there’s a lot to escape from,
within these pods
and without.that which is ugly and sinister,
can hide beauty, can hold hope.
it’s perspective.those that persevere,
learn to accept
each spectrum end,
hand-in-hand.
Intertwining medicine and the humanities.
Questions? Comments?
Care to submit something?
March 1, 2013
day 100: phenylethylamine
December 3, 2012
emmy.: for those of us on our last spoon.
it’s waking up from a restless night of sleep, bracing yourself to face the day.
it’s willing your body to make it two more steps, so you can brush your teeth.
it’s compromising looking decent for having a bit more energy.
it’s realizing how tired you are…and it’s only nine in the morning.it’s trying desperately to focus on your professor’s words.
it’s constant shifting to try and get a bit more comfortable.
it’s holding back the tears as you remember that meeting.
it’s nap time, because without it you would collapse.it’s telling people no, not because you don’t want to but because you can’t.
it’s always feeling like you’ve let someone down.
it’s nagging pressure to try and act normal.
it’s your body shutting down when you do that.it’s a phone book’s worth of doctor’s office numbers.
it’s lab work every month.
it’s eight, ten, twelve pills a day (or more).
it’s hoping and praying that this new treatment is effective.it’s looking normal but knowing you’re not.
it’s judgmental glares from strangers when you take the elevator, not the stairs.
it’s misunderstanding from friends who truly do care.
it’s not fair, but you deal.it’s giving up the life you thought you’d have because you can’t physically do it.
it’s seeing other people happy and healthy and wanting it for yourself.
it’s emotional and physical pain, twenty-four seven.
it’s wishing it would all go away.it’s hearing you’ll never be able to have children.
it’s feeling inadequate and invisible.
it’s wanting what you’ll never have.
it’s the worry that something else will pop up.it’s fibro and lupus and hashimoto’s and crohn’s.
it’s CFS and PCOS and CAH and RA.
it’s endometriosis and celiac and cushing’s and MS.
it’s chronic illness, and it’s your life.In honor of all the unseen and underestimated.
July 30, 2012
"Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit - Life!"
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit - Life!"
— Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
(Source: medicalstate)
June 24, 2012
Cranquis Big Apple Treasure Hunt: Track 5
It’s suggested you listen to this after watching this episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=deU2gPJTu88
June 7, 2012
Sometimes I Cry in Buses
By Natalie Nuzzo
sometimes
I cry in buses
I have a Dr.
that is the twin
of Mr. Monopoly
white handlebar mustache
round bald head white
temples mustaches
curled at the edges
varied length and fashion
today new tortoise
shell glasses
I have high blood pressure
and a tumor
I don’t know you tell me
how I
feel about that
Dr. has a pretty tall
Jamaican nurse
she compliments my outfits
nails
and jewelry
I love her always stilettos
the most elegant
a glamorous nurse
diagnoses behind closed doors
analyzed over paper work
computer screens
Dr. yells at me he’s strict
old and grumpy
the best around
upper echelon
Dr. gives me pills
says things like:
“no good deed goes unpunished”
and
“that’s the problem
I’m never here”
I don’t understand Dr.
he scolds me
I forget my dosage
“you should know this”
and
“I don’t trust my own records”
I swallow pills blindly pretend
the quantity the Rx
is invisible
I imbibe every day orange
not brown
not white or yellow
my eyes forget
my medicines
Dr. complains to me:
“I joined the gym
then I was sick
I went for two weeks
then I was traveling
to Europe
My gym
is right in my building
and the gym
is
right in my building”
I don’t know what to say
so I fake laugh instead
always the expert
in deflection
( at thirty I learn
how to hold back )
steel file cabinet-ed quantities
and expensive free samples
the “ america “n
modern medical machine
the best kept
secrets dangle above
in gold-plated premiums
and cushioned carpets
those sweet n sexy nurses
the flat screen arrogance
of the cardiovascular
prescription
“ america ”s most prolific legalized
gambling industry
white white haired men roam
these halls
the women
work the counter
these few men hold the keys
white mustaches white walls
white halls white coats worn by all
these few men who invite you
to walk down our cash
walled halls ours
are the most expansive
and well-lit here we save
hearts
bodies but not minds
( university medicine
only comes with
a side of infection )
sometimes
I cry in buses
I have a doctor
that is the twin
of Mr. Monopoly
I don’t know you tell me
how I
feel about that
April 28, 2012
Fan Poetry: One Ill, Two Ills, Red Pills, Blue Pills.
confessions-of-a-redhead submitted:
All of your poems and nursery rhymes inspired me to write a Dr. Suess poem of sorts. This is done from memory. (My mom used to read all of the Dr. Suess books to me, and I can still recite most of them.) It’s a rather lengthy fan poem, so bring a snack. I hope you enjoy! Anyway, here goes.
