26 lines
1.1 KiB
HTML
26 lines
1.1 KiB
HTML
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date: 2019-11-01
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weight: 4
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---
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<div class="verse">There are so many words that could be said
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about the preparation for surgery, all those steps that led
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to that six-thirty AM call. The days of purging.
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The anxiety. The drive. My husband's gentle urging.
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That night in the Airbnb. That last shower with the Hibiclens.
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All that has faded. It's distored at the edge of the lens
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of my memory.
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       No, what remains is the two hours before:
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the being so scared that I was reduced to the barest core.
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There was nothing left of me but fear, not even a name.
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I could still drive — the fear was quiet and tame —
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I could get us to the ambulatory surgery waiting room.
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But beyond that, I was a non-person. A convict. My doom
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was in their hands.
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<blockquote>Non-person? Doom? Give yourself at least some credit.
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You still had agency. You still had a choice, could have not let it
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happen. You say of travel that getting you there is their job:
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you felt the same here. You crossed the doorway and let this mob
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of nurses do theirs.</blockquote>
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</div>
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