Fin in a Waste of Waters

"These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom....Leaning over this parapet I see far out a waste of water. A fin turns....I note under 'F.,' therefore, 'Fin in a waste of waters.' I, who am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement, make this mark, waiting for some winter's evening." (from Woolf's THE WAVES)

05 September 2006

Still waiting

So I still wait to hear from my neurosurgeon. He is back in the office by now, but in surgery today. I might still hear from him (or more likely, one of the nurses/SAs) tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow. I'm terrified that he'll want an office visit, that this will mean hard news. Last time I had an MRI, it was just a phone call: "Your test results came back negative. Get another MRI done in a year and bring it to us." Every time I think about the possibility that he might want me to come in, I want to vomit. This time, I have so much to lose; I hate this gamble, and that it's a gamble I never chose.

It has thus been impossible (still) to work, which makes me feel even worse. Guilty (as if I don't deserve good health if I don't even use it) and worthless. I had planned to have started writing this new section of the Portrait paper at the start of September. I haven't even finished with the reading I had planned to do (though, granted, I'm close).

Yet here I am stupidly complaining - I should be glad for another day. Soon, this will be over - I'll be fine and on a flight to London, and then, this will have seemed so silly. Less than two weeks, this will all be over.


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