So, thought this might be a good opportunity for those who wish to get to know a litle about me. It seems I’ve had a revelation this morning eleven years in the making and I’m told that when things of this sort occur the best path to take is toward the journal. So here I go….It is into year eleven and it may have just now sunk in. That phrase ‘sunk in’ is so appropriate…when the knowing of a thing finally becomes a reality beyond the brain…my stomach first takes a wild turn upward, like riding in the back seat of my fathers’ car as he travels over hills and dips…but then the excitement of the new reality vanishes as the nature of that reaity becomes clear…and my stomach drops like a stone dragging along my heart with it. My hands begin to tremble and my lips begin to quiver. So many days I have cried over the loss of this thing but somehow it feels like something new, like the tears will never stop as I gasp in the air between retching sobs. And then my stomach heaves in revolt…in revolt to this realization.
Over 20 years ago, when I was in my early 20’s and still believed in eternity, I used my telephone bill payment to see a psychic. She read my palms. When the small spanish soothsayer, who was shrouded in layers of embroidered bright shawls…no kidding, she really was… came to my life line a perplexed look loomed across her face and she was suddenly engaged by what I had always thought was my rather plain looking palm. She leaned forward, the collection of gold that adorned her neck clinked as they knocked against each other, and scrutinized my hand. By this time my other palm was balled up in a fist, white-knuckled ,with a puddle of sweat swimming in the middle. I thought that psychics didn’t tell you horrific things, like when you were going to die, or if you were going to grow up to be a serial killer…obviously I wasn’t worried about the latter but I thought that the timing was right for some sarcastic humour. When Gypsy Rose Lee finally extricated herself from my hand what she told me was that apparently my life line split into two separate lines, the line distinctly ended and began again several centimeters further on. So, how do you live two lives…could it be death and resuscitation…I suppose it could signify reincarnation…or could it simply indicate some major life change?
Turns out that the answer came eleven years ago, the reality of it finally sinking in only two hours ago, and I posted here because over these eleven years all of the people who were a part of that first life line…the people that I loved fiercely for over half my life…have all disappeared and there is not a single person in this new half of my life life to tell about this ‘sinking in’.
The short version is all I’ll give here, otherwise I’ll bore you beyond tears. Eleven years ago a prominent neurosurgeon with all of the necessary letters after his name..and some thrown in for good measure I think..cut into my throat to get to my cervical cord in order to repair a disc, somewhat dangerous only because it was so high up the cord. Very early on post-surgically I suspected something was amiss; when I finally was able to see the doc I endured quite a lengthy finger-wagging lecture from the highly trained professional wherein he would not entertain the prospect a surgical mishap, instead he suggested that I was only perceiving a problem due to my misuse of pain meds….his diatribe was not only lengthy, small-minded and humiliating but to top it off my mother was in the room! The annointed-one then took me into his examination room where he could actually have a look and feel at his handy work….I think he broke a land speed record getting to his secretary to book a second surgery! The second surgery was much more complicated and he actually took a piece of bone out of my hip without a whisper that this proceedure was even an option…waking in recovery it was like a bad tv medical drama. When I didn’t heal from the second surgey he wasn’t so quick to issue forth his treatise on the matter. Turns out poor placement of surgical hardware as well as dislodgement (screws backing out) and impingement (metal plate pushing on esophagus and trachea) of this hardware will cause me a lifetime of disability.
So, no more social work career, no more sports…including the marathons that I was just about half a year away from attempting, no social life…it’s amazing how fast people fall away when the going gets really tough, no relationship…yes he left because of my disability..he even had the bad taste to say so, no more post-grad studies…..but all of this isn’t even the worst, the worst is that there is no more of me. And this is what has finally, after eleven years, sunk in.
I was excised on that stretcher. There is no more of me. I’ve vanished. Disappeared. Have you seen me? Does anyone know where I’ve gone? Please help me find me…