I am attempting the Wego Health Activist Writers’ Month Challenge. A post each day in April. So, now that I told you I am going to do it, I oughta follow through, right? Today’s post was to write about the animal that represents your disease.
My disease is no animal. Allegorically or not. I tried to tie it to food. To animal crackers. To a fable or proverb. Anything.
And then it hit me. I suffer from creepy dashboard pig.
(Yes, I took this picture in my sister’s car. And, no, she probably will not be super pleased that I am making this analogy.)
Please, just hear me out.
My body is ridiculous. It doesn’t do what it is supposed to. Some nerves think that every signal should be a pain signal. And not just any pain signal. Intense stabbing, searing, burning pain.
My body is ridiculous. It hates pants. It hates gentle breezes. And it really, really hates anything that is different than the minute before.
My body is ridiculous. There are some days. Some precious days. Where the pain calms down to a simmer. When I can hope that those nerves have just had enough. When there is dancing and and being silly.
My body is ridiculous. It requires a battery pack, a remote and supplemental wiring to make it through.
My body is ridiculous. The disease has no purpose. There is no battle to be won. No invading microbes to be beaten. No warnings it needs to pass on. The disease isn’t there to take over or to change things. And yet, it stabs and slices. It burns and burns.
My body is ridiculous. It can’t seem to make the CRPS realize it has overstayed its welcome. Like that creepy dude you went to dinner with. The one who kept extending the night.
My body is ridiculous. And the best analogy I could find was a wiggling pig dashboard ornament. A ridiculous beast with a giant knife. Existing only for stabbing and slicing. Hanging around like the creepy dude who didn’t get the hint.
I think feelings like this must be what led all those ancient philosopher-types to dream up mind-body separation. At times when our bodies are being absurd we need to be able to count on our minds to be reasonable and worth preserving. Though your body may seem ridiculous, I hope you can take some comfort in the fact that your mind is still agile and able to make interesting and entertaining analogies like the one in this post!
Thank you, Molly! And I think you might be right. Just because my body is ridiculous, doesn’t mean my brain is. (Well, it is, but for different reasons… 😉 )
I was starting to wonder about my brain when I couldn’t come up with a real animal, and I am glad that it makes sense to other people!
Fabulous analogy! I completely know what you mean when you say that gentle breezes can be extremely painful! When my hypersensitivity kicks in, the slightest touch makes me want to cry! Clothes feel like sandpaper and the breeze from a fan feels like 1000 needles. It is so nice to find someone else that knows what that feels like! When I try to explain it, people look at me like I have 4 heads.