Painkiller Seeker

After three years,
and so many visits,
as I sat with much angst in that ER bed,
she said,
“It sounds like your gallbladder.”

I laughed.

After all, it was almost
three years of seeking help
for a mystery that led
to self-medicating
after a ton of tears and
unceasing nerve-burning pain.
I laughed and said,
“Funny, I don’t have one.
See, I complained
of a pain three years ago,
immediately after the operation
that ripped it from me, and
the surgeon,
he seemed not to care.”

She nodded,
excused herself,
and eventually returned
with a diagnosis.

“Neuropathy.”

Neuropathy,
the one word no doctor cared to say
during the time in between.
They were too busy thinking
I was chasing meds
to give my pain any cred.
They were so used
to folks chasing meds,
they didn’t listen to me,
a Black Woman with dreads.

Tears of joy and frustration streamed,
my form of a scream.

How much different my life would be
if they listened to me three years prior,
or two years prior to that, when I first said,
“I have pain I can’t explain.”
But Black Women don’t experience pain,
which is fucking insane.
To emergency surgery I ended up,
with a gallbladder that erupted,
which started this three-year quest
for an answer that I sought.

Then, in time, I read the statistics,
and they were indeed quite distressing.
It became clear that I was just that,
another neglected stat.

Dara Kalima, also known as The Community Poet, is a Bronx resident who explores the concepts of love, equality, and healing all through lived experiences and personal observations. Kalima has authored four books, including Two X Chromosomes with an Extra Shot of Melanin (2019) and Still Laughin’ (2021). www.darakalima.com, www.instagram.com/darakalima

Photo: Chicago Lake Michigan Sunrise by Tracy Granzyk