You Weren't Dead, But Almost.

We don't know what's wrong with you.
I hear it again.
Here's the phone number to another doctor.
It replays in my head.



I am sick.
that's all I'll ever be.
I'll never be normal.
I am defined by my illness.


A for Achalasia
C for chronic
H for Heller Myotomy
A for Aperistalsis
L for how my life changes
A for another appointment
S for my repeating symptoms
I for the irrupted food
A for Alone



I am so alone.

Less than 200,000 cases a year.
I stand alone.



The desired number is a seven.
Dead would be one hundred.
You weren't dead.
but close, ninety.


I remember laying on the cold table.
Vulnerable to the doctors I faced.
I wasn't like them.
I was broken and they had to fix me.



My hand.
Held my mothers' tightly.
Scared of my future.
Trying to be brave.
Not wanting to scare her.



The world a fuzz .
I fell into anesthesia.
The world a fuzz .
I woke up.



I was hooked up to monitors.
My hand still placed in my mothers'.
I couldn't see her.
But I felt her.


I couldn't see anything.
I heard voices.
My eyes unable to open.
I fell into sleep.



I stayed there for a week.
No food.
Just liquid.
My body  unable to digest.


My surgery, hours.
My journey, two years.
My condition, forever.


You weren't dead,
but almost.

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