The Furious Spinner

Last night it rained so hard the sound of rain on our roof kept waking me. Shaking, I'd try to go back to sleep. Funny thing about fear—it makes you cold. Funny thing about hot flashes—they make you hot and then cold. Sometimes it seems that life is all about learning to let go. I admire people who are able to do that. I try. I try. I try. We kept hearing the sound of water dripping, a deep, drum-like sound. It was late and we were in bed and figured it came from outside. So we let the water drum provide the music for our sleep. We don't think we've seen rain like this in years. And we live in the Pacific Northwest.

Finally waken and try not to worry. My mind gets an idea and then says, "What if, what if, what if?" The mind of a storyteller. I call Bear to help me. Wolves follow. Guardians? Guides? Mario and I drive to the place where I'll get a CAT scan. The receptionists are children. When did everyone get so young? I think positively. If all goes well—when all goes well—I'll be able to breathe through my nose again; my face won't be so distorted; maybe I'll be calm again. Isn't that kind of like will I be able to play the piano after the operation, doc? Sure! Wow. I couldn't play it before. Badda bing. I finally step out of my nervousness and look around. I think I can tell who is afraid and who isn't. They do so many tests nowadays. How does one step out of the cycle of going to doctor after doctor for test after test? I did it. For almost decade. Probably too long.

I say a prayer to the Goddess of Radiation. Soon after a woman calls my name. I walk with her. Say Happy Halloween. A door opens and there it is. It reminds me of a small Stargate. You know, from the TV show. A circle. An oracle. Place your body here, child. And I will see into your soul. Or at least the soul of your sinuses, darling. The technician is wearing an orange t-shirt with a pumpkin on it underneath her open lab coat. I ask her if I need anything to protect my girls. No, the x-rays won't be near anything but my head. She asks me if I've done this before and I say yes. I lay down on my stomach, chin on a soft-hard piece of something. I look straight ahead at some boxes. I think they should put a pretty picture there for patients to look at. I have to leave my arms at my sides. "Like I'm flying," I say. "Yep, sure," she says. "Hey, I'm superwoman," I say. "Wonderwoman." "It'll take about five minutes. The table will move and that's about it." She leaves. After a few moments or a minute, the machine comes on. It sounds like waves on the shore. White noise. Not altogether unpleasant. I close my eyes and chant, "Om tare, tutare, ture soha."

Then it's over. Mario and I leave. It is raining. I can see cats and dogs spilling out of the clouds. I wave. It's the cat's meow. We shop. Winter squash calls to me. Then we're at acupuncturist's. I'm feeling very good. Then she starts talking about all the things I can do before the operation. "Take this, that, and the other. And arnica. Don't forget arnica. Because you'll swell. And you'll want arnica. And they'll want you to take antibiotics and that's a good thing because they will have really cut you up but you'll have to take something to help with that. Yes, there's all kinds of things you can do before and after the operation." Something shifts in my body. She puts in the needles and leaves. My head starts hurting. Mario comes in to read to me and I'm not sure I can understand what he's saying. You know, comprehend the sense. Adrenalin shoots through my body. I'm terrified. It takes everything in my being not to SCREAM, jump off the bed, and run away. EVERYTHING. Mario comes and strokes my forehead. My mouth is so dry. Finally she comes and takes out the needles and we drive home.

As we drive up to our house, the children begin arriving. I hurry into the house and put on my witch's hat and offer them candy. To sweeten their new year. Blessings, blessings, blessings. I love their costumes. I love them. I love Halloween. Strangers going to the houses of strangers and getting presents. Sweets. I love it. When the last bit of candy is gone, we turn the "in" on the "Witch Is In" sign around. Then we turn out the light.

Happy Halloween, all.

Thank you to my ancestors and all those creatures—humans and otherwise—who got me through my day. Blessed be!

After the Dumb Supper 0 comments

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.