A Bath That Turns The Water Blue
is the type of bath you take when your hair is dyed three vibrant shades.
Gradually it’s graying, and as I realize this, I decide I’ll stop dyeing it, because I don’t want to mask signs of my aging. I’d like to wear them proudly. This is something I’ve earned.
Shampoo is not bubble bath, but if your debit card was declined when you attempted to purchase the fancy stuff, shampoo will have to do.
Shampoo is not bubble bath, but it will swirl translucent white around you, like a view of clouds over planet earth when viewed from outer space, and the smell of your shampoo will be familiar, and maybe in that familiarity you will find an amount of comfort.
A bath is not a shower, but when your feet and legs hurt so much that not only can you not stand, but you fantasize about a life without them, a bath will have to do.
A herniated disc is something people can kind of understand. There’s a visual there that’s relatable. Most people can envision a spine, and can imagine that having a piece of it - any piece of it - out of place means being in pain all the time.
I have a coworker who offers to carry heavy things for me. He says phrases that begin: “With a condition like yours --”
There’s no point in trying to explain how much more is going on that’s not so easy to visualize. I don’t think many people know what white blood cells look like. I dislike using words that people have never heard before. I don’t have the energy to educate adults who don’t really want to invest energy in learning anyway. I also dislike the ambiguity of trying to explain things that don’t have totally solid explanations in the first place. It’s very hard work and I’m already working way too hard. None of this is my fault.
Probably very little about my life is relatable at all.
It’s not that I actually don’t want my legs. (I have to remind myself of this forty times each day.)
Chronic pain is not a blessing in disguise. Chronic illness is not. There is no silver lining. I’ve heard people say it’s valuable; it teaches greater empathy. Empathy has never been a struggle for me. Inhabiting this body is my only struggle. It is not a gift merely presenting as a burden. It is the most alienating thing I can imagine.
I’d have money for food if I didn’t have to spend it on massages and herbal supplements from overpriced health food chain stores.
I’d have money for food if I didn’t have to give away shifts because my legs won’t support the weight of my body so many days in a row.
Massages are not a solution, but when the pain is so great that all you can do is cry on the subway, massages will have to do.
Herbal supplements are not a solution, but when you don’t have access to medical care but necessarily must feel like you’re trying everything you can, herbal supplements will have to do.
Last night I dreamt I dumped out my vitamins and herbal supplements for the day, and instead of one B vitamin and one D vitamin, I found three green D vitamins and no yellow B vitamin at all. I woke up and thought to myself in the most monotone voice: “Gosh. My life is just fascinating.”
A bath is not a solution, but when you’re coated thick in coffee oils and cleaning solvents and your face is salt-stained from crying, a bath will have to do. Wash away the layers of film. Wash away the sensory aspects of memory from your Sunday opening shift.
What breaks the surface of the water is:
My belly is unfamiliarly round. Most days I still envision myself as a thin sprig of a kid. I’m twenty-nine now but I haven’t felt grown up a day in my life. A bath feels like I’m four. Where did this body come from? How can a person occupy so much space? How can these hips be mine? These thighs?
I wouldn’t take up so much space if I weren’t in such debilitating --
A bath is not salt water; it is not the ocean. And the Atlantic is not the Pacific, but I think one way of living a respectable life is taking what you can get. Something I believe in is:
Another thing I believe in is:
Perhaps the thing I believe in most of all is:
making the most of what you’ve got.
A hot blue bath, clean underwear, a cold glass of water.
“Each moment is completely new.”
A middle-aged white male customer came to the shop while I was working.
With a smile and a warm voice I greeted him: “Good morning!”
He barked at me: “Four shot latte.”
I responded gently to him: “Sure! Would you like a small or a large?”
I gestured at the two cup sizes displayed on the counter between my body and his.
Demandingly he grunted back: “Medium.”
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