Suffering, to some of us, is the only true intimacy we have ever known. It never leaves. It never forsakes us. It is so deeply entrenched in our psyche that we know no other normal. Suffering, an all too familiar element in my life; I wish it never was, I wish I knew of happiness longer. But now, or just for now, I must face my challenges and overcome them as soon as I can; or as soon as I learn how.
Fibroids, the name, the pestilence, a thing that makes me yearn to have a discussion with Eve when I meet her and ask her why. Why did she opt for temporary pleasures when she, no I, her descendant could have partaken in the goodness that was Eden? Now, I know pain and suffering because of her. Now my daily concerns are cocooned in whether to bear the series of lethal assassination attempts by faulty machinations of my own body or just to get rid of the part itself and deal with the psychological ramifications.
I am tired. I am tired of suffering. Just when I thought that I triumphed and overcame the suffering in this region of my body, it seems there was another regiment, hidden, even more dastardly than I thought. But, I won’t give up hope. I won’t forgo my want of happiness and all that it entails. I won’t give into the psychological leanings to melancholy.
I invite you to journey through my experience with suffering. It is not owned by me, but by more than 80% of black women on this earth. While we all do not ascend to the same levels of suffering with these diseases, it is the majority of us who keep gynaecologists paid and cycle through their practice with the turn of every season.
Some of you have even been deceived and strung along by these practitioners. Where relief could have been offered to us sooner, we are strung along for the dollar we have in our pocket and ultimately lead to a stage where we have no dollars, cents or pennies in our pocket, purse or bank accounts. We become dependent on our loved ones for financial support just to eat. The surgery is expensive, worse here in Jamaica. Our economy isn’t kind, and no one more than I have been practically left penniless, hungry and still, suffering.
Copyright © 2015, Denise N. Fyffe
About the writer:
Poetess Denise N. Fyffe has worked as in Software Implementation for more than ten years and enjoys volunteering as a Counselor. She has transitioned into being a Jamaican blogger, ghostwriter, web content writer, internet writer, and researcher.
She has published several books of poetry including Jamaican Honey and Sauce, Jamaican Pebbles, Love under the Caribbean Stars, Jamaican Pebbles: Poetry Pocketbook, Messages to the Deaf, Be Lifted Up and The Expert Teacher’s Guide