Except...

Except

'You're cured!'
 he said, smiling ear to ear.
'Except...'
Except?

Except for the drugs you need
to swallow daily until you die,
turning your once viscous blood to water.
Except for the fact that if you fly away from here
your limbs might not let you,
may battle against you again.
Except that it all may happen once more
with no warning,
you may go back to your hell.
'But you're cured!'
You're still fertile- You can still be pregnant,
a mother for those few weeks until
the blood running through you
will kill your babies.
You can be a mother
but never hold your child.
But that's alright because-
'You're cured!'
Doctor, thank you for saving my life.
Except...
'Except?'
I don't feel 'cured' at all.

I wrote this earlier this year about the after effects of my illness. At my one year appointment since being admitted I heard the word 'cured twice, followed by numerous reasons why I technically wasn't. 

It was a kind of bitter humour I felt at the time, I don't identify 'cured' with a lifetime of daily drugs, regular blood tests, likelihood of miscarriage and blood clotting, and a chance of chorea returning once more.

I feel pretty strongly about it from time to time and it overflows into this.