![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
-beginnersmind-.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
transConsultation With My Doctor - By Telephone.
From LJ 20 Feb: - 2004
She asked, "What does it feel like - how do you feel?"
A consultation with one's doctor by telephone seems natural to me but I had just admitted to my new GP that I don't go out much. I say, 'it's my choice', and it is, to a degree. I never cared for winter. But I had to admit I had lost more than my way when I took a wrong turn back - how long ago was it. Years? Years.
I said, "I feel ok." I paused.
"I feel okay but I know I'm not because I've rather lost the idea of what or who I am meant to be."
I imagined her nodding but then, remembering how I often act when I'm concentrating on the phone, I thought she might well be doodling or trying to separate two pieces of paper from a clip - with her free hand - but no, she probably had me on 'speaker.'
"Yes" she said mournfully.
It seemed a hell of a thing to lay on someone who must be young enough to be my daughter - not that I've ever seen myself as responsible enough to... But I dragged my attention back to what had to be said.
"I can 'Do Gender' but it seems that I've lost the knack of Being gendered."
Was I sounding too calm? I didn't sound calm. I didn't actually say those words. I expressed anger and exhaustion. I apologised for digressing. She sounded relieved to have something to reassure me about. "It's alright" she said.
And it was. It would be until I hung up. Then she would have the, not inconsiderable, job of finding an analyst. I didn't think I'd swap places with her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I remember after the surgery. I've never really forgotten but, though some find it hard to believe, for a long time I pretended I had. I felt nothing. Nothing.
No. That isn't strictly true. I felt surprised at feeling nothing. I wonder if Death is like that. A slight surprise that you learn to disregard after a while. A surprise at feeling nothing.
Until the surprise goes.
And you truly feel Nothing.
In the supermarket, on campus, I would catch myself - Feeling Nothing.
And in my mind I could see myself in an apparently endless future. I saw myself in a long dim corridor, like I'd expect to find in a once grand but now run down hotel. Ill lit. Uncared for. I would forever be walking down this corridor patiently trying door after door after door after door and, just occasionally, I'd look towards what I imagined must be the end of the corridor. But I couldn't make out an end. So I just kept trying the doors. I was very patient, very calm. It wouldn't have helped, I knew, to have been any other than calm. I knew it was going to be a long time before...
And then I'd give the customer their change or make a scathing though perceptive remark about the subject we were all meant to be discussing in the tutorial, probably an eighteenth century Lady Novelist, (damn 'Virago' Damn 'The Women's Press' Damn and To Hell with 'Feminist Icons!) and I would be 'back'. However, though I cannot be sure, I feel I could still smell the musk of that corridor. Really it was more present than the room I was in or the admiring look of my fellow students, or the friendly but busy look on the customer's face, as she poured her change in to the purse she held in her right hand.
I look at my Life differently now than even a year ago. I hold the first part of it before me and I marvel. I like who I was. I might well like who I am.
I'm told, sometimes, that I've squandered my talent but I remember the words to a million songs and I can whistle or hum every note of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and the symphonies of a few lesser composers. I have proved this to people as they've stood with their hand on the volume of the CD or record player and suddenly, upon turning it up, have been disconcerted, that I am not so much as a note behind. Synchronicity. I can remember whole symphonies - but I cannot remember how I lost my way - OK, Deep Breath
"Lost Myself."
I shall find myself somewhere but its going to be a struggle.
My 'false self' is strong, tricksy, seductive.
But I have the edge. I created her.
I can't be sure of her every move but if I am 'sober and vigilant' I can pull the plug.
But I must remember,
Timing is everything
This time only one of us must die.
© E.K Hatton 19 Feb 2004
From LJ 20 Feb: - 2004
She asked, "What does it feel like - how do you feel?"
A consultation with one's doctor by telephone seems natural to me but I had just admitted to my new GP that I don't go out much. I say, 'it's my choice', and it is, to a degree. I never cared for winter. But I had to admit I had lost more than my way when I took a wrong turn back - how long ago was it. Years? Years.
I said, "I feel ok." I paused.
"I feel okay but I know I'm not because I've rather lost the idea of what or who I am meant to be."
I imagined her nodding but then, remembering how I often act when I'm concentrating on the phone, I thought she might well be doodling or trying to separate two pieces of paper from a clip - with her free hand - but no, she probably had me on 'speaker.'
"Yes" she said mournfully.
It seemed a hell of a thing to lay on someone who must be young enough to be my daughter - not that I've ever seen myself as responsible enough to... But I dragged my attention back to what had to be said.
"I can 'Do Gender' but it seems that I've lost the knack of Being gendered."
Was I sounding too calm? I didn't sound calm. I didn't actually say those words. I expressed anger and exhaustion. I apologised for digressing. She sounded relieved to have something to reassure me about. "It's alright" she said.
And it was. It would be until I hung up. Then she would have the, not inconsiderable, job of finding an analyst. I didn't think I'd swap places with her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I remember after the surgery. I've never really forgotten but, though some find it hard to believe, for a long time I pretended I had. I felt nothing. Nothing.
No. That isn't strictly true. I felt surprised at feeling nothing. I wonder if Death is like that. A slight surprise that you learn to disregard after a while. A surprise at feeling nothing.
Until the surprise goes.
And you truly feel Nothing.
In the supermarket, on campus, I would catch myself - Feeling Nothing.
And in my mind I could see myself in an apparently endless future. I saw myself in a long dim corridor, like I'd expect to find in a once grand but now run down hotel. Ill lit. Uncared for. I would forever be walking down this corridor patiently trying door after door after door after door and, just occasionally, I'd look towards what I imagined must be the end of the corridor. But I couldn't make out an end. So I just kept trying the doors. I was very patient, very calm. It wouldn't have helped, I knew, to have been any other than calm. I knew it was going to be a long time before...
And then I'd give the customer their change or make a scathing though perceptive remark about the subject we were all meant to be discussing in the tutorial, probably an eighteenth century Lady Novelist, (damn 'Virago' Damn 'The Women's Press' Damn and To Hell with 'Feminist Icons!) and I would be 'back'. However, though I cannot be sure, I feel I could still smell the musk of that corridor. Really it was more present than the room I was in or the admiring look of my fellow students, or the friendly but busy look on the customer's face, as she poured her change in to the purse she held in her right hand.
I look at my Life differently now than even a year ago. I hold the first part of it before me and I marvel. I like who I was. I might well like who I am.
I'm told, sometimes, that I've squandered my talent but I remember the words to a million songs and I can whistle or hum every note of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and the symphonies of a few lesser composers. I have proved this to people as they've stood with their hand on the volume of the CD or record player and suddenly, upon turning it up, have been disconcerted, that I am not so much as a note behind. Synchronicity. I can remember whole symphonies - but I cannot remember how I lost my way - OK, Deep Breath
"Lost Myself."
I shall find myself somewhere but its going to be a struggle.
My 'false self' is strong, tricksy, seductive.
But I have the edge. I created her.
I can't be sure of her every move but if I am 'sober and vigilant' I can pull the plug.
But I must remember,
Timing is everything
This time only one of us must die.
© E.K Hatton 19 Feb 2004