DEATH WAS COMING FOR ME
There was an awful period of time, yesterday, that I could think of nothing but the moment - the agonizing moment, that I was in. I crawled around my bedroom floor and sat around the tiny wastebasket and back to crawl a foot or two and on my knees leaning over the little wastebasket. I was in so much discomfort I couldn't cry. Heaving yellow and, then, dark brown, into the miniature can and the pain shooting from my lower, right back to my abdomen. I was sweating and I was cold and I was reaching for water and the heating pad...and heaving, heaving. I would stand and walk hunched to the bathroom in time to heave into the toilet bowl or the sink or the wastebasket. I never felt my feet touch the floor. No time to grab a scarf or hat - no thoughts about such things. And, the blood from my uterus. Dark and red filling the bowl as I heave into the wastebasket. Back to my room, the same way in which I left, I grabbed at things, the book, the pillow, the stool and found my phone...no glasses, I couldn't see what I'd type. I started pulling on my sheets, from the floor, and my glasses fell beside me. Heaving, I held onto my glasses. Pause, I could only text 'help me' to my daughter. An eternity later, she sent "with what". I could not cry and I could not say. She came to my room at one point and asked what was the matter. I don't know what her mind saw. I asked for Joe. He knocked before entering. I told him I couldn't stop throwing up and the pain was too much to bear. I don't know what his mind saw. He used my phone and called the office of Dr. Glaspy. The answering service was irritating him and he became upset - he raised his voice and told her to stop asking the same questions! Get the doctor! Dr. Cohen was on call. She said to try and get the anti-nausea pills down and Tylenol for the pain. She apologized for the terrible turn of events. She talked about alternative ways of getting anti-nausea into my system. She hung up. Time passed and I tried to keep the pills down - I couldn't. The pain was now in my throat and the reddish/blackish goo was heaved into the little wastebasket. The pain was worse. I called Dr. Cohen back and she told me to go to the nearest Emergency Room. I texted Joe "pls". He came in and got my things together. I hunched and floated to the bathroom. He asked me if I had another shirt. I don't know what he was seeing. I changed into something - I don't remember. Joe went to the car and started the air conditioning - I don't remember. In the car I heaved into the zip-lock baggie. There were not thoughts except that I was in terrible pain and I was going to die. I was dying. I was dying. All the petty things that weighed my heart and my mind the day before did not exist. I was dying. All the petty resentments and feelings of neglect - gone. I was dying. Nothing matched the weight of dying. Nothing is as important as the moment you die. I have never not thought about the other person - the thoughts, the feelings until I knew that I was dying. In that moment I was completely selfish - for the first time in my life - with my thoughts and feelings. That bumpy ride to the ER that I don't remember except for the bumps, I found myself to care about. I gave me, only, to care about. In that moment. I wouldn't laugh because someone wanted me to, I wouldn't cry because someone walked away from me, I couldn't cry for another. And there was Joe. In the distance he was talking and helping me from the car, carrying my bag, holding me upright, helping me into the wheelchair, answering the questions, and in the room "I hate chemo", he said to the nurse. If only it was the chemo - I was dying, I heard in my head. And then the IVs, the blankets and Joe leaning over me to keep me warm. Fixing my head covering and pulling my sweatshirt together around my shoulders. He was kind to everyone and they were to him as they were in and out of the room. He texted Natalia and cartoons were on the TV but he leaned over me to keep me warm and I glanced at this phone - stock market graphs and I was at peace. Some things were said to me and I could not respond and I didn't try. I couldn't respond to make someone else 'okay'. Hours later I looked at Joe as he was fixing my blanket and he said "you're eyes are green when you're in pain". I nodded. Something my mother told me when I was giving birth to Stephen. The pain in my back and abdomen was her pain. Before she slipped into a coma, she looked at me and was in such pain, in that same area. Her eyes were desperately pleading for me to do something. She was dying. And then, she died. It was a few days after her piercing pain and, then, coma but she died. I was dying just like she did. In that moment of dying I couldn't call God, her, my father or my beloved JoeWildhaber. The pain of dying robbed me of any moment that would allow me to call on any of them. But, Joe was there - right there. He filled that gap and that made it okay. I didn't need to call on anyone, he was right there. And when the IV bag was empty and an injection was given, I was told to take 4 pills of potassium. I did but my esophagus is tender. But, I did. The nurse brought me ice water and Joe said "is the ice okay for you?" - he knows I don't drink ice water but, I said it's okay. And, soon we were going home. I was not dying - not yet. It WAS the chemo. Cumulative, I heard someone say. The effects get worse the longer you are on it. The seat of my pants was wet, like I wet myself but I didn't. Just the outside of the pant seat. Joe said it wasn't noticeable and we walked out slowly. He held my hand and helped me in the car. I thanked him for wiping the vomit from my mouth and the tears from my eyes. He told me a funny story about a guy in a leopard print speedo that he helped from a car accident - he covered him with his coat as the eyes all went to his speedo after the paramedics cut away his clothing. At one point along our drive he reached over and rubbed my arm and said "I love you".
e.e. cummings
let it go – the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise – let it go it
was sworn to
go
let them go – the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers – you must let them go they
were born
to go
let all go – the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things – let all go
dear
so comes love
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