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On Loving Someone with Meniere's Disease

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After he tells me that he has Meniere’s disease,
I visit the local hospital and listen to
the steady beat of the heart monitors as they
spike up and down; a metaphor for how sometimes
things seem to be going right, but they can also go wrong.
My grandfather used to play piano everyday
until the arthritis got so bad that he would just
sit there on the bench, as if the music would bubble
out of the keys if he stared hard enough.
I know having a body that betrays and forgets
its most basic purpose must feel like being
stuck inside a burning building with no exits.
So just like my grandma would hum Clair de Lune
to my grandfather, when the vertigo hits I’ll
lie down next to him and count the seconds
until the heartbeats rise again.



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