This is an excerpt of a poem published in the book Mold Warriors. The author is Pam Carson. It aptly describes the devastating impact of mold illness.
Body alarm sounds
sending helmet headaches
as the nightmare begins.
Eyes plagued by visual disturbances
and light sensitivity.
Vanishing memory, skill gaps come and go.
unrealistically framing life as hopeless.
Speech slurs and slip-ups
Disobedient words pass lips
Sent forth on a mission
never reach their destination
fall on ears as distorted clones.
Disaster descends to weeping nose scabs,
a throat on fire, infected sinuses
to congested lungs.
First soprano solo voice has been taken away,
laryngitis its shadow.
Chills replace drenching sweats.
It's not menopause.
Dizziness; weakened, numb, tingling limbs
crippled by airborne assailants,
lose their flexibility
guarantee stairs an agony.
Joints that ache and burn
The limp - the harbinger
of legs that eventually won't work at all.
Legs at night
Unwillingly house traveling electric maggots.
Skin that hurts to touch
becomes reddened and raw
sports rashes that ooze sticky brown
Recipient of patronizing explanations
for phantom symptoms evading
diagnosis and treatment.
Ordinary tasks become Olympic events
as gripping lids, brushes and pencils
becomes a formidable mountain.
Puzzling indifference of coworkers and friends
who bear same symptoms,
Crushing emotional pain to hear:
"There is nothing wrong with you!"
"You don't look sick."
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