Crossing the Threshold

NOVEMBER 9, 2020

I could hear them calling me from the other side. I bent down and looked and I could see them way up ahead. They were waving me on. Come on, come on!

It was darkness like a dream. But the sun was shining. And the moon was bright. Throwing shadows from the trees. Vines hanging all around me. I could hear my pounding heart. I was walking forward but turning in all directions, I didn’t feel safe. It was like a dream but it wasn’t a dream. I was wide-asleep.

They were calling me. Using my name. My Hebrew name, how did they know? I was shaking from adrenaline. I didn’t know where to hide. The room was so cold. I wish I had taken more Ativan. My heart was in my throat. How can this be happening again?

OK this will just feel just like a facial the technician joked. Joked! The nerve of him making a shitty joke jolted me out of my fantasy.  I wanted to stand up and strangle him. But instead all my suppressed anger came pouring out of my eyes.

He placed a jumbo sheet of hot wet woven plastic over my face. It’s too hot I said, but he said just relax and they started washing me with cool water. Rolling down my neck. Into my ears. Mixing with my wet anger.

Hold still Flori, hold still everyone said. I was strapped to the table, what choice did I have? SHIT why didn’t I take more Ativan for this face smothering? The warm plastic was starting to harden, it was fitted so tight, it felt like a wet helmet with a hole for my face. But my jaw was locked in and swallowing was not an option.

I began walking then running. I could hear the loud laughter, sounds of a huge party up ahead. C’mon c’mon they called to me! I don’t wanna be here I screamed.  I want to leave this cancer shit behind. WAIT FOR ME!

What do you mean I have mets in my brain? I feel fine. How big are they, where are they, what will they affect?  There are films up on all the monitors. Is that my skull?

They said don’t worry. FUCK. Don’t worry we can target them. We have the TRUE BEAM. Our state-of-the-art radiation machine. We can sculpt the beam, control it and target the tumors. Within one millimeter. All in one session, less than an hour. You won’t feel anything.  Don’t worry - you won’t feel anything.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

Don’t worry, you won’t feel anything? I have never not felt anything. I already feel everything. And I am angry and I am terrified. I see my daughter out of the corner of my wet eye.  I try to pull it together and stop acting like such a baby.  She deserves better I think, but I am too flipped out to rein it in, too angry. Too petrified.  

Why is this happening to me again?  I’ve got to get out of here and off this table and out of this helmet. I am panicking. FUCK!

My thoughts are interrupted by noise from the party people, again I see them through the jagged portal in my head.  I see my grandmother, the one from Florida, she is tan and smiling and dancing and waving me in.  I don’t know if I should cross that threshold. 

The True Beam radiation set up begins. They move me to a cold metal table. There’s a flying arm swooping around me. Fuck!  Everything in the goddamn room makes a whirring noise. They place the torso mold under me so that my position cannot change. They place the smother mask helmet over my face and they bolt me to the fucking table. CLICK. Lock jaw, and I’m freezing.

I lose peripheral vision from the helmet, and as the table turns I feel waves of motion sickness. I asked the technician to stand where I can see them so when the table turns I can orient and not feel sick. The room is dark and the cross beams cut across my face and head. OK Flori-we will be right outside, we’re going to get started. What a bunch of chicken shit pussies.  WHY ARE THEY LEAVING ME ALONE IN THIS MORG? Who thought this was do-able with just one Ativan?

Once again, my fear and anger pour out of my eyes, into my ears, down my neck, onto the table, soaking the mold, but they are right. I cannot move. I am sandwiched and bolted to the space-age machine.  How did I wind up here? After 13 years of doing all the treatments only to have 4 little fuckers pop up in my head.  I’ve heard that to look back is to lose the soul.  Regret. It will fuck you up every time.  Time moves forward.  Until I cross the threshold, I have no choice but to keep moving forward.