Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Prisoner

     My doctor wants to see more than simply the damage detected through an MRI. He wants to use his recording devices to capture the buildup of the storm and watch it happen.
     He's only seen my version, as recorded on my seizure-tracking app.
     I told him how it feels on the inside and what other people say I do, their reactions to my behavior.
     It's only fair to let him see for himself, as a scientist, but I haven't booked the test yet.
     That's the only time I didn't fit in there, with the other epileptics at Walter Reed Medical Center.
     I kept my voice down and didn't cry, but I could feel it coming on strong and needed to leave ASAP. The others could too, especially the receptionist.
    My voice sounded different as I began to realize the test would take days, and I couldn't leave the hospital room, ever.
     Suddenly, I didn't think I could do it, NOT AT ALL, and wanted to run out...Not walk or jog but sprint, knocking people down to get away, if necessary.
     I kept my cool, though.
     Something changed in the air before I did.
     It was like being in a restaurant when someone starts talking loudly. Too many people suddenly paid attention to the same thing at once...me.
     I can hold it in sometimes, but my heart starts to either pump really hard like a cartoon character's, or it aches deep, down in the bottom.
     Every once in a while, my knees and stomach get involved too, but they behaved themselves that day.
     The receptionist could sense it the most, and she backed off, like a pro.
     We decided to schedule it later.
     The other patients probably let out a collective sigh of relief when I left with my unknown disturbance.
     If it had been a seizure, they probably wouldn't have even noticed. I could hide it from the doctors and nurses, too, if I wanted.
     That's why my disease and I get along so well.
     He makes the rules about when to come out and play, but I get to decide who is allowed into our world...that's how special it is.
     Even the experts don't know what to look for because they can't feel him the way I do.
     (Interesting use of pronouns, isn't it?!)