Places of Refuge (walking the pole)

January 10th, 2014 § 68 comments

IMG_8044The car has always been a place of refuge for me.

The shower, too.

Water to rejuvenate

Clearing away the old,

Ready for a new day ahead.

 

The moment of awakening is significant.

I have learned quickly what the next few hours will be.

I try to give a nurse a complete report but I encounter one problem immediately.

I really cannot type accurately.

 

My body shakes, my hips cry out in bony futile gasps. I gather up  my pump cords, release myself from the wall’s grip.

I walk, counter-clockwise around the nurse’s station with a vengeance, trying to push the pain and discomfort away.

……………………………………..

I am Angry at this morning and that which has me here.

The tears arrive.

The radiation pain seems to be on the way in.

How long with it last? Does that mean it’s working? I and everyone else ask.

“I don’t know” is the way to do it. I say it aloud to the dark, embarrassed after the first word that I realize I am alone in the room.

I hear my voice, speaking to someone not present.

I can’t help but cry as I push the pole.

 

The movement makes it better. It reminds me of being carefree on a summer day, wind in my hair from the sunroof, feeling the sun on my face.

I think of my friends readying their homes for the day before work and school.

 

I can feel the radiation, where it burns, or at least the spots where tumors are trying to escape their home,

where they try to find new lands to conquer in a cat and mouse inside my body.

It doesn’t matter what stinking metaphor you use for it;  in this case, all roads lead to Hell.

I contemplate eyeliner while the nurse stands, patiently waiting to see how I’ve done overnight.

…. But there is no one there.

I focus very hard on the tasks at hand: morning medicine most especially.

I start to tell my nurse that I weighed myself already today. Or yesterday. Or two days ago. But I can’t remember now. And so I remain mum.

 

In each moment my mind leaves. I don’t know where it goes. But in those gaps which feel like seconds, minutes have gone by.

The tea is divine, hot silky relief from the cold my body cannot push out.

I realize whatever it is I thought I could accomplish at the keyboard won’t happen once again.

I can’t concentrate. I find gibberish on the page. It takes hours to do a few moment’s work.

Extra time lost.

Time lost.

My precious time.

I stay committed to sitting up, bedside, fighting the urge to recline.

I listen to music trying to keep myself alert.

I think about my children, wondering what each is doing…

I realize today I am too foggy from medication.

I won’t be able to do much for a while. I am too busy talking to people that are not there.

I will rest, let the pain calm, let my head settle.

 

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