Lifting the Gaze

When I have blood taken I have to lie down, and turn my face to the wall, covering my eyes with my arm.  I had to have blood taken last week too, lots of it.  It took longer than I would have liked and so I found myself blathering on to the lab technician about my brother - about what a wimp he had been about needles and hospitals until he got sick and spent five years on dialysis because of the autoimmune destruction of his kidneys.  That rid him of his fear.

My brother rode his bike to and from dialysis as much as he could, head up and eyes forward.  He continued to live despite it all. He went to work.  He kept raising his kids.  He kept loving his wife. He kept coaching bowling.  He got used to the needles.

The alternative thoughts - death, pain, darkness - were best not to think about, my brother said. Death, for my brother, was not an option.  Until it was. And then he died.

I have a body like my brother's which turns on itself.  I am immune to most other things.  I haven't had a cold or  virus for four years.  Autoimmunity is what lives in me.  It's stronger than any bug.

My brother taught me that lifting the gaze and being alive is very important work.  That's what he taught me.