Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Friday, January 12, 2007

    I should be




    cleaning. I should be doing dishes. Sweeping. Vacuuming.

    I should be dressed. I should be finishing the book. Or writing a sestina about the universe called Breath, and using the words: feather, falling, word, void, love and laundry. I should be playing with the boyos and their new toys, I should be dressing them, I should be supervising as they pick up blocks. (I did feed them; food is love.) I should be blogging the continuing Frango story now that my mom left this morning. I should be leaving my fortune cookie witticisms on ya'll's blogs. I should be answering your wonderful comments on my own blog (one-way conversations are only half-fun). I should read my email, I should be writing thank-you notes.


    But, I'm napping. More or less. I'm putting these words together in my head, to type in later. I should be sleeping. I should give up. I should call Dr. S., make my follow-up appointment, ask him if it was only a hallucination that I heard – his voice solid and real floating over my dreams, pulling me up and out of the dark; She may want to have that ovary removed.” He wasn't there when I opened my eyes, just the nurses and Fiji. I should have asked right then. I think I tried. No one said anything about it to O.


    This was before I had visitors: There were pictures. I saw them; someone flipped through them quickly in front of my eyes, and then they were gone. I remember seeing something that wasn't supposed to be there, and then it was gone in the next picture. Then the pictures themselves were gone. I wonder if I'll see them again in a textbook.


    Everyone wanted me to tell them how I felt in numbers. God's own language, I thought. A nurse told me I shouldn't feel worse than a six. I told her I was around a five. She put something in my IV that took me to a two, for about two minutes. After that, 3.5 sounded good. I wanted to say pi, but I didn't want them to think I was delusional. Or hungry.


    Then the girl who sat in front of me in 9th grade biology took me to the bathroom. Seriously. Ask her. Life's so absurd.


    I should be thanking God for Vicadin. I should be set for the next migraine. I should be knocking on wood.


    I shouldn't be telling you about the second night. I should leave a happy story be. I shouldn't have laid down alone. My diaphragm borrowed the nerves in my shoulder, having none of its own. It came on quickly, the pain. It wisely ignored the Vicadin, sending red pressure into my shoulder, where the closest nerves screamed a warning about my diaphragm; leftover co2 compressed it, and I couldn't breathe. But the pain was so intense, I couldn't move, either. I lay gasping like a fish in the middle of the bed, pain level as close to a ten as one can get without passing out. Pi cubed.


    My mom heard me, heard that tiny, crucial sound. She called O in. They propped me up and I tried to breathe. My exhales were tight-fisted screams. “If you can do that, you can breathe!” O screamed back, trying to pull me out of the panic. I closed my eyes and when I did, I saw flowers bloom. Little five-petaled flowers bursting open.


    The bubble moved. I breathed. I didn't sleep well after that.


    I got better. I am better. I'll stop slacking after today. After I post this. After I think about napping again. After I decide not to.





    15 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger Esereth wrote in a love letter...

    I gotta say, that was one of your more beautiful entries. Your pain, forgive me for saying, was exquisite.

    Glad you're back.

    3:20 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Blogger Maggie wrote in a love letter...

    Oh Nancy, I know that panic. Thank the world around that O and your mother were there. I hate those bubbles. The insidious bubbles that take all the fun out of the thought of bubbles. Take your rest, mind nothing else. We'll be here.

    3:25 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Blogger JustCallMeJo wrote in a love letter...

    you SHOULD be doing whatever it is your body is ready and willing to be doing.

    period.

    3:31 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Anonymous Rudi wrote in a love letter...

    I've seen that pain and panic from the
    CO2 bubbles, it hurt my daughter and
    scared me like I don't want to think about.

    I'm glad you're past that.

    Have a pi**-1 day.

    4:30 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Blogger Schmoopie wrote in a love letter...

    Mmm... pi is sooo good! I mean pie. Cherry, peach, blueberry, raspberry, strawberry, etc. Heated, with a dab of whipped cream or ice cream, melting into a river of goodness. Mmm.

