So there is this scale for pain
The Nurses need to know what it is
Where it sits and where it runs to
Was comfortably walking at three
And the spasms came
Splattering across my back like a thousand whips wet with blood
Down my legs rendering them
Heavy slabs of oak--that requires help to move them
I pray for a steady seven
But then it strikes like a taser
Stopping my breath and forcing a wail
That scares the children
Makes them ask, "Mommy, are you ok?"
"No," I say, "but don't worry--today is just a bad day."
They move away from me, terrified they might cause me injury
And the truth I know is that I don't know what is happening
What am I doing or not doing to cause this stuckedness?
Or is it simply the Way It Is.
Something is very wrong.
Did a sliver of my disintegrated disk escape his view?
Does it press every so often on nerves that shoot the elevens through me?
There is no walking, or eating, or sitting up. There is no laying down.
There is no answer available...it is just a bad day.