Calculating the full measure of Hyperemesis gravidarum
Everything is counted. quantified. enumerated.
Does it add up? Is it enough?
I count the specks on each square tile of my bathroom floor.
How many on this one? I count
how many Zofran are left? I calculate
the current speed of my suffering.
How many vomits per hour?
How long since I’ve showered, felt you kick, felt not sick?
How many specks? I count again.
What is the square root of slowly dying —
starving, surrounded by enough square meals
to feed a large family. But not enough
to feed this party of two
is a Sisyphean task.
Eat. Vomit. Repeat.
How many specks? I count again.
I signed up for 40 weeks.
But this disease charges by the day
by the hour, by the second.
How many Zofran are left? I count
the cost is so high. I have paid my pound of flesh
and about 20 more. Isn’t that enough?
How many Zofran? I count again.
There are not enough
Zofran, for my comfort
I lie very still and breathe very slowly
In, out, in, out
Don’t, puke, don’t, puke
How many hours until more Zofran?
How many specks? I try to recall
what it felt like to eat enough,
drink enough,
do enough,
weigh enough? I don’t remember
and so I count
the months, weeks, days left until D-day.
The bottom line is
I’ve had enough.
By Vida Mercer
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