prose poem: becca bilbo-dorris
Life Expectancy
Betrayed by my body five years ago,
Devouring my cells from the inside out.
Nightmares of glutenous cross-contamination,
minuscule molecules perpetually poisoning my food.
All faith in food was gone.
The pounds I gained to grow a life fell off without a flinch.
Flattered by those who saw the shell that I'd become for being the spitting image of what health society thinks ought to be.
Confusion set in as I only ate what my hands prepared, protected in a kitchen safe from outside influences.
Why did I feel this way?
Something was not okay, not okay with me, with my body.
A shadow lurked, whispering that this was bigger than I wanted it to be.
My skin cried out, scratch me till you bleed.
The tan it held long past it was due to fade.
If only I could make it through one last holiday before finding out,
before I knew.
One last happy memory, fake a smile or two, just in case, to help my children make it through.
Well, at least my older two.
My nearly four-month-old, would he know me? Would he remember?
If this mystery, took me sooner than I'd planned to go?
The holiday came, then the holiday left.
I made it home and my doctor said to rest.
We'd start doing all the tests.
A happenstance glance in the mirror to brush away a lash
highlighted the eerie golden hue of my eyes' reflection,
thrust meaning as to why my coloring was off.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
All that I had done, was it enough?
I fed my babe though my veins were drying and my milk ran gold.
The house I kept in line, children I kept alive.
Bills were paid,
and I played the maid
whenever I wasn't laid across the bathroom floor.
Until one day I'd had enough.
Dehydrated I drove my breaking body until it dropped
and begged the ER to make it stop.
Pain-free felt so new to me
as I laid there still ordering what needed to be covered by my lack of presence lest the routine be altered and all hell breaks loose.
Night became day and they shooed me out
Nothing they could do today and sent me on my way.
Specialist after specialist I saw until they said biopsy!
I breathed out and held,
failing to shoo that sense of dread.
While the nurse took my hand and held onto me
counting as they stuck me, twice.
Once to numb, once to take
I still felt the tug, the break.
I saw the sample upon the tray
like a dead worm to be magnified and scrutinized.
Shaking like a leaf I lay in the recovery bay.
Pain relief was not to be as my pulse beat too weak
Only comforted by my husband's hand.
Until at home again to try and rest
To deal with what the doctor said.
Five years ago, I felt close to death.
Too long pain went ignored
Attributed to something else
waiting too long to be seen or heard
when with just a few simple words
maybe it wouldn't have been so bad
To think of all the times I could've gone, should've gone...
And yet grateful I went at all.
Too many times women feel like they should just ignore and carry on
we are superheroes, after all.
No, this wasn't just in my head.
I carry my stamps in my passport of validation;
Two diseases of my liver, caused by my very own immune system.
I don't like to say this twice, but no I am not contagious.
I have primary biliary cholangitis and autoimmune hepatitis.
At my core, down to my DNA, my body likes to be dramatic.
And perhaps a little lazy.
It laughs at filters and invites toxicity to party
Five years ago my journey started
to figure out how to love my body
To come to terms that food alone could not always keep me healthy
that vegetables were indeed still a good idea
but chase it with my prescriptions.
That sometimes all those possible side effects are worth the risk
because early death and a life of pain is the alternative.
That the keys gliding under my fingertips,
my boys wrapped in my arms,
the brushes I dance across a canvas
all do their best to charm,
and remind me that my life is worth living.
That weight loss is not always a sign of health, nor is a "healthy" glow.
That for every rule there is more than one exception.
That every body is different, even the same body at different points may change.
Each has different unique specific needs, while it's also all the same.
That we each need to listen to what our bodies say,
and to respond kinder and give our bodies grace.
to validate our feelings,
to feed our bodies well,
to move- no matter how much or how little,
to remember tomorrow is another day, that may be worse or better
today just is, and so is my body too
it might never be the same again,
but would I want it to?
to never know what I have learned from what I've had to go through?
The compassion and empathy,
finding the passions that fuel me?
would I sacrifice the knowledge that each day might bring bad news?
that same knowledge that inspires to live each day as a bonus gift?
Would I have done what I have done, or be where I am?
if it wasn’t for my body saying, "Hey remember me?
Let's shorten your life expectancy."
To it, I said, “my expectancy from life is what I will make it, and make every day count instead.”
about the author: becca bilbo-dorris
Becca Bilbo-Dorris fell in love with crafting stories, telling yarns, and creating beauty before she could even write. She lives in middle Tennessee with her husband and their three boys. They recently left suburbia and bought the family farm complete with ducks, chickens, and enough room for her plant babies. She is surrounded by a beautiful, natural and inspiring landscape which only fuels Becca’s desires to write, paint, and eventually acquire alpacas.
Instagram:
Life- @rebilbo
Art- @redbilbo
Tiktok- @beccabilbodorris
