Wiskott Aldrich Syndrome
Reminds me of home
Even though sometimes
It makes me feel
Alone

It really is a part of me
Stuck there for life
Eternity
Except not directly
But it’s still there
Even if you can’t see

I don’t want to sound depressing
But it reminds me of death
And other bad things
Like my future son not being
Able to be playing
Running
Jumping
Having fun-ing

I don’t want to have to worry about him
Getting hurt and sick
I don’t want his life to be grim
Or him watching from the rim
With his privileges
Like a sin

I don’t want to make the choice
For all the future medical problems to come
I don’t want to make the choice
Should he have a BMT?
Or maybe a splenectomy?
Possibly gene therapy?
God, do you hear my voice?
I don’t want to make the choice
The choice

All those other mothers are overwhelming
And my dad really isn’t helping
By talking about these kids
All the time

I am strong
I must be
But why, God?
Am I wrong?
Are you punishing me?

No.
It’s made me a better person.
And now I have a better appreciation
Of life
And strife
Among other things

Is it possible
To care too much?
I know one thing
There is no such thing
As a free lunch

Because mine is not cheap.
Not even close to being.