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Going to a Medical Procedure

A MRI machine with a tunnel shape and a table where patient can lie down.
This is not a happy donut. Don’t believe the glowing light calling out to you, “Come in and I’ll make you happy.” /Image by Mart Production on Pexels.

Going to a medical procedure is like going to attend court with The devil holding a hammer wearing not a bench wig but a wicked crooked smile

What is my verdict? What is my sentence? Is it going to be good news, or is it going to burn down my world once more

Going to a medical procedure I find myself bargaining with the Grim Reaper

Give me ten more years Only ten Hold this scythe still for a little while longer for the sake of my fledglings

Going to a medical procedure with chaos raging inside of me Prayers I uttered in unending loops they permanently stained my lips — were absent Choked in my throat for my lack of faith they taste bitter upon the tip of my tongue

Arms leaden failed to be lifted to a plea

Please God, ten more years

Because if my pleading and bargaining didn’t work last time why would I believe they would move God now I might as well bargain with the devil

Going to a medical procedure I am but a slab of meat on a chopping board I know and I know what they will find:

Knots in my stomach Gnarly roots of pain in my brain Fears light up like fires in every fiber Everything inside being contorted beyond recognition of being a human


Note: This poem was originally published on Medium.


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