The signs were there. But my bossy brain, as disciplined and intent as a Sumo wrestler assigned them to the wrong room, unwilling to admit she may have made a mistake. When the body revolted causing a scene, the doctor was called, and well-intentioned-rationalizing-I-Can-Do-It-Myself-Sumo-Me was sent to detention hall where I’m trying hard to blend.
It is not asthma, the drain of wind from great sails; it is not the gut gone tight and bubbly in the gladiator coliseum of social and political riot. No, it is the sweet, red pump that drives everything.
As often is the case in this world of doublespeak, the tests that had moments before been reported positive, coiled, rose and struck like a snake interrupting my happy dance; and the interpreter of medical lingo on the other end of the telephone, (her voice as calm and cool as a summer melon cut in half), explained that was bad news.
So now the road forks, one sign pointing toward doom, another toward freedom; but the third trail marked by the largest sign of all, its path rutted by the passage of thousands of determined feet. This is the direction I have chosen, the sign marked Onward, with Hope and Determination.
On June 26th, at 10:30 in the morning, my body will join the long line of silver headed warriors lying on gurneys in front of the alter of stainless steel doors that are as cold as a gnat’s teat, watching through a veil of numbing drugs, as the doors swing open then close like jaws around the lives of the hopeful. Just like a busy ice cream shop, or a government office, I’ve been assigned a number and will wait my turn for the Great Oz while my best friend/lover/husband grinds his teeth in another room the same way I’ve ground my own for him each time he has taken this trip.
My heart is huge. My heart is durable. My heart is not close to giving up. I’ll be back soon. You’ll see.
And PS, I love you all.
ittymac 
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