Friday, June 05, 2015

Vomit, tears, screams, dreams

My woman is sick and tired, her stomach and back and throat remind her. Six hours on, and tonight we were going to try camping again for the first time.

The other woman I can still hear the echoes of her screaming. She adamantly said the tests proved she's not under the influence. No intoxicants and they had no right. Then they stuck her with something or cuffed her too fast or she saw that no one cared about her insistence she has rights.

Women don't have rights, here. They just have a series of humiliations.

They wanted urine from my woman, but she had none to give. All the water in her body is sweat on the sheets or bile in the pan or exhaled in her struggle to wince away pain. No water to give, nurse. That's okay, the nurse said, we have ways to get your water.

The men with guns chased and hauled off the psychotic woman whose major deficit was denying the reality where men with guns force women unarmed to get stuck then go to jail.

My woman can't lay on her back or she'll start to vomit. More. Her body doesn't know there's no water to give. No chewed up matter to return. It just knows there's no proper aignal coming back. The nerve is eaten away, because her body forgets itself and starts killing itself. But it's okay, they need to make sure she's not just being ornery, or resisting the seizure of her urine. So the nurse jabs a catheter up her pisshole. Shows me the one drop she found.

More to find in her tears, though.

Medicine saves lives. No doubt. You will be saved, kicking and screaming.

They laughed after the men with guns took that screamer away.

I also hear someone died. Friday night in the ER.

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