I’m cold, I’m white, I’m rail thin and I look like I am halfway between here and somewhere else but I don’t know where somewhere else is.
My hands are wrinkled. The flesh falls- almost cascading off my bones. My rings have moved to my larger fingers.
My mind is racing with Carboplatin, Taxol, Magnesium, Units of blood, the smell of alcohol from cleaning my port…nausea.
I carry around a bag of pills. Different pills for every kind of occasion, most importantly the wracking nausea. Full throttle no holds barred as if your guts will throw themselves up and out all on their own.
I am beginning to collect hats. It’s only August and I’m already wearing a cashmere sweater paired with a scarf, a winter vest, warm black sweatpants and slippers that would normally make my feet sweat. I am suffering memory loss at work. I am forgetting what people said. I am worried about getting Cancer again- and I’m not even done with this treatment yet.
I am worried about work, my children, my husband, my mother and father. My siblings. My grandchildren that live so, so far away.
I am here walking up and down the stairs. Breathing. Holding the banister. Waiting at the top of the stairs. Waiting again when I reach my bed. I am holding myself together, pinned by clips that may break off in any minute. And there I will be nakedly suffering, loving my life. Doing at all again and again. In my human form, stripped of everything that was safe, I am alone with the divine, the essence that I have yet to know.