No Big Deal: I Am The Eye Of God

Disease of another type begins in the waiting room
with a TV locked on an autoimmune disorder channel:
white-haired woman explains it's not so bad,
but you do have to give up cross-stitching, and
find other things to love. TV or soup or walks.
You always pay your deductible right away,
then wait 45 minutes for the doctor.
He needs tests first of all, so it's two weeks
of blood work, MRI scan, results allowed
only for him to see because who are you?
In the meantime, heavy doses of drugs
that are poisonous over the longterm, so
it's only temporary, until a regimen, also
poisonous enough to make you sick
each week, thin your hair, who knows
what else, called chemo pills, that work
only so well, unable to fix a finger, knuckle,
two knee caps, leg cramps, chest aches,
and you can only recall the old lady on TV
gently guiding you on how to give up.
You also wonder why they don't drill
a hole in your head, let the demons out.
The ear doctor explains, "You're going
to have lifestyle changles. They start
with turning the volume of the TV up.
But you've aged out of any rights
to complain. Lucky to be alive. Yes,
true enough. Illness is the creak
of the door closing slowly. Once,
you served as an eye of God,
as He works to figure out what is
dream, what's actually happening.