THE MIND IS A LONELY HUNTER

*** WARNING: Mild profanity. ***

My body totally betrayed me when I was under anesthesia to have my tonsils removed. What I mean by that is, just because my heart stopped beating for like, what, twenty minutes or something, for that small span of time my brain just lacked a little bit of oxygen, nothing really to write home about. What’s the big deal? Then, all of a sudden, I’m like evicted, tossed out, given the bum’s rush. Jeesh. That’s gratitude for you. After all I’d done to keep fit and ready. Healthy eating, regular exercise, occasional pampering massages and a single Finnish sauna every year, just to test its resilience. And it never let me down before. I didn’t smoke, only drank socially – though I am fairly social - but mostly confined to red wine (except for summertime, gin and tonic season) and I kept sugar and fats to a minimum. Moderation, baby.  Need I go on? Well, there’s a Freudian slip, if ever there was one.

So, following a rash of sinus infections, chronic snoring and a twinge of sleep apnea, I decided to better my situation and, even though I was an older candidate for the procedure, decided to go for it and have my tonsils out. My husband was all for it; in other words, getting a decent night’s sleep, something he’d been deprived for as long as I can remember, and apparently had given up for love. I’d stopped asking in the morning how he’d slept, one, because I already knew the answer and, two, I was hardly in the mood for snide cranky comments about what it's like sleeping with a bear that saws wood all night.  I wasn’t even aware of it, which proved to me you don’t have to do anything intentionally to be a menace to and/or hurt the ones you love.

Sigh.

My son had already had his tonsils out at the more typical age of ten after years of sore throats and being kept out of school so much that he’d been held back a grade. He reminded me of the popsicle and ice cream extravaganza that would be coming my way. I just needed to be brave, he assured me as he patted me on the shoulder. Thanks, old chum.

So, now here I find myself out of my body and in hovering mode. I’m watching the doctors and nurses scurry around in a panic. I’m reminded of the old film reels that featured The Keystone Cops, a ridiculous display of men in blue chasing the bad guys and getting in their own way at every turn. If you possessed half a brain, I would think it'd be difficult to find it amusing, though not as bad as The Three Stooges, whose popularity I could never understand. I'm just not a fan of absurd, exaggerated, and I'd venture to say cruel, slapstick. Yep, I can practically feel Bryan's outrage at the blasphemy. My husband is, so obvious to me at least, a fan of the preposterous. Well, wait until he hears what happened to his wife during a routine tonsillectomy! 

Now, from what I’d read, I really was expecting to be teleported through a tunnel of light and at the end be greeted by my dear departed Great Aunt Emily or my Grandfather Gardner, someone who might help ease me into this voyage to the other side. Nothing. Frankly what was, I’d imagined, known as the “unknown” was so far totally familiar, if not clearer for being able to take a step back . . . or it might be more accurate to say have a bird’s eye view? It’s hard to take a step anywhere without actual feet. And I think you can surmise that it’s difficult for me to put into words what is really going on but, suffice to say, I was able to “see” clearer and broader than I’d been able to heretofore (I’ve always wanted to use that word; I just like it) probably due to being free of the trappings of my body that would tend to bog me down with its relentless needs and stifling limitations.  This is actually kinda fun. You know . . .

Hey, how’d I get back in here?  I was just getting used to . . . well, I’m not sure what that was but it was freeing, that’s for sure. Okay, get a grip and let’s take inventory here. I’m back in my body; I can tell by how small my world suddenly got and how limited my vision is. I’m looking up and that’s about it; I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed.  Logic would tell me open, of course, but now I’m not so sure.  When I was looking down at me . . . Ugh! Is that claustrophobia I feel? Whatever, I don’t like it. It feels like a wave that’s way over my head and it’s coming down fast and I really don’t like it. This is no time to panic, but there’s nowhere to go! Breathe! Breathe! Ooooh, did you see that? Another one.  Wow, did I make that happen? Better. The doctors and nurses are looking celebratory. That’s nice. I’m not feeling anything but I assume I’m still under.  But then how do I know what I know and can see what I’m seeing?  I’m going to have to look this up when I can get my hands on a computer.

 * * * 

Well, this is supremely awkward. Right, am I aware of what’s going on? The short answer is yeah. Where am I? St. Mary’s Medical facility. Why? To have my tonsils out. What year is it? What time is it? Everything seems before its time. Time in general has lost all meaning, it’s just standing still while rocketing around at high speed.  And, frankly, what I’d appreciate speeding up a little would be my wake-up call. I’ve been trying to move on from this dream-state since I was in the operating room. Move, damn it. Let’s get physical A finger. A toe. Come on.  Body, you betrayed me before but you took me back in. For what, to keep me trapped, like a rat?  Move it, shake a tail feather. Something, anything. Let me know you’re with me and not agin’ me. Fuck.

