I'm sitting on the couch with a bucket, slowly writing down my preferences for funeral music so my family won't have to decide. These new meds make me nauseous and suicidal. The phone rings. It's a video call from the student doctor at the clinic. She sounds so cheerful I almost throw up. “How are you doing, Mrs. Rule? You are halfway through the clinical trial. Any change to your pain level?” I stare at her blankly. This is my body, dammit. I'm quitting the trial, no matter how sweet she is. I go to answer, but throw up instead.
Michele Rule lives in Kelowna, BC, where she writes poems and stories with her two dogs, two cats, and supportive partner. linktr.ee/michelerule