2005 - Vol. 2, Issue 3

Which is worse: spending a lot of time and energy on health care crises when you're really sick or spending a lot of time and energy on health care crises when you're actually fine? This month, I got to find out. For one thing, I've been on the phone to my mother a good deal, which is only natural since she's in a hospital in New Zealand awaiting surgery because she broke her hip in Australia. Plus, because both my dogs keep getting sick, I've had to juggle four different vets, which is not good for my fibromyalgia. But I thought I was feeling OK, until a doctor I never met called to tell me I was dangerously ill.

You see, last week my neurologist ordered some routine blood tests. I got the labs done at my local clinic, instead of the neurologist's office, because the clinic's nearby, and it doesn't reek of toxins (industrial cleaners, fragrances, carpeting) that aggravate my multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS). However, this month I ran into a snag: despite puncturing me many times, the nurse only managed to fill one vial with blood. She said the lab could probably run all the tests with the one tube. Excellent.

The stupid little gnome better need me this time, Alteer Morgan thought, stepping warily from the glittering arch of the stargate, into the humid darkness of Michigan III. She unconsciously fingered the needle gun that hung on her utility belt as she strained her ears, listening for the rumbling grunts of fwhosooms.

Everything was quiet. Her muscles relaxed slightly. Stay alert; don't get sloppy, she told herself. Her hazel eyes continued to scan the matted jungle of faintly glowing vegetation around her. Satisfied none of the carnivorous plants were about, she commenced down the shadowy, winding trail that led to her patient's dome.

The glow plants lining the path shed their emerald light to guide her footsteps. As she neared each plant, it turned bright pods toward the spongy fungal trail, lighting as it detected the heat of her body. Within minutes she had rounded a clump of flowers, whose heady incense was almost overwhelming, and spied the luminous golden dome belonging to Mikenta de la Makootee. Alteer bit her lip. Looks like he's been budding more rooms again, she mused, carefully stepping along the smooth stones that bridged the shallow stream babbling across her path.

Suppose you are a woman
settled into the security of home,
family, a life you understand
and a man you've only met once

tells you your life is changing
right before his eyes.
Suppose this means
fatigue, uncertainty, losing
your beautiful long blond hair,
a riddle where complacency once lived.