing so hard for advocacy for the conditions of chronic pain sufferers—I try to be an
advocate for those who can’t be one for themselves, but I wish I could do more.
If you are one of those people, my heart goes out to you. I think you are very, very strong, stronger
than I can imagine, and this poem is for you.
Holding On
By: Blog Admin
A woman lies in bed as the sun rises and
sets in
endless circles around the sky. Agony
pierces her back.
She grits her teeth against the pain.
Others shake their heads at the woman in
bed as she
“lets” the world slip by outside her ashen
bedroom walls. They imagine her—leaning
against a pillow of government dollars,
closing
her eyes, and inviting pain to swirl through
her back.
They imagine her letting go.
But the woman rolls to rest her face in
the sun beams
streaming through the window, ignoring
the pain slicing down her spine. She closes
her eyes and weaves
herself a net of thoughts, plucking and
tugging each strand
to bridge the chasms in her life: