We have seen waves and stars,
And lost sea-beaches, and known many wars,
And notwithstanding war and hope and fear,
We were as weary there as we are here...”
- Charles Baudelaire, “The Flowers of Evil: The Voyage”
CNN’s Jake Tapper called it the “motto of 2020”.
The story went viral, trending in Twitter-verse.
Fuji-Q Highland, an amusement park in Fujiyoshida, Japan, is asking it’s guests to ride its roller-coasters in silence in order to avoid spreading Covid-19.
The park posted a video in which two men are seen riding a roller-coaster in complete silence while wearing face masks.
A Japanese-language message appears at the end of the video.
Google’s translate app converts the message into English as “scream in my heart”.
A Wall Street Journal follow-up report had a slightly different take, translating the message as “please scream inside your heart”.
Scream in my heart.
Tapper is right.
The motto of 2020.
One Twitter user lamented: “I don’t need a roller coaster ride to scream inside my heart.
It is a daily routine”.
Screaming in my heart, or some variation of that, has been in daily rotation since Saturday, January 25th, a life-altering day.
A day I bought a ticket to a hell-bent roller-coaster ride I never wanted to board.
A day the world stopped, then began rotating to some cross-town traffic, unnerving, un-syncopated, jarringly off-beat rhythm.
In musical pieces, longer pauses are called “caesura”
(sēˈzyo͝orə) indicating silent, temporary breaks.
Tempo, pulse and rhythm stop momentarily.
It’s a suspension of time.
Caesura.
Caesuras have also been in daily rotation in-between heart screams.
Like the call this week from one of my characteristically upbeat, life is good, “heard any good music lately?” inquiring doctors.
Slight detour first.
This is the doctor who hung back one morning after a team of doctors informed me I’d had a stroke.
“Are you really Nikki Sixx?” he asked.
I’m almost dead and I look like it, and still the comparison.
Poor Nikki.
I gave a half-hearted laugh, we chatted briefly, and he shot me the “rock on/devil’s horns” as he left.
Still does whenever I see him.
Then there was the nurse who walked with me down a hallway the day of my angiogram.
“Are you really Gene Simmons?” he asked.
That was a first.
Look him up.
Poor me.
I smiled, said no, we chatted briefly, and he shot me the “rock on/devil’s horns” as he left me in my room.
Oh, and the late evening shift nurse who, after my carotid endarterectomy, calmly commented in her Polish accent while looking at my chart, “Aahh, you’re big rock star”.
Wait, what?
That’s on my chart?
Sigh.
Part of me wants to reply, “Why yes, yes I am, I am all of these people you think I am, but I was hoping to slip in unnoticed and go unrecognized and now you’ve caught me!”
Let the rumors start flying.
Have you heard?
Franciscan Health now treats big named, big haired, ‘80’s famed rockers!
Right here in the south suburbs of Chicago!
But I don’t and I didn’t.
I behave.
I suppose I bring it on myself.
I don’t mind though, it makes life interesting for all involved.
Detour over.
Back to the call.
Pen and paper?
Good, a few things to go over.
Confirm surgery date.
Time of arrival, time of surgery.
Ungodly early, of course.
Schedule pre-surgery lab work.
Schedule pre-surgery, let’s go over the day-of, messy, necessary details consult.
No, at this time no one can be with you due to Covid-19 restrictions.
You’ll be riding solo.
Get dropped off at the door at dawn’s early light and say your goodbyes.
Make your peace.
(No, he didn’t say that, but it’s how I was hearing this conversation.)
Any questions?
No, well yes, a lot, but...
Good, we’ll see you then.
We’ll talk more at pre-surgery, messy, necessary details consult.
Have a nice day.
Goodbye.
Scream in my heart.
Caesura.
Suspension of time.
Shit’s getting real.
In February, 2006, 50 million albums selling, 9 Grammy awards winning, hit-making machine,
singer-songwriter Sheryl Crow’s life got shredded.
Her high-profile relationship to cyclist Lance Armstrong disintegrated, followed up quickly by an unwelcome diagnosis.
Breast cancer.
Double lumpectomy and radiation therapy.
When she learned of her diagnosis, Crow revealed that one word took over her thoughts: vulnerable.
She fought back the best way she knew how.
She wrote a song.
“I stare into some great abyss
And calculate the things I’d miss
If I could only make some sense of this...
I crawl into my circumstance
Lay on the table begging for another chance
But I was a good girl, and I can’t understand how to...
Make it go away
Make it go away
Make it go away...”
Vulnerable.
Staring into some great abyss.
Making sense of this.
All of this.
From January 25th until today, crawling into my circumstance.
Wanting it to go away.
Make.
It.
Go.
Away.
I believe now, unquestionably, with the benefit of hindsight and a mountain of personal research, that I fell victim to Covid-19.
Far too many similarities and far too many symptoms, far too many variables in antibody testing, far too many doctors and nurses looking at me in amazement when I question what happened.
“What happened? Coronavirus, that’s what happened”.
I believe now, unquestionably, if - and it’s a huge if - more people were personally affected and touched by the ravages of Coronavirus, and would stop politicizing it long enough to do the right things, it would make a difference.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
I was commenting recently in a thread to an online news story - stupid and pointless, I know, but nevertheless - responding to someone who said he knew people who knew people that got Covid-19 and it wasn’t any different than a pesky cold.
No big deal.
A minor inconvenience.
Flu-like at best.
Sniffles, then you get better.
These numbers and stats?
A hoax, fake news, too much testing.
Masks?
A governmental, boundary over-stepping, rights-stripping, controlling joke.
I briefly layered out my story, my vulnerable abyss, naively hoping a mind might change.
Hoping one story might make a ripple.
“That’s your opinion” was the swift, expletive-charged response.
My opinion.
Not just about masks, social distancing, or governmental strategy and decision-making.
No.
My opinion about the entirety of my illness.
My opinion.
I’ll keep my opinion in mind from now on, especially in a few short weeks when I’m being
prepped for a triple bypass.
I’ll keep my opinion to myself when I think back over these last 6 months of my life, nearly dead because my breath was being robbed, one inhalation at a time.
I’ll remember it was just my opinion that caused and uncovered an avalanche of ailments that may or may not be over after I recover from the next surgery.
And whatever may or may not still be waiting around the corner.
My opinion.
My vulnerability.
My make it go away.
My scream in my heart.
My caesura.
Caesura.
Caesura...
Once again your eloquence has brought me to tears. I wish so much you never had ride this roller coaster from hell this year. But you have been brought through time and again. And for that I am very grateful. I know there's another hurdle around the corner, but I have faith you'll get through this and come out on the other side stronger and healthier.
ReplyDeleteChuck, so good! I am so sorry that this is happening you and your family for our families suffer when we suffer. 2019 was that kinda of year for my family believe it or not, so bad hat 2020 looks comparatively good. Never stopped believing in the Masterpiece that is being created through this tough journey. Even this blog is evidence of that Masterpiece. The miracles keep happening, keep looking for them.
ReplyDeleteWishing you much love and many miracles.