Well, there’s nothing to do about it right now, I guess. I’ll try again later. Hey, is that someone coming? I heard the door . . . Bryan! I didn’t think. Look at you, so sad. Honey, I’m here, I’m fine. It’s going to be okay. Please don’t cry. Why can’t I reach you? Can’t you hear me? I’m telepathing you. Listen! Hands, arms, eyes, do something! Anything.  Let him know I’m here. I’m all right.  I’ve never been so present but it’s all in my head. If you don’t hear me, am I here? Do I exist? Oh my God, so I’m the tree that falls in the woods that nobody hears? No, not me. Fuck you. FUCK you!

Body, where are you? Why are you failing me? Oh, no, and what about Peter? How is he going to process this? I’m not even sure what “this” is. Why can’t I be like one of those kids in the Matrix. Oh, if I could only bend a spoon. That’d bake their noodle. This is no time for levity. Are you kidding?  This is the perfect time for levity!  I am here. I am alive. I just can’t move. I can’t show you, not yet. 

But I will.

* * *

Right. That’s the right word. A coma, of course. So, this is what comatose means! Duh. That’s why I can’t move. My brain seems to be working overtime though.  Just what am I supposed to do with myself? I never realized just how small my body is. Well, pardner, there ain’t ‘nuf room in this town for the both of us! That’s me and my thoughts, just we two.  Or is that really just the one of us? Just me? Am I the sum total of my thoughts?  I didn’t use to think so.

In “real life” I’m one of those people who remains constantly active so I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts.  They tend to tie me in knots. What cruel irony.    

In my other life, I teach grade school level children. So, besides keeping me busy with lesson plans and parent/teacher conferences, I’m also my own son Peter’s chauffer to his many sporting and scouting events. Nothing defines you like a little person – especially yours - in progress. My partner in crime (aka life), Bryan’s a busy sales rep for a marketing company so he travels. A lot and sometimes at a moment’s notice. I’m the “flexible” one. More or less. I’m a it's better to bend than to break kinda gal. But I like it. Then any available free time dwindled even more when we decided to get a dog as a partial playmate for Peter, as well as an added security measure for when Bry was out of town.  My family always had German Shepherds while I was growing up, so I’m comfortable with them.

Our new pup, Knickerbocker (Bock), is my shadow when I’m home and I miss his puppy face and smell and lumbering frame looking out for me. The surgeon had better not meet him once he’s grown; one word from me and he’d be left a lot more immobile than I am right now.   If that’s possible.  Well, my thoughts are certainly mobile, in a reckless get-out-the-way overdrive kind of mode, a brand new gear I didn’t even know I had.

Sigh.

* * *

I’m just twiddling my brain cells here. I’m a communicator. I’m all about language, I adore self-expression, I devour books like nobody’s business. Words are my currency. I teach children, but what I enjoy most is the interaction, allowing them to be who they are and then listening to them take off! And then I find we’re both doing the learning.  

I look forward every day to sharing with my son whatever comes our way. I always speak to him the way I’d speak to anyone and it seems to have paid off. He trusts me to tell him truths, or the next best thing for the stage he is at the time. When he’s receptive, he’s a sponge, a whip-smart funny little sponge. He’s taught me how to think on my feet and trust my instincts.   

I was training a puppy. Now, there’s a whole different way of communicating. Instead of words, you’re using tone, body language and incorporating techniques designed for another species. And then you have to deal with the distractions that accompany puppydom, such as that face and that fuzzy round puppy belly. But, as comes with most teaching experiences, the frustrations are unavoidable but the rewards are worth it, every time.   

My husband and I talk every day, whether he’s in town or not – at least a good morning or a good night. I’ve never gone a day without it – yeah, well, never say never (oh, and if only I could)! 

My sister and I were once estranged but now we talk almost every other day because she’s going through a rough patch with her daughter, and it’s really helped rebuild our bridge. That sucks. 

