while the final chemo awaits….
It’s the night before treatment and all through the studio apartment not a creature was stirring – except for T and his electric toothbrush.
I’m scared. I know this is it, it’ll all be over after this. But.
My nurse, A, last time said she’d miss me but that they’re always glad to see patients go. She said sometimes they even visit. She was very happy to hear of my test results.
I know there are people who have 16, 18 chemo treatments. They are unbelievably brave. Because I’m not sure I could do that. I think I’d be chugging noni juice and taking my chances with psychic surgeons in Brazil. Supposedly there’s a guy in Brazil, Dr. John, who operates with his mind.
I guess I haven’t talked about my recent actual brush with this. So last week I made an appointment with MLS, a medical intuitive who can read people over the phone for $245. She works with Dr. Christiane Northrup, who I love and she’s an MD herself. So I said wtf, let’s try it. After having me sign and fax a consent form acknowledging I understand that this is not therapy or a substitute for medicine, I called her. And she has you state your name and age and then puts the phone down. When she came back she told me that I was trying very hard to put my voice in the world. Which pretty much nails where I am with my writing, career, everything.
But then she launched in to this whole thing about there being someone in my way, someone greater in age or status who was thwarting me and hurting my health. No bells were ringing. It’s been awhile, but I’ve been to a lot of psychics, the real kind, the kind you pay $200 to in a third floor apartment, not storefront $10 stuff. Or in Maui the kind who gathers a bunch of people and channels angels for everyone, or has you sit in her kitchen while she tells you about past lives filled with knighthood and revenge, lots of batiked silk on her walls. Anyway, when they say something right on, bells ring inside, chills crawl up your arms and there’s this moment of recognition at being recognized. A moment of satisfaction that feels like, ‘Yeah, that’s me.’ But with MLS, there was nothing, nada. My mind scraped and scrambled to think who this mystery blockage might be. But no one came. She paused. “Now before I go on and talk about the emotional issues behind your health, does what I’ve said feel right so far?” And I had to say no, not really, but in such a way that I didn’t sound like an anti-psychic dork, but rather a fine-tuned experienced new ager who just wasn’t hearing the bells ring. She said this happens sometimes that there are certain people she cannot read. She said she would ask me a few more questions and then give me my money back. (She had charged my MasterCard.) She asked about what I did for a living and my relationship and if there was anyone in my life who might fit her description and when I said no, she ended the call, saying it’s not personal, not about me or her, that this just happens sometimes.
Hm. So no answers. About where and when and how and why.
Next week I’m getting Reiki.
For now, though, I need to sleep and wake and have more healing juice put in me. For the last time. Hopefully ever.
In my support group today – which was the last day in our seven-week session cycle (I don’t know if I can go back for the next batch), everyone said one thing they wanted to take with them. People said things like patience and gratitude. And I looked down at our little terra cotta people holding hands thing in the circle with sacred objects and a Hershey bar and said that if it was okay, I’d like to take the essence of chocolate. They laughed. And said it was okay.
Last thing. In group, someone read a poem. It’s one of those that gets handed around a lot, especially in new agey sorts of circles but I hadn’t heard it in a long long time. It’s The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. Here’s a link and an excerpt:
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
…
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
