Sometimes (a poem)

Sometimes the bravest thing I can do is to walk down the stairs.

You probably don’t realise that,

as you charge down behind me,

only to be slowed by this healthy-looking woman hugging the handrail as if her life depends on it.

“What was with her?” you might ask

as I reach the ground and hit my stride, taking off across the safe flat land.

You can’t see inside me

You don’t know what’s in my head

Six years ago it happened

A momentary lapse

A sudden change of life

Six years ago

I slipped on the stairs.

I bruised my butt

And I bruised my brain.

They call it post-concussion syndrome

Fancy words for what happens when your brain bounces inside your skull

Officially, I have fully recovered.

I am  healthy and normal

All my readings are fine

(as if I were ‘normal’ before)

When they assess your brain after a concussion there is no benchmark to who you were before… that was never tested. You’re ‘normal’ and ‘healthy’ if you fit the medically proven range…

(it doesn’t matter who you were before

you’ll never be that person again anyway)

Six years have passed, and I have apparently healed.

I function well.

You might never guess I’ve been severely concussed

(some scars can’t be seen)

Just

don’t ask me to ceilidh dance, or lie down flat on the floor, or spin around a lot

And

 (please)

don’t ask me to rush down the stairs.

PC66

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Author: verdant1

belly dancer, mother, student, public servant, shaman, knitter, sister, feminist, gardener and a lot more...

2 thoughts on “Sometimes (a poem)”

  1. Your first line really drew me into the poem, thanks for sharing your story! And thank you for reminding me that sometimes we can’t see what a person is dealing with, you did it in such a gentle way and it’s something I need to remember ☺

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for the feedback 🙂
      It is something that’s hard to remember (even after my own experience!) We are a species that relies a lot on visual clues… I’m glad my small piece helps.

      Liked by 1 person

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