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.