So, if I have to be cognizant, why am I the only one I can talk to? Or with. Or at. Well, all I can say is, when this is all said and done, I want to remember all this. What an essay! What an experience to share with those who have never been through this. Wait, I could begin a support group for those who have had a similar experience. Feeling trapped? No one hears you? Well, there’s hope! Learn how to tolerate your own self.  And let’s start there because, let’s face it, folks, at the end of the day, you’re really all you’ve got.  And if you can’t communicate with your own self and be real with yourself, what’s the point? I have to think others have been through this, but who and how many? It’s simply not talked about that much that I know about.  Where’s Google when I need it? Arrgh, I wish I could at least take notes!  

Mental notes, that’s all I've got. And I never had the best memory banks to begin with. All right then, remember this! Hear me! Remember this.  Take a snapshot and keep it in the storage cabinet. Oh, wouldn’t it be great to develop an EEG that could measure not only brain waves and electricity, but actual thoughts?  Well, that’s probably a double-edge sword of major proportions. But, oh, think of the possibilities! I’ll bet there’s been advancements in medical and scientific technology that I never paid attention to when I had the chance. Well, I’ll tell you what, here and now. When I get back . . . you heard me. When, not if, when I get my life back, I’m going to make a difference in this crazy world. I’m going to put all this brain power to use and never take anything for granted ever again. 

Oh, I think someone’s here. I know my heart’s beating, so if you’ve got a ventilator and you’re thinking of sticking a tube down my nose or throat, turn around and beat it! I know just a little bit and life support is not needed on this side of town. Hit the bricks, Bozo. My, my, left to my own devices, I can be rather bitchy. But then, I like that about myself. After all, nobody’s monitoring me now, right? I could recite the eight dirtiest words in the universe over and over again and who’s to know? I could make up a few of my own along the way, if I wanted to. That remains to be seen. This is my world now; welcome to it.

I wonder if I’m losing my mind. Sure, you don’t have to be crazy but it helps. I just don't sense that this is all that healthy, to be confined like this, rambling along with just my own self for company. I have now come to realize there is a saturation point with what I once thought was required "me time." I just wish I could sleep. I'm not talking just escape. Well, yes, I do mean escape but I also mean like a vacation. Take a load off, get out of this place. Refresh. Well, now, let’s think about that. Do I need to be asleep to go anywhere? The power of the mind, the power of the mind, the power of . . .

Look at me. I’m six and about to put my whole head under water for the first time ever. Just take a deep breath and . . .

Benjie was the best goldfish any girl ever had. I didn’t mean to feed you too much, Benjie. I never dreamed you’d try to eat all of it. I hope. . .

My grandmother Grace is holding my hand. Hers is in a clean white glove with a button at the wrist and smells like lavender. I think. . .

My sister Jenna and I are hanging out at the top of the stairs listening to the grownups drink and dance to Frank Sinatra records. They sound ridiculous . . .

I’m not going! It’s not a dentist office; it’s a torture chamber. I’d rather have false teeth. Sadistic. . .

I can’t believe I’m in the back seat of Chester’s Buick and I let him unhook my bra. I wonder if I should . . .

I’m at a teenage retreat and run into a group of older kids. No, I won’t tell. Can I try some? How high will I get? Will I . . .

(sob) Yes, yes, I’ll marry you! (sob)

I vow . . . to take this man . . . to be my lawful wedded husband . . . to honor . . . and to cherish . . .

God damn you, Bryan! Get out of my face and turn that fucking camera off! Oh, Owowwwww, the baby’s coming!  I hate . . .

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round. Come on, Petie. You can do it! Come to. . .

Happy Anniversary, my love! Here’s to another decade of love, laughter and mortgage payments. You are . . .

* * * 

“Dad? You awake?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“I think I saw mom move.”

“Those are just reflexes. Remember what the doctor said?”

“I know, but this was different.”

“How do you mean?”

“Her eyes, they fluttered like she was trying really hard.”

“Stay here, I’ll get the nurse.”

Yes, please, get the nurse. Something’s happening, I can feel it.  I’m think I’m coming back.

* * *

Bryan and I were finally able to convince Peter that he should go home with one of our neighbors, Patty, and wait for Bryan to get there later. Patty was minding Peter while I was “away.”  I was still shaky, fuzzy around the edges. I hadn’t yet been able to retrieve most of the puzzle pieces that had landed me here. Time had no meaning and wherever I had gone had been reduced to smoky wisps.  So, I trained my focus on Bryan, sitting there in front of me, holding my hand in both of his.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“I wasn’t either.”

“Are you tired?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Still the kook I married. That’s a relief.”

“We’ll see.” (smile)

“Where did you go?”

“I can't really say. I can’t even say it was a nice place to visit, but I’m sure I’d never want to live there. Is it too late to get a popsicle?” 

THE END