I am searching for a doctor. White coat. Name tag. Glasses (sometimes). Pocketful of pens.
The thought of being a doctor never came to my mind as a child. I wanted to be a hairstylist. Or a pastry chef. Then, just a writer. I can write myself into a story where I receive all the degrees and education necessary to be a doctor. I can write myself into the costume and certificates. The office. The bad handwriting.
Then, I would make an appointment with myself.
My lack of health insurance would no longer matter. I would get an appointment right away and even get a prescription to some well-needed antibiotics. Or, some pills that remove the sickness from my throat and skin.
I think about being a child and having no fear when it came to getting sick. It was a blessing. No school! Sometimes, a lollipop at the end. Maybe even a coloring book at the nearby pharmacy.
I do not go to the doctor. I try and write myself out of this sickness, but it remains. The flu? Strep throat? Diagnosis no longer matters when the medicine is not available to offer a cure.
I (try to) find solace in over the counter remedies. They have removed all the good stuff over the years because of clever scientists/drug addicts. I time the feedings. Every four hours for the syrup and every six for the pills. I pretend they work, but I’m not quite sure they do. My nose has been having a love affair with tissues marinated in lotion. They are kind to my nostrils, but I wonder when I will run out of things to blow out of me.
I am sick. Weak. Loss of appetite.
What?!
That is when I know I am truly without health–when food no longer calls to me like a finger beckoning me closer. I swallow hot water with honey. My tongue is asleep. My teeth have gone on vacation. My throat is a wire fence, cutting my breaths apart.
I am under strict quarantine. Body wrapped up in blankets. Then, nothing. My temperature has become like a clock, constantly changing its mind. I stay away from others–responsible for these germs that linger and stick to door handles and cutlery.
I am searching for a doctor. A break in healthcare restrictions or payment options. Maybe I should just move to Canada…
Until then…..savor your health by celebrating art and poetry and music and creative forms of expression at the east coast open mic on THURSDAY, APRIL 16TH @ 8PM AT FOLSOM STREET COFFEE CO. WE WILL BE FEATURING THE PHENOMENAL, EXPERIMENTAL WRITERS IN ELIZABETH ROBINSON’S CLASS FROM NAROPA UNIVERSITY. THE OPEN MIC WILL FOLLOW.
Aimee.
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