Where am I? Here I Am…

Yesterday I underwent a procedure that revealed ulcers in my esophagus and severe inflamation in my stomache.  This explains increased discomfort from the acid reflux disease that has been with me for some years. I am now on medications meant to heal, and am encouraged to raise the head of my bed, and abstain from eating or drinking acidic substances.  The whole experience has been distracting, and the anesthesia has left me groggy and removed from current creative projects. I am still uncomfortable – and, of course, alone in my discomfort. So… What’s new?

I am writing this, passing time until three hours have passed since lunch. All I want is to lie down and sleep, though a deeper part of me believes in expressing something, no matter how plebian. There is some hope that my journey through the muck of physical ailments will result in the revival of my spirit.  My spirit is untouched by my body’s transportation on a gurney through featureless and florescently illuminated corridors and into a small dim cubicle where I was conscious only briefly, then conscious again, only vaguely aware of recent indignities. A sore throat informed me that a tube was indeed inserted and my upper digestive tract explored and photographed and biopsied by the kind but busy doctor for whom I was one among many whose insides had been explored that morning.

Alright… It is now the next day. I was blessedly  interrupted. Dear children; they can be counted upon to distract one from the morbidity of self-pity. Oh… You didn’t know I was feeling low – and unloved? Actually, I only faced it after my daughter’s call left me weeping, wishing for someone who cares, then accepting things as they were. Time to deliver freshly baked bread to those whom I do not expect to care – and then time to help out with small sprites who snuggle sweetly against their “Nanny” – small sprites for whom communication is mostly physical – and healing in effect. The three-year-old happilly stuffed her mouth with honey oatmeal bread, and the four-month-old laughed until tears ran down his cheeks – all because his grandmother sang repeatedly of a little bird who shakes his little tail and “far away he flew”. I think it was the acting out that did it. I was highly animated, and it was such a releif to “fly”.

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2 Responses to “Where am I? Here I Am…”

  1. Kendall Says:

    I love your use of the word “releif” instead of relief. It WAS a re-Leif to FLY. And I send love for your esophagus and your belly, the seat of your hara, burning, inflamed. I am not surprised, somehow. I feel the heat of your burning all the way across the continent. I cut the tip off my left thumb last night chopping bok choy, so I am full of sympathy for all that ails us and (for myself, not for you) awareness of the consequences of not being mindful enough. Sigh.

  2. leiflife Says:

    And I love it that you remind me of “hara”, and leap quidkly to celebrate the burning interior of your old best buddy. The “burning” is probably worthy of an entire blog writing. I burn… Thank you for feeling the heat of my burning.
    Poor little thumbkin. I am sorry for your hurt. And my hurt. And all the hurts. But glad when they lead us to empathy and understanding.

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