Every ache, pain, or movement makes me wonder… what is going on in there?
I have always had a love/hate relationship with my body, so that is not something new. I love it when it is good, but hate that it often isn’t. My body grows in places I do not want it to, makes noises it shouldn’t, and tells the real story of what is going on…
But I live in a world that doesn’t hear the story my body tells. The world I live in accepts only the medical tests of doctors, the words one writes on paper, and the thoughts one can form, shape, and control.
So, when you I read this piece of paper, and feel a faint flutter in my abdomen, I wonder: what is going on in there?
The words seem so innocuous: endoscopic ultrasound to evaluate extrinsic pressure in stomach. No articles. Just nouns, verbs, and one preposition. In: as in, inside… inside, where I cannot see. I can only feel, wonder, and wait for the test that can see…
And think that most horror stories begin with something very innocuous at first.
20 days till I find out.
I have always had a love/hate relationship with my body, so that is not something new. I love it when it is good, but hate that it often isn’t. My body grows in places I do not want it to, makes noises it shouldn’t, and tells the real story of what is going on…
But I live in a world that doesn’t hear the story my body tells. The world I live in accepts only the medical tests of doctors, the words one writes on paper, and the thoughts one can form, shape, and control.
So, when you I read this piece of paper, and feel a faint flutter in my abdomen, I wonder: what is going on in there?
The words seem so innocuous: endoscopic ultrasound to evaluate extrinsic pressure in stomach. No articles. Just nouns, verbs, and one preposition. In: as in, inside… inside, where I cannot see. I can only feel, wonder, and wait for the test that can see…
And think that most horror stories begin with something very innocuous at first.
20 days till I find out.
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