My blood is now thinner
and rises more swiftly
to the surface, and so the scars
I wear migrate, week by week.
This week, it’s a purple badge
on each arm, from elbow to wrist,
arms not meant to be squeezed
into a tight space to retrieve something
nearly irretrievable. I bump the table,
or a door frame, and my hip or shoulder
wears the bright blush of embarrassment.
A scratch on my finger,
so minor as to go unnoticed,
leaves a red trail
of directional dots
on the kitchen floor.
If I were donating blood,
a pinprick would suffice.
Spatial orientation, once a given,
seems to have been deleted
from my résumé. A victim
of that previous cognitive lapse?
If only I could remember
to be more careful.
I had a TIA in late 2019 with no further developments, but since I’m a borderline candidate for surgery to correct my patent foramen ovale (PFO) , which was diagnosed in 2020 and had allowed a small clot to go to my brain, my cardiologist recently prescribed a blood thinner to reduce the risk of any more TIAs. (It was my decision to forego surgery because of risk due to age.)
Off prompt, but shared with Day 27 of napowrimo.net.