Anamnesis
It was growing pains, they said.
Recess drama. The ache of new schools.
Just puberty. You’re thirteen.
It was homework. Stress. Nerves.
The looming specter of SATs.
It was the fourth thin envelope of rejection,
the lost title of Valedictorian,
the weight of a cap and gown.
It was female issues, your weight,
your attitude, your whirling hormones!
It’s your period.
A side effect of the medication,
or perhaps not serious at all.
Are you sure it’s not just mental?
With a history like yours,
it’s all in your head.
Your doctors are lying.
Have you tried hiking? More weed? Less weed?
A better balance? It’s not that hard.
Everyone else is surviving.
Your grandfather with his prostate of bone
did not complain like this.
You are so much weaker. Are you sure
you’re even related?
It’s genetics. It’s in your head.
There won’t be anything wrong.
There’s never anything really wrong.
Until it was.
A lump. A hard, silent fact.
Why didn’t you say?
We could have helped.
Were you neglecting your body?
Your husband must not touch you often.
How often do you have sex?
You’re not married? But you…
It became the weight of promiscuity,
the color of your lipstick,
the shade of your dyed hair,
a fault-line for your insecurities.
Your fault, that miscarriage.
Your fault, for sleeping with queers.
We tried to save you from yourself.
You were an angry child,
a terrible teen, you see things
that aren’t there. Look what you’ve done
to your mother’s nerves.
It was because you were bad.
We were good.
You got yourself into this mess.
You should have had better insurance.
A better job. You can’t take time for chemo.
Are you dying? We can’t have you
working here like this.
You were not dedicated. You were difficult.
You will stop soon.
It will be quiet again.
You will be good again.
Was it just in my head?
Doctor, it was right under your nose.
Author: Emma Woodward
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