When normality settles around you it's very much like fog. You have trouble seeing at a distance,and your senses are muffled to what is immediately outside of your sight. It makes the reality of the world less real, you are fooled for a short time. Blinded sailors find themselves impaled on rocks, pilots descend when they should pull up.
Normality is not my friend. It fools me into thinking that I'm OK and have nothing to worry about. The fog clears and I have to readjust to my reality and it's such a harsh blow. I go from normal to devastated and back to normal again.
My new friend sent me a journal entry about a mammogram that she had. Happily it was normal but, while she waited for her results she had a glimpse into what might be. She looked deeply into the unity she shared with her breasts. Their role in nurturing, alluring, and loving; the feelings that they absorbed and evoked. This was a nakedly honest moment and I am glad she wrote it down and shared it with me. Her writing moved me to tears.
My new normal will be breasts without sensation, they will never be alive with feeling and there is so much feeling in a woman's breasts. We rarely think about it but, when the fog lifts I do.
Showing posts with label Normal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Normal. Show all posts
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Day 10 Birthdays
Birthday, birthday, birthday, birthday...That's what the MRI said. The odd arrangements of clanks and bangs, mixed with the buzzing and grinding spoke to me. A distinct male voice, just a little mechanical repeating birthday, birthday, birthday.
The tube was so much tighter than I thought it would have been. I felt some contact on my left hip and it made me want to move over. Of course that was out of the question, all I could do was try to relax and bear the contact. It resembled an over close seat mate, I wanted to get up and find a seat of my own. A seat with more room. The technician told me I could breathe, but to try not to move my chest wall, so my breaths were shallow. My naked breasts were hanging from my chest and pressed tight in their own little imaging cylinders. I had earplugs, but it was still very loud.
I am not, by nature, claustrophobic but I kept feeling this almost uncontrollable urge to move, like a surge of panic impelling me to flee or be eaten. In the breaks between mechanical sounds, when I thought they were moving the imager, I would take a deep breath, to sink into a deeper state of relaxation and let the man in the MRI machine speak to me. Dot, dot, dot, birthday, birthday, birthday.
Earlier, as I entered the imaging room, the technician put in my IV, when she was done her partner inserted a needle into the port and started injecting fluid, I asked what it was and he looked at me with a smirk and said "saline." Like it was an impertinent question. This is my new normal. I breathe and try to relax.
Birthday, birthday, birthday. I will celebrate every birthday after this with a party. Gifts aren't necessary, the only gift I need is another birthday. After this, that will be my new normal.
The tube was so much tighter than I thought it would have been. I felt some contact on my left hip and it made me want to move over. Of course that was out of the question, all I could do was try to relax and bear the contact. It resembled an over close seat mate, I wanted to get up and find a seat of my own. A seat with more room. The technician told me I could breathe, but to try not to move my chest wall, so my breaths were shallow. My naked breasts were hanging from my chest and pressed tight in their own little imaging cylinders. I had earplugs, but it was still very loud.
I am not, by nature, claustrophobic but I kept feeling this almost uncontrollable urge to move, like a surge of panic impelling me to flee or be eaten. In the breaks between mechanical sounds, when I thought they were moving the imager, I would take a deep breath, to sink into a deeper state of relaxation and let the man in the MRI machine speak to me. Dot, dot, dot, birthday, birthday, birthday.
Earlier, as I entered the imaging room, the technician put in my IV, when she was done her partner inserted a needle into the port and started injecting fluid, I asked what it was and he looked at me with a smirk and said "saline." Like it was an impertinent question. This is my new normal. I breathe and try to relax.
Birthday, birthday, birthday. I will celebrate every birthday after this with a party. Gifts aren't necessary, the only gift I need is another birthday. After this, that will be my new normal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)