Some Illnesses Get a Get-Well Card
They don’t scowl
when you say you have diabetes.
No one suggests you’ve failed
as a person
because your pancreas
doesn’t cooperate.
They nod solemnly
when you say your father died of heart disease.
No one whispers
about the french fries he loved
or the late-night snacks
that maybe did him in.
They refill your statins
without comment.
They ask
how your blood pressure’s doing
with a tone that suggests
they care.
But if you say addiction,
everything tightens.
The doctor’s face,
the pharmacist’s voice,
the distance between
you and the rest of the room.
Suddenly it’s your fault.
Your story.
Your “choices.”
Suddenly
you’re not a patient
you’re a lesson.
No one tells someone with lung disease
to earn their oxygen.
No one asks a person with a clogged artery
how badly they want to live.
But you
you have to prove
you deserve help.
That you’re serious this time.
That you’ve suffered enough
to be worth saving.
Maybe it’s because addiction
scares them.
Because it blurs the line
between them and you.
Because it asks them
to look closer
at pain they don’t understand.
Or maybe
they’ve just forgotten
that biology doesn’t ask permission
before it breaks.
That illness doesn’t only come
wrapped in sympathy.
That recovery
shouldn’t require
their comfort.