By Safia Hattab
i ate a fig today
i ripped my arm out of bed,
reached across the wood of the nightstand
and grabbed a single fig
sticky and seed spreading
beneath my fingers, tributaries of sweet
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Every morning, I’m reminded of the price of the day before.
Awareness reaches my senses, my muscles groan of attention. I open my eyes and gaze at the sun that peeks through my window, and I consider whether I can get up, despite the ache and exhaustion, and face the world today.
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except my fingers spasmed
and sticky tributaries turned
breaking dams fell between the
cracks of my fist, falling
next to the orange bottles once
clearly labeled with names I couldn’t pronounce
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I don’t always make the right choice. My friends and I eat lunch most days, and some days, they’ll beg me to just listen to my body for once. Let myself stay in bed when it’s that hard to get out. However, the reality is if I listened to every minute grumble and groan of my body, I’d never get out of bed.
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the sugar will crust
leaving its memory etched onto wood
like the nail polish stain on the mahogany
left behind on an experiment gone wrong,
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The easiest way to think of the relationship between me and my body is to think of it like a board game. It has a certain set of rules, and you learn them to play the game. Now imagine that this game decides to change the rules day to day, even minute to minute. It can make the game almost impossible to navigate. But you have to play the game--you need to live your life--and so that means getting out of bed and facing the world.
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i should clean that
but the weight of flesh under fleece is too heavy
and it is hard enough to keep warm as it is
in a house a whooping sixty-degrees
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It can seem really frustrating from the outside looking in, but I was born sick. From feet that didn’t work to lungs that couldn’t scream the cries of hunger, I was always caught between what my body could do and what it couldn’t. I joke that God simply nerfed me to keep me from being too powerful, Obviously the reality is I am just like everyone else. The only difference is that the parts of self that tangibly interact with the world around me don’t feel the way they do for the rest of the world. They work less like a well oiled machine and more like a piece of rusted machinery.
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so instead i reach for another fig
because pills demand attention
and the doctor said i shouldn’t
take them on an empty stomach
so i hold the fruit’s flesh
to my lips
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That doesn’t mean it doesn’t get frustrating. There was so much I wanted to do. I actually started out as a theatre major in college, but had to switch to English due to some of those health restraints. I had to quit dance. And while I do well in school, I could be doing better. I find myself saying “no” to more social events that I would like. Sometimes, even a shower is enough to wipe me out for the rest of the day,
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as my mouth fills with sweet
i grab the orange bottles
and pull little white pills,
the ones more warnings than
encouragement,
and i dry-swallow them
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And we’ve tried to fix my body, don’t get me wrong. My body is riddled with IV sticks, surgeries, pokes, pricks, injuries that didn’t heal right. Medical devices live in a home they didn’t have before, peeking out from underneath my flesh like calling cards. This body has been ripped open and put back together, both physically and emotionally, and those scars thread across my skin as permanent reminders.
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i hate it
loathe the way the pills
hit my broken stomach,
the way I have been
in more hospital beds than
medical students have
seen dead bodies
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I used to get really mad at my body. There are days where I feel like it just takes and takes gigantic pieces of my life. There was so much I wanted to do--wanted to be-- that I can’t because of my health.
I used to wonder why it was me. What I had done to be cursed with a body that doesn’t work, that doesn't let me interact with the world around me in a way I find gratifying. It’s messy, it’s stressful, and there are so many days where I’m still angry.
As my condition has deteriorated, it needs more maintenance, more times in doctor’s offices, more time calling insurance. It’s new medication after new medication after new treatment, a lot of which take a toll on the physical appearance of my body. Hair sometimes falls out. I gain and lose weight on a whim. I don’t always recognize the person in the mirror.
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but i pull my legs
sliding them over
fleece to dangle
against the sides of my bed
and tell myself--
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But I’ve come to understand this: this body may not walk or beat the way everyone else does. It fails me time and time again. But it has let me live so much more than it has failed me. It has given me absolutely amazing experiences, and holds me tight. It lives and breathes not in spite of me, but despite me and all of my negative self-talk. It lets me make mistakes (even if they come with a heavier price) with no judgment, and it does its best every single day.
If I could heal my disease tomorrow, I would. This life is hard. But I hold my body like glass, and keep it safe from the rest of the world that tries to break it.
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--”i have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep
and miles to go before I sleep”
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