Joining the Walking Gallery of Healthcare

I’m on my way to Cinderblocks, the 5th annual patient-led gathering of The Walking Gallery of Healthcare, founded by Regina Holliday. Regina truly wears more hats than I can even imagine, and yet whenever I’ve seen her photo, she’s upright and smiling and in motion. I’m eager to meet her today, as one of the … Continue reading “Joining the Walking Gallery of Healthcare”

I’m on my way to Cinderblocks, the 5th annual patient-led gathering of The Walking Gallery of Healthcare, founded by Regina Holliday. Regina truly wears more hats than I can even imagine, and yet whenever I’ve seen her photo, she’s upright and smiling and in motion. I’m eager to meet her today, as one of the newest members of the walking gallery.

I painted my jacket, which bears these words from Dante: I found myself alone in a dark wood. 

That has been my experience of life as a person with several chronic pain problems. I am trying still to see my way out, or at least to see the beauty in bare trees and green tops, or in whichever season I happen to be. I’ll be giving a short talk tomorrow about my experience with pain, opioids, and the so-called crisis, including how the CDC changed the way it counts the numbers and so told the wrong story about what is killing so many people in our communities and homes.

For the start of my talk, I decided to write a very, very short poem. See below, and hope to see you there.

When they said  I’d have to learn to live with it (just take some Bufferens)

Are you kidding me?

Disbelief

Helpless.

Anguish.

Isolation.

You must not know what you’re talking about.

Hysterical.

Lost.

Stressed.

Hopeless.

Shame.

Stigma.

I’ll just call Dr. Google.

Aggression.

Depression.

Determination.

Frustration

Aggravation.

Someone Make This Stop.

 

TAGS: Pain, burning mouth syndrome, The Walking Gallery, Regina Holliday, Cinderblocks5, Advocacy, Patient Advocate, Opioids, CDC, Centers for Disease Control, Heroin

Author: Janice

A creative. Lifelong Marylander. After many odd jobs of adolescence and college, have always worked as a writer and published essays, op-eds, articles, and poetry in national news media and small presses. Collection of poetry, "Saturday at the Gym", about boxing, aging, and motherhood; collection of artwork and poetry, "What Are Mothers For?" On the verge of an empty nest for the first time in 30 years, my question is: What am I for?