I used to love going to the doctor.

But that was before.

In the before I felt safe.

Bright rooms

with stickers and lollipops after evaluations.

Nice nurses

patient receptionists

and knowledgeable personnel.

In the before

I would have told you that the hurt go to the doctor to heal.

I can hardly remember the before.

In the middle

I lost my voice.

They were in their scrubs

stethoscopes around their necks

asking me to loosen my gown some

so they could hear my heart.

I imagine my heartbeat sounded like a freight train.

I wanted to ask him what his eyes saw

that his ears could not understand.

But I kept my mouth shut and let him look.

When it was time to put me under for surgery

I fought the anesthetic

convinced it would put me to sleep forever.

I woke up to bright lights

and heavy limbs.

A tube down my throat

surgery is about to start.

They try again to put me under.

They are successful.

The next time I wake up I am in the after.

This is the part where I hesitate at the doorstep

of every hospital

and pray the whole time I’m in the examination room.

This is when I cry after every visit

and cannot lay on my back fully.

This is the after

when before seems like a far away fantasy

I will never be able to grasp again.

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