Mid July
6:47am. On Saturday I had a stomach ache. On Sunday morning I went to the hospital. At ten o’clock I had surgery. How many weeks ago was that? Six maybe? It all happened very quickly. I was in such pain. So much pain. I was so scared. Such an intense fear. I think it was — and still is — the fear of dying. Every person knows that he or she will die. Must die. This is purely cognitive knowledge. It has nothing to do with a real, emotional knowledge. With the truth. I approach this emotional knowledge. I approach the truth. With fear. With hallucinations. With not being able to sleep. My belly, my intestines as messengers, as explainers of the world, as true life — namely as the life that will come to an end.
On my desk is still the bandages, with which after the big operation was tried to let the wound heal. AFT gauze compresses sterile, 36" x 48", Biatain Silicone foam dressing — to reduce exudate pooling, Durafiber Ag absorbent, non-woven, silver containing antimicrobial dressing, Intratix Primeline for administering all kinds of infusions, Sterofundin ISO solution for infusion, BSN medical Cutimed Siltec Sorbact, bacteria-binding foam dressing, 3M medical tape, BD Nexiva IV Catheter System Single Port, Camber Potassium Chloride Extended-Release Tablets, USP 10mEq K (750 mg), IV Catheter Dressing dynarex, 2,9" x 3,8", B Braun Combi Stopper Red 4495101, Cephalexin Capsules USP 500 mg Rx only Lupin, Metronidazole Tablets USP 500mg Rx only Teva, Scissors. Tweezers. Next to it are the doctor’s letters. I get fluffy, a slightly dizzy feeling somewhere in the abdomen. Under the large scar that runs from the abdomen to about the solar plexus, with a curve around the navel. That’s the hunch that I’m going to die, that I’m going to turn into something else, that it’s just going to happen one day, maybe around 7am on a Sunday morning. And that no John C. Lantis, no board-certified general surgeon, no nurse, no well-equipped operating room, no air-conditioned, private, graciously furnished patient room can change this. It will be very simple and comprehensible. I will understand. — Or not.
In the meantime, it has become summer. I’m just as tired as usual. In my ears is the sound of the morning. The balcony door is open. I hear the passing cars. The blackbird no longer calls. A sparrow chirps, a crow calls. How different it was at Nantucket. Then the blackbird was still calling — like many other birds. Yesterday we returned to the city, to the warmth, the dryness, the asphalt.
And write even more than one page. Let out what’s inside.
The feeling of being dependent on friendly people. My family, the saleswoman at Nantucket Meat & Fish, the nurses in the hospital. I will never fully understand why my intestines twist, knot, why motility is in disorder. More and more I understand that friendly people are important. And people who understand something about what they do. That’s how I should keep it with myself. Be friendly, don’t talk nonsense, do nothing — as little as possible — nonsensical. Keeping things simple. The words too. The deeds. Because in the moment of great change, only that helps.
