Friday, March 31, 2006


     I thought it might be of some connecting benefit to include a poem I wrote in 2003 when I literally suffered through the daily shots of Copaxone.  Although not currently on any of the ABC drugs (Avonex, Betaseron, Copaxone) commonly prescribed to help control the progression of Multiple Sclerosis, I vividly recall my daily struggle of "medication compliance".

     Perhaps more importantly if you have MS, you may connect to the deeper meaning of this poem that speaks to the betrayal we sometimes feel from our bodies and the emotional cost we pay in trying to maintain that delicate balance of body and soul.


                          It is not the needle itself
                          That stirs such insult
                          Inside my soul.
                          Hollow and cold,
                          Made of harmless stainless steel
                          Each puncture of my skin
                          Is such a mindless act.
                          A daily repetition,
                          As simple as brushing my teeth
                          Or combing my hair.
                          The needle's depth
                          Does not stop
                          At the surface
                         Of my skin, however.
                         The puncture goes beyond
                         The outer flesh of my being
                         And penetrates my
                         Most sacred and private
                         Hiding places within,
                         Leaving tiny, little holes
                         In the fortress walls
                         Of my soul.
                         I feel vulnerable and afraid
                         And saddened 
                         By the mortality
                         Of my physical self
                         That I should need
                         This needle's daily delivery
                         Of medication
                         Designed to prolong
                         My body's existence.
                         I am angered my body
                         Has betrayed the rest
                         Of my being.
                         It is only just my flesh
                         Should have to endure
                         This ritual.
                         But my soul cries
                         And bleeds
                         A little more grief
                         Each day the needle
                         Passes through it.

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