My Shadow is Red

I can predict the complaints. No, I can recite them. Family and friends, the ones who should be closest. How can they be so close but yet so blind? ‘Vero, you never attend any family events. Veronica, when will you come to my house for the weekend, Vero, you are always alone, won’t you marry…yen yen yen…’ I never have words for them, I ran out of words a long time ago. Usually, my first impulse is to burst into hysteric laughter or break down in uncontrollable tears. Since I can do neither without losing the little dignity I have left. I simply walk away and find solace in the loneliness that is my life.

How do I explain that I cannot sleep over at your house because my flow can start at any time? Would you understand if you I tell you that I do not have anything to wear to the family event because clothes are not even on my list of things to spend money on? Where would I get money for such frivolities like luncheons and tea when I have to buy box after box of sanitary pad every month? Who would marry a woman like me and run the risk of a sexless marriage because my flow cannot stop long enough for us to get down to business. What is even the hope of having a child when my cycle is nonexistent, and every day is a safe period? You see, I am always either just rounding up my period, having my period or about to start my period. At most, I have two to three dry days of immense relief and the flow begins again. It’s been this way for 12 whole years.

At first it was a joke, 14 days of nonstop flow. Hormonal imbalance, the doctor said. A few drugs should sort it, but it didn’t. Then my grandmother got involved, with her arsenal of herbs and contacts of people who had more herbs. Drink this, bathe with that, wash that special area, soak your feet in, rinse your face five times a day, cook your food with this. We did everything, and nothing happened, till four years went by and my grandmother left me. She slipped away in her sleep, finding eternal escape from the shame I had become.

I found a job as a cleaner, it was perfect. Allowed me to be invincible close to water for my frequent clean ups. But I soon lost it. The consistent loss of blood became low blood sugar, manifesting in low energy levels and perpetual tiredness. That is when I resumed my visit to the doctors, and even got referrals for other doctors, specialists. They swiped, did sweeps, took samples, ran tests, all to no avail. By the time it was six years, I had come to accept my fate. I had become the lonely lady in the corner, no guests and no invites. My life was a shadow, almost as slim as the skeleton I had become.

I can give an extensive review on pads, I have tried them all. I know the ones that last longer and the ones that are too thin. The ones likely to cause rashes and the ones able to lock away the now familiar smell of blood. I have even attempted other methods, I can tell you about those too. This flow has become my life, limiting me, boxing me in, defining me.

No, don’t tell me about your doctor. Please don’t refer me to your prophet or prescribe a procedure. If yoga, clean eating or exercising could stop the flow, we would not be having this conversation. I have given up on hope, I have lost faith in faith. Now familiar with my misery, I have agreed with fate. Yet I feel this stirring in the depth of my being. Every time I hear about Him or see Him at work. The other day when Jedidiah slumped, wasn’t He the one who had compassion on his mother and brought him back to life?

It’s insane I know, but I cannot fight it. They say He is walking this province tomorrow and somehow, I feel like he is walking for me. What is the price of hoping again, of reaching out when there might be nothing there. But I will try, even if it is the last thing I do. I must satisfy this urge, be able to tell myself I tried. Yet I know it’s more than a trial. Somehow, I know this is it, if I can only touch Him, even if its merely the hem of his garment, I know I will be made well.

                                                                        ~~~

It took everything in me to step out of the shadows and join the crowd that day, but I did. I trudged along, looking for the perfect moment. And it came. I touched Him. Just once, I touched Him and it made all the difference.

I am Veronica and I am no longer the woman with the issue of blood.

Photo by Elti Meshau from Pexels