I am Lucy!
I am strong and eager to grow. I began as a mere speck a few months ago in the righthand quadrant of her chest, tucked beneath her liver, adjacent to her bowel. It’s cozy in here and I’m so comfortable.
I have grown these months — stretching to make room for my expanding girth. Shoving the liver up — “Ohhh,” she says, feeling the pain the movement causes. Tee hee. And pushing down on the bowel — always room there — not my worry as to what problems it causes her in the days to come.
Just four weeks ago the attack began or so they thought. Cherry-red fluid flows into the bloodstream and toxifies the body. But instead of instant cell death the cherry-red molecules sit and wait like a bored security guard on a long night shift. How long will it take before he removes his raincoat? How long before his vest comes off, revealing at last the weapon he wears within. But I am strong and I am waiting, pushing that liver above me. “Make room,” I call, thrusting that bowel below. Can that poison touch me?
Today I feel less like myself. Am I shrinking? I am afraid the assault of that devious cherry-red poison is diminishing me. How can I leave now?
Why does she not want me? Why am I not loved? I have as much right to live here as the organs who have taken up space for nearly 60 years. Yes they do their job, breathing oxygen, filtering blood, processing food, excreting waste. But am I not unlike those babies who grew nine months inside — absorbing the nutrients, the litres of milk, those raspberry pies — adding pounds and weariness. Then with exasperating pain of ripping flesh, the muscles exported the child to the outside world. Why am I so different? I just want to stay.
Oh and here it comes again… such deviousness. I shall fight back! I will make her tummy turn, her legs blister, her hands red and sore. I will turn the poison back on her. She will regret she began combat because I shall survive!
I’m feeling stronger already. That red poison has lost its power. I’ve taken note of what that caelyx does and adjusted my cells to resist. Curled in confined space I stretch to take what is mine— all mine. I cause no one problems — well she complains when I push for more room but I am here to stay. Safe.
Why does she think this body is hers… it is mine to conquer. That is my purpose in life. I ask for no removal. I am satisfied to grow engorged with blood. My goal? To live the good life here — and when it’s done? Well, like all good life — it’s done.