The Goog Nooz Is...

"Okay, ma'am, you're going to roll over from your bed onto the operating table."  "Roll over? Is it because I'm round?" Crickets. No one appreciated my fat joke, so it was only common sense to double down and make an even worse joke. Slapstick; crawl over to the next bed kind of joke.  Tough crowd at the theatre. Was it because I'm genuinely not funny? Were they experiencing secondhand embarrassment as I fumbled my whole schtick? Or were they nervous due to my physician's cumulonimbostratus flavoured, catastrophic report of my health and how I could die any time during surgery.  I went with the latter.  This procedure was never something that I thought would be dealt with so swiftly, by a virtual stranger. See, I had previously entrusted my whole reproductive system to a person who found it easy to say that my pain is normal. Someone I had to see more times than one usually sees this type of physician. She gave up on me and my pesky p...

The tall trees spoke to me. I am to run an endurance race through a dark forest. When I get to the other side, I will feel lighter. My daily anguish will be left behind, scraped away by the thorn barks of the tall trees that will be towering over me. "Your eyes will be closed," comforted one survivor.  "You won't even know what's happening until it's over," chided another.  "It will be unknown darkness. Then light," jumped in yet another.  These are warriors. They have gone through this journey and bear well-veiled scars.  I am ready. I have to get rid of the part of my flesh that's gnawing at my senses. I will close my eyes and come out at the end of the forest with only scars and pain that will last a short while. I will be free.  Let the trees tower over me.  I am ready to close my eyes.  "Your eyes will be open." These words echoed through my head like a giant gong causing vibrations in every organ insi...

She's got the prettiest smile, two giant incisors, and dimples that could suck out all the negative energy from the world. She's beautiful to look at.  She's a princess. She's two years old.  I have more of these. One is three years old. Why then did I think I could leave that behind?  He's gorgeous. Taller than me. Eyes that can end wars and the softest shag of hair you can ever find on a boy. His 19-year-old, bright eyes look to me for protection against the world's demands. Who did I think I would leave that for? How could I think it would be acceptable to turn those eyes red and break that heart into a million shards? I look like her. Others still think we are sisters. We giggle at the very sight of each other. There is never a silent moment when we're together. She has a heart of gold, and I'm jealous because I share her with the world, but I'm also proud that I share her with the world. I am the beginning of her reproductive energy....

  Chapter 1 Fresh.  He always calls me ‘fresh’ and I like it. It makes me feel giddy inside. Giddy? Am I…? No, I don’t know what that feels like. I don’t know if this is it. I’m not sure if I can ask my favourite aunt when she visits. Nevermind, my great aunt is home, and I think this woman can hear my thoughts, so let me sit in front of the TV and watch whatever is there. Our life was very strict, food was always healthy, and having a clean body was viewed as being closer to God. Why did God create sweat if I couldn’t walk around in it? I wondered from a young age. At any rate, asking questions that seemed to question the faith was tantamount to purchasing your own ticket to Satan’s bedside. I don’t like Satan. He’s red and enjoys way too much fire.  We lived in a mixed household, a whole extended family in one place. Life was about piety, accompanied by endless hymns about a better life in another realm. We ate very little, as was required by wha...

  Activated charcoal, to bind the poison. Anti-parasite meds. Antibiotics.  Pain killers (on my request). A mineral drip. My baby is in hospital. I cannot see anything beyond Lola. Not yet anyway. She’s still 4 years old. We still have at least 10 more years, no? Her eyes are darting side to side. She’s not responding to anything, not even an ear massage. She’s just laying there, in her cage at the local vet hospital. Lola went from bouncing dog to a drooling mess. We couldn’t find her in the morning. She was discovered facing away from life, while seated on a muddy patch. She struggled to go into the house, and then still faced the wall when she got into my room. A five-minute drive to the vet felt like a mountainous train journey. The vet staff helped us get her to a doctor’s table and she was immediately taken to a “procedure room.” After the longest 30 minutes, it still needed to be clarified what the issue may be. But poisoning is the main suspect. We are in South Africa,...

The song of a cotton wool ball. Part of a big, fluffy ball I was. Floating about, enjoying my likeness to the clouds. A small fluffy ball I became, Independent of the joys and fears Of this big blue world.  You could call me Cottononimbus. A grasp. A rip. A hurl! What cruelty has seen me so hurt? A sea of red now forms a part on my snow-white being,  Tarnishing my purity like the sins of a priest.  I am a cotton wool mass. Everyone uses me to remove the tiniest bit of mess. Then leaves me to form my own mess. My friends the needles, plasters, catheters and other medical supply heroes have their own bins.  Everyone. Everyone but me.  Do I smell? Am I not good enough for any bin? Even the municipal bin? Am I hated more than a syringe? So let it be.  Atop the surfaces I shall quietly sit.  Disease I shall slowly spread. Until someone tells me Where I belong. This prose stems from noticing how after each skin prick, there's a random cotton wool ball that r...