In shadows deep where pain does dwell,
A silent cry no one can quell,
Interstitial Cystitis casts its spell,
A chronic plight, a living hell.
The bladder aches, the pelvis burns,
A pressure constant, night and morn,
In urgency, the body yearns,
For fleeting peace that's never born.
To restroom often one must flee,
A daily siege, no chance to free,
Up to sixty times in misery,
A cycle harsh, no remedy.
No simple cause, no clear-cut trace,
A puzzle locked in hidden space,
Defective linings, immune disgrace,
Or nerves and cells in twisted lace.
Diagnosis comes with tests and care,
A history taken, symptoms shared,
With cystoscope, the truth laid bare,
A biopsy, the burden bared.
Treatments varied, hope to gain,
From lifestyle shifts to ease the strain,
Medications dull the pain,
And physical therapy maintains.
Bladder stretched, relief to find,
Or surgery, if fate's unkind,
Each step forward, though inclined,
To soothe the body and the mind.
Yet life goes on with courage vast,
Adjustments made, new habits cast,
With hope and strength that ever last,
In IC’s grip, the die is cast.
