Poem #5 Haiku
Too many feelings I used to harness them all Impossible now.
So I had surgery last Monday. For only the second time in my life, I went under general anesthesia. The last thing I remember is being wheeled very rapidly down the corridor by two male nurses. “Wheeeeee!” I remember shouting. It really was fun. The next moment, I was coming to, ready to go home.
What happens in that liminal time is a mystery. One is not quite alive, nor dead. Initially, the feeling was delightful. Only days later did the weight of what happened to my body arrive like a lead blanket. I have been peculiarly detached from my normal concerns. I have not wanted to (or really been able to) exercise or work or do household tasks without feeling repercussions in my body. I have not felt very ambitious about anything at all. Instead, I have sat in Couchland reading my friend Erin’s memoir Given Up for You, Zadie Smith’s NW, and watching The Crown. My parents came to help out, and we got to see The Darkest Hour. I have not followed the news. I have not listened back to the songs I wrote over the weekend at my retreat. I almost forget who I am.
But I have not been sad or depressed. Just detached. I wonder if when one goes under general anesthesia if some essential element of the self does this to protect itself. Kind of like Peter Pan losing his shadow. Maybe I need to find Wendy to sew it back on my feet.
Here’s what I have learned this week:
Upon re-reading this, I don’t think it’s the soul that detaches. The soul is intact. It’s my ambition that is sitting somewhere across the room, perhaps on the opposite couch with its arms folded, just regarding me with a hint of confusion and resentment.
As I write this, the sound of a squirrel gnawing away at the inside of my walls is filling my ears on the right, while on the left, my six-month-old…