I
dropped him.
My
legs gave out, and he fell.
I’m
his mom,
The
very definition of protector
And
I dropped him.
Legs
that boldly held me as I ran.
And
I love to run.
I
am/was good at it
Smugly
passing other runners.
Until
my body betrayed me.
The
metallic taste lodges itself in my throat.
My
years of denial begin to crumble as I watch the IV drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I’m
Scared.
I’m
Sad.
I’m
Angry.
I
didn’t want the Steroids.
I
hate the pounding heart,
The
aching bones,
Being
a bitch.
But
I dropped him.
I’m
his mom.
The
narrow tube awaits,
Magnetic
waves flow.
I
already know.
I
already know.
My
secrets will be revealed.
How
many new lesions?
Where
are they placed?
The
look of pity on their faces.
My
body betrayed me.
The
needle beckons.
Doctors
telling me this will help.
Only
a few side effects,
Searing injection pain,
Flu-like
symptoms.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I’d
prefer the flu.
But
I can’t drop him again.
I’m
his mom.
