Reverse Tornado

I haven’t started Chemoradiation yet.  I have to get a Porta-Cath installed in my chest.  That will happen on Tuesday.  I am pretty anxious.  I have heard from a friend who had one that it was a bit “uncomfortable”.  Add that to my already tender and inflamed musculoskeletal issues.

I am just waiting for the last doc (radiation) in the process to get all the info, meet with me (again), and getting all grommetted eyelets filled with their properly colored section of shoestring to pull each quarter together over the tongue plate.  My docs have to be the deft fingers pulling those laces taught over the tongue and tying them prettily and securely.  Then, I will be able walk in that shoe.  As long as it is the right style, size, and depth of sole.  (That was my skepticism leaking through.)

I meet with the radiation doc Wednesday. I presume the treatments will begin Monday. My schedule is up to them.

I feel like I have been pushed hard off of a tall bridge. I am falling fast. I have the full expectation of hitting the water. I can feel the air buffeting me pulling at my hair, making my eyes water, taking my breath away just before I was done with it.  I can see distant white caps frothing below me on a dark moving surface. My breath is sucked in and forced out in short whiffs, while my brain is still in a total quandary. I hear my voice in my head asking, “What the fuck just happened? Wasn’t I just walking safely on the hard solid roadway? I am pretty sure I was. I don’t remember tripping.”  I look up and see nobody.  Just sky above.  Where did the road go? “Who the hell PUSHED me??Is that water below me!?!?!??? Am I going to hit it hard?  Will it hurt?  Will I die? Its coming so fast. I don’t know what to do.  Shit, I haven’t figure out what happened.  How the hell am I supposed to know what to do?”  “I am scared.”  (a bit less so, thanks to my wonderful Son.)

But, I keep getting caught in updrafts that prevent me from continuing to fall.  Unseen I feel trapped and jumbling in ungainly movements of limbs and lungs, and hair.  Trapped in columns of upward flowing wind which, fights against the downward motion of my body.  I am slowed.  For a while the reverse tornado seems to work.  I am buoyed a small distance upward toward the solid ground I was just standing on.  Maybe I can reach out far enough to grasp an edge.  My fingertips never quite touch that narrow edge. Each updraft is an appointment or a procedure. In between I continue falling.  I turn my head left.  Right.  Up.  Down. LeftRightUpDownRightLeftDownUpDownRightUpLeft.  My neck is getting sore.

But, I haven’t hit the water, yet. I think actually starting the chemoradiation will be when I consider myself to have hit the water. Then, I will sink below only to fight to get back to the surface with just enough air to make it.  I imagine being back on my knees up on that roadway, dripping wet and cold, with the wind blowing with nearly enough force to knock me off all fours again.  That is as long as the chemoradiation works.

I am starting to breath a little again.  I imagine that my breath will leave me again when the chemoradiation truly begins.  We will see. I will feel.

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About mishl53

Pro-Choice, Pro-Women, Pro-Social Programs, Pro-Fiscal Responsibility, Pro-Common Sense Return to Government and USA Society.
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3 Responses to Reverse Tornado

  1. Leslye says:

    I’m going to start calling you “the transporter”…because your words take me someplace else

  2. Leslye says:

    Stay strong! Love you

  3. lksden says:

    Well said Michelle. “The transporter”, very zen and relevant.

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