Cranquis’ Note: What follows is a tour de force of poetry, parody, and astounding recall of previous posts from this blog. I am flabbergasted, amazed, and dumbfounded. In humble appreciation of your skill, c-o-a-redhead, I officially dub thee with your Cranquisnym of Honor: Official Cranquis Poet Hugh Laureate. I just may have to get you to write my whole FAQ in rhyme too! :)
Now sit back and enjoy this epic thing (links added in post-production by Cranquis).
One ill, two ills, red pills, blue pills.
Black pills, blue pills, old pills, new pills.
Say, what alot of pills there are!
Yes, some are red and some are blue,
Some are old and some are new.
April 27, 2012
“Do Your Ears Hang Low” for the Chronically Ill
Do your knee joints swell?
Do they throb and burn like hell?
Are your muscles all in knots?
Are you ill, but friends can’t tell?
Can you barely move your shoulders
And though you’re sick, still on you soldier?
Do your
knee
joints
swell.
Any verses to add?
March 23, 2012
Carotid.
Every now and then,
I’ll place two fingers - pointer
and middle -on my
carotid artery, and
remember that I’m alive.
February 1, 2012
it's all come alive.: master of crutches boast.
I, Katelyn, connoisseur of purple walking sticks
Have acquired a skill that many people do not need.
An ability so mastered that it comes natural to me.
Learning immediately after being under the knife for the first time.
Perfecting it after the four operations that followed.
I stealthily swim through the scholar’s safe haven hallways.
People part, like the red sea,
When they observe me crutching.
Dipping, dodging, and ducking,
Vehemently avoiding an assail from those who ignore my presence.
Clicking and clacking constantly from class to class.
Hopping haphazardly up and down harsh steps.
Resolute to conquer the stairs,
No matter how arduous they may be.
Hours and hours of trekking wear me down.
But I must be strong and press on,
Until that final bell rings and I can go to my humble abode.
Lazy and lethargic, I never want to leave my throne again.
But then the day comes when I no longer need my crutches.
That is, until the next operation happens.
Beautiful poetry about finding beauty in your illness/restriction, written by an old soul who knows of whence she writes. (And who is also one of my longest-following Cranquistadors, so you KNOW she’s fabuloso!)
(Source: viewtoadmire)
January 15, 2012
Sometimes I Cry in Buses
By Natalie Nuzzo
sometimes
I cry in buses
I have a Dr.
that is the twin
of Mr. Monopoly
white handlebar mustache
round bald head white
temples mustaches
curled at the edges
varied length and fashion
today new tortoise
shell glasses
I have high blood pressure
and a tumor
I don’t know you tell me
how I
feel about that
Dr. has a pretty tall
Jamaican nurse
she compliments my outfits
nails
and jewelry
I love her always stilettos
the most elegant
a glamorous nurse
diagnoses behind closed doors
analyzed over paper work
computer screens
Dr. yells at me he’s strict
old and grumpy
the best around
upper echelon
Dr. gives me pills
says things like:
“no good deed goes unpunished”
and
“that’s the problem
I’m never here”
I don’t understand Dr.
he scolds me
I forget my dosage
“you should know this”
and
“I don’t trust my own records”
I swallow pills blindly pretend
the quantity the Rx
is invisible
I imbibe every day orange
not brown
not white or yellow
my eyes forget
my medicines
Dr. complains to me:
“I joined the gym
then I was sick
I went for two weeks
then I was traveling
to Europe
My gym
is right in my building
and the gym
is
right in my building”
I don’t know what to say
so I fake laugh instead
always the expert
in deflection
( at thirty I learn
how to hold back )
steel file cabinet-ed quantities
and expensive free samples
the “ america “n
modern medical machine
the best kept
secrets dangle above
in gold-plated premiums
and cushioned carpets
those sweet n sexy nurses
the flat screen arrogance
of the cardiovascular
prescription
“ america ”s most prolific legalized
gambling industry
white white haired men roam
these halls
the women
work the counter
these few men hold the keys
white mustaches white walls
white halls white coats worn by all
these few men who invite you
to walk down our cash
walled halls ours
are the most expansive
and well-lit here we save
hearts
bodies but not minds
( university medicine
only comes with
a side of infection )
sometimes
I cry in buses
I have a doctor
that is the twin
of Mr. Monopoly
I don’t know you tell me
how I
feel about that
-
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