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It's everything I want to tell people when they make small talk and profound talk, but I often can't. Sickness, sex, and the process of dealing with aging parents feel unspeakable and sometimes unreachable, but they sure aren't here.

Monday, December 26, 2005

Sclerosed

shards of glass Originally uploaded by kinsiekins.

There are not shards of glass in my arm. There are not shards of glass in my arm. I wonder if I click my heels three times, I can get to the place where words create reality through the force of will to believe.

After years of prednisone daily, my veins are like origami made of rice paper. The drip of Aredia is somewhat rough on the veins, and the throb can last intermittently for up to two weeks. Last night, unexpectantly, the infused vein swelled and up popped three strange-looking bruises right along the vein. I might have brought that on myself. Force and will. Force and will. Yesterday I went to the gym. Regular push-ups were not enough. Instead of keeping my body parallel to the floor as my arms pumped, I hooked both ankles over a support that is as high as my waist when I am standing. The result is much more resistance to the arms during the push-up. I did 45 of them and swore to myself that I wouldn't care if the flesh ripped clean off my arms.

Photo credit: "shards of glass" by kinsiekins on flickr (click on photo to see more of the artist's work).

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