do you hurt? where does it hurt?

...
Right here, in my chest,
breathing shudders, rasps.
Sick again at Christmas.

Pneumonia with a painful shot,
please don't, please don't hold me down.
I'm left to breathe while the visiting continues.
Give the doctor a drink, 2 drinks; one for the road.

Fear of the gasping, hurting lungs
and gentle neglect here in the dark.
Don't cry, it plugs up the throat.
"Why now?", I hiccup.

I need my Christmas,
the presentation of pyramids of wrapped gifts.
Mine being a gift of a ceramic rooster,
expressing my yearning;
and a comb for the boys.
My faith in these perfect gifts
portends perfect longed-for joy.
I need to be there just in case.

Cold morning for such breathless breathing.
Cold morning for unwrapping
with fear of disappointment.
I surely love these distant relatives.
Distant in the same Christmas Cheery room.

Gosh it's cold with the fire roaring,
light glaring it's magnesium,
camera flash popping.

My hurting chest sends me to lie down.
Again I listen to noise outside my room.
Shouts of pleasure, generosity and fear.

They brought a tiny tree with lights.
Why does it shine
so coldly in the window
when I am so warm?

Better to gasp at midnight in quiet,
with soft Christmas lights glowing.
Maybe sleep will come.

What a strain this Christmas celebration has become.
I cough, I pant, whispering,
"I hurt. Do you know I'm in here?".
...