The white of my bones

Sunday, September 20, 2009 at 11:54pm

It's Wednesday and I am at lunch with my 3 favorite friends. Having salad with the girls. Lunch time is me time. I check my cel and see a message from Sydney's school. Her blood glucose is 258. Those numbers, they cut into me. I wasn't thinking about Sydney at that moment. I shouldn't have made lunch plans. I didn't even drive. Not wanting to be a drama queen, I turned to my friend and asked if we could leave a little early and why. She says sure. She's concerned but she's taking my lead in the casualness of my delivery. Lori is so wonderful that way.

Suddenly, I'm being teased about needing a caucasian friend to help me interpret with my dad. My dad and I had been fighting over his course of cancer treatment. I felt my words weren't reaching him. This knowledge was gained from something I had told the trusted friend in confidence. I asked her to take it easy on me. She whispers something to me. The salad I had looked forward to suddenly taste like sandpaper in my mouth. Lori and I get up to leave, I explain calmly about why I had to leave early to the other 2. I can tell I'm not believed. I walk away, her words still stinging in my ears, cutting into me.

It's Thursday and I'm at my parents' house. Sydney's blood glucose is off the roof again. I send Sydney off to wash her hands for the blood glucose test. I hold my baby close to me while watching TV with my dad. He turns to me and tells me I'm shouldn't be on so many diets, that's why my babies are so thin from my nutrient deficient breast milk. Old cuts reopened. I explain that he must be only talking about Spencer, that he lost a lot of weight when my mother would replace my breast milk with formula then blame me for his weight loss. He nodded and laughed, unconscious of how his words just cut into me.

It's Friday and I'm at the preschool. Sydney's glucose level is too high again. We give her an adjustment shot.

I get back to the office and got a call from the DA that has a trial with me this coming week. He asked if I conveyed the offer for negotiations to my client yet. I explained that I missed the jail visiting hours because I had to go to Sydney's school to give her an adjustment shot. He's polite, but uncomprehending. I didn't expect any sympathy. My reason was unprofessional. He gives me a deadline of Monday at 10 am to convey the offer.

Less than an hour later, school called again, Sydney's blood glucose was 39. She's incoherent, could barely chew the glucose tablet hastily shoved into her little mouth. They fed her juice. She got better. But it's too late, the low blood sugar has left it's imprint to manifest years later. Her pale little face lit up when she saw me. Her smile cut into me. I wasn't there when she needed me.

I understand that people don't realize how their words cut into me. I feel like pin head from Hell Raiser but with a better make up job. I understand that people are lost in their own pain. My dad's in pain everyday from his cancer. And my friend has private pains of her own. What I am envious of, is their blindness to other people's pain. I'm not asking to be blind, I just wish I needed glasses.

I'm tired of being cut. But it's something I've had a lot of practice at. I've been sliced and diced since my family and I moved to this country. You would not believe how sharply "gook," "slant eyes" and "chink," can cut a kid down on a daily basis. I wear those scars like an eagle scout wears his badges.

To all those that need to cut, listen up. You can cut me. You can even cut me to the bone. And when you do, you will see the whites of my bones glaring in the sun.

Cut away until your arms tire. Still, you can never cut me any deeper than I can cut myself, whenever I let the pain from your cuts blind me to the beauty of my children.