    Oops! Sorry- got distracted. I am so glad you are getting better. Just relax and take it easy. All of the chores will wait. Keep the boyos in their jammies and when they run out of clean jammies then go to clothes. I hope your recovery continues and you get to feeling like yourself again. Best wishes and love to you all.

    4:44 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Blogger meno wrote in a love letter...

    Is that a picture of your Black pearls?
    Take good care of yourself woman, all the rest can wait.

    4:56 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    Yeah, what they all said. Take your yummy vicodins every 4 hours whether yu feel pain or not and let your mom and O take care of the boys and relax. Obsess over the last paragraph of JALL.

    p.s. - "Everyone wanted me to tell them how I felt in numbers. God's own language, I thought." is very nice. And the pi joke was pretty funny too.

    9:41 PM, January 12, 2007  
    Anonymous Da Duck wrote in a love letter...

    Rest!!! you shouldn't be doing anything but resting!!!

    3:28 AM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Bud wrote in a love letter...

    That's an astounding piece of writing to describe that. The five petal lotus flower, I think, is associated with the throat chakra and has the qualities of creative self expression and access to subtler levels of being. You sound way better now and I'm relieved.

    5:16 AM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Scott from Oregon wrote in a love letter...

    You should be sore.

    Sore people should get waited on hand and foot.

    Ask them to wash them first before they wait.

    11:35 AM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Cheesy wrote in a love letter...

    Well sweets.... you just go right ahead and let the gallent Price of Vico take you away,,, sometimes it's good to be a princess,, I myself think you should be wearing a tiara!!! Been there hun.. take it very easy the first week,,, will make recoop soooo much faster,,, If you have any questions feel free to email me.. Mine wasnt endo .. was the big C but recoop is the same... breath stretch and be peaceful!

    7:10 PM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Thanks, Es. Always high praise from one of the best writers out there. How _you_ feeling, dear?

    Those bubbles suck, don't they, Maggie? I understand you've had a bit of surgery yourself?

    Yeah yeah yeah, Jo, I know. But you know how restless I get. ;-)


    Rudi, I'm so sorry your daughter had to go through that recently. If she ever needs anyone to talk to about it, I'm at nancy_dancehall at yahoo. And I want a t-shirt that says Have a pi**-1 day. :-)

    mmmmm....pi...cherry pi...I wish I could leave the boyos in jammies, Schmoop, but when the sun starts setting, Declan freaks out, saying, "Mommy! You didn't dress me! You wasted my time!" Bad Mommie. Bad bad Mommie.

    Meno, if that were a picture of my black pearls, I'd be selling them to The Donald. ;-)

    mmm..vicadin...better than pi...Yeah, Clowncar, I thought that saying "I feel like pi" might earn me something from the scary hospital pie cellar...

    But resting makes me restless, Duckie! Mid-day naps make me feel guilty. Not a drop of Latin blood in me. ;-)

    Thanks, Bud. I was unable to write a coherent sentence for days. It scared me, almost as much as the suffocation. No dfference, really.

    Woohoohoo! Good idea, Scott. I could stand to have my feet washed and waited on...

    Aw. I love being called Sweets, Cheesy! I had the Big C too. Much, much harder than this...wait a minute! You have twins too, right? Do you know Maggie and Lisa? Go check 'em out! And give me your best twin advice!!!!!

    7:59 PM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Cheesy wrote in a love letter...

    Best twin advice.. lets see....Let them be individuals... and try not to eat your young... It pays off in spades once the grand wee ones start coming! I was lucky , mine were boy/girl so they NEVER were dressed the same lol!

    11:13 PM, January 13, 2007  
    Blogger Des_Moines_Girl wrote in a love letter...

    Dare to slack. All your chores will be there for you when you're feeling better. You need to take care of you!

    7:32 AM, January 14, 2007  
    Blogger Princess in Galoshes wrote in a love letter...

    Vicodin? Really? You're that eloquent on Vicodin? Damn. Impressive. Go rest and stop making the rest of us look bad. Glad you're recovering.

    9:34 PM, January 15, 2007  

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