the poetics of silence

& an original poem

In my early twenties, I came down with a mystery illness. It caused a chronic, phantom-like pain that, when chased, would slip into a new field of medicine to avoid being caught redhanded.

I saw general practitioners and gastroenterologists, urologists and hematologists. I saw a pelvic floor physical therapist named Judy, whose number I saved in my phone as “Vajudy.”

I was poked and prodded, told numbers were too high or too low, or worse, [long word I’d later Google in the elevator]. There were blood tests, breath tests, urine tests. I gave out more free samples than a Costco.

As results rolled in, I was prescribed probiotics, then antibiotics. Then probiotics for the antibiotics. I was told to eliminate dairy, then to eat more yogurt.

To avoid wheat, avocado, garlic, onion, mushroom, beans, broccoli, asparagus, nuts, fruit juice and overripe bananas. Then to gain some weight.

One specialist told me to cut out alcohol. Another prescribed a glass of wine before bed.

They worked in silos, so I became the translator. But I didn’t speak the language. So I read books. I scoured Reddit. I made a spreadsheet.

And then, the pain just went away.

It left like a relative who had long overstayed a welcome but only just then decided to notice. “Oh has this been a bother? I better get out of your hair.”

Of course, just waiting hadn’t felt like an option. In a healthcare system that incentivizes specialization, patients have no choice but to act like journalists chasing down leads. But as it turned out, the story needed time to breathe.

This has proven true of most times Great Aunt Uncertainty pays me a visit. She brings too much baggage. She hovers. She adjusts the thermostat. But eventually, she goes home to tend to her tomato garden.

So in honor of her quirks, I wrote her this poem:

---

waiting room

I have checked silence’s pockets
when it wasn’t looking

poked silence with a needle
to see if it would bleed

drug silence out into the sun,
hoped it might melt down

I have blamed silence

slit my words into sharpness,
spit them just for provocation

but silence kept its vow

and I see now, I could
have saved myself the worry

if I’d known that no answer
could be an answer somehow

---

🐱
emma