There was a day, sometime in February 2003,when I thought that I was truly going to die. There have been many days when I confronted the concept of my death, imagined scenarios, played movies in my head. But that day...that day, I just thought I was going to die.
I lost faith in my body. I lost faith in everything. The fear and darkness were so great and I felt totally alone.
I was in Emergency. I am pretty sure that I was in C pod. I remember the room. It had a bathroom to the left of my bed. The room felt so absolutely empty that day. And I can only remember it in black and white. I felt as if I had walked through some door and was in a different dimension. That though I could see and interact with the people, doctors, nurses around me, that I existed somewhere else. That was probably the most terrifying part. I felt, I fucking KNEW that I was going somewhere, that I was not with everyone else.
I was in emerg for pain. I was obstructed once again. I was at a point in treatment when they realized that the "gentle" chemo was not working and I was scheduled for stronger, much harder juice. I just kept getting sicker. My bowel was completely blocked, I felt toxic and full of poison. My blood count was very low.
I remember wondering at how unaware I could be at the dangerous levels of my blood. How my body was just crumbling, shutting down, and that there was nothing I could do about it.
I remember the utter terror and despondance I felt. I tried to hold it together while R and I watched a movie-the worst fucking choice of a movie-Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I cried the entire time. I was grateful for the distraction but it wasn't enough. I remember feeling like I was falling, like I was helplessly falling down one of those bottomless pits in the Flintstones, and strugling, madly clawing, trying to grab the air and swim my way up to safety. And no one could see me falling. R couldn't see, the nurses couldn't see, Dr. R__ couldn't see. Only I knew I was in trouble.
I remember silently, desperately pleading for help. I clutched at my raw and very recently unpacked spirituality and begged for my angels to help me. If you are really there, Raphael, then please, Help Me. Don't let me die. Please, please hold my hand, be by my side, do SOMETHING to make me seem less alone. That was my biggest fear of death, I think. I was afraid to die alone, was afraid to be alone, was afraid that Death was the ultimate alone. And I felt alone that day. Utterly alone. I felt no angels, no warmth or knowledge of other, just terror and cold.
That day, the day I believed that I was dying, I let go. I let it come. No, actually, that is bullshit. I did not let it come. I fought that fucker all the way. I think I just got tired, worn out. I calmed down and fell asleep. There was no light, no beatific knowing of all things loving, no choral rapture, there was just grey and cold and dispair. Somehow, I made it through that day. And when I woke up in the morning, I felt a little better. That is all. I went through hell and somehow hung on with my eyes closed. And it is the greatest gift I have been given.
