A little poem

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.