Remember

 

Yesterday I spent half of my day at different doctor's offices. In the morning a gastroenterologist and in the evening a dentist. The dentist appointment I've had since the beginning of the month. The gastro appointment I scored suddenly, the evening before last. I jumped at the opportunity because it's so difficult to get seen in Berlin. At the time of booking I was even even able to secure an appointment for a colonoscopy on Monday. When I arrived at the office the neighborhood was nice and the receptionist at the front desk was pleasant and accommodating. She told me they just had an appointment open up for Friday if I wanted to get things over and done with sooner. I deliberated a bit, unsure which I preferred. 

"Having it on Monday gives me the weekend to mentally prepare, " I said.

"Yes. Having it sooner gets it out of the way and allows you to enjoy your weekend," she replied.

This was true. After a minute of weighing my options, I decided to just get it done with and take the appointment for Friday. She handed me a bunch of documents to read and sign and so I sat down in the waiting room and began reading. One series of documents was for the procedure itself, and the other was for the general anesthesia. Both documents are the stuff of nightmares. They describe in detail the various ways things can go wrong, from perforations to hemorrhages to deadly infections. I could feel the tension rising in my neck and shoulders. On one page there was mention that patients should avoid eating grains, seeds, fruit and vegetables for the week leading up to the examination. That morning I had my typical breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries, strawberries, kiwis, hemp seeds, chia seeds, dried fruit and nuts, almond butter - all of the things I am to avoid. When I returned to the front desk I explained that maybe it would be better to move the procedure back to Monday since I'd have the procedure in less than 48 hours and I already did what it says I shouldn't. She said that this was okay, that as long as that was my last meal containing these foods that it should be fine. 

"One other thing I'm cautious about," I continued, "it says if bleeding occurs the next day it is important to return immediately for evaluation. I imagine you're closed on Saturday, right?"

She said yes, and told me I should go to a hospital in that case. I was still hesitant. She said I could speak to the doctor and get his opinion. So I did. When I spoke with the doctor he also indicated that this shouldn't be a problem. 

"Okay, I hear you, but why does it explicitly state on this document you're asking me to sign that I am to abstain from eating these foods for the week before the procedure? It also says these rules are especially important beginning two days before the procedure, which is today. Maybe it's better to wait until Monday?"

Once more he told me that in his opinion things should be fine. 

A strange thing happens in these situations when one finds himself at odds with professional expertise and reason. The reasonable side of me felt waiting was the better choice since it reduces the chance of complications. The side of me consulting a doctor for his opinion told me to relax and trust him. I wrestled with myself and chose trust over skepticism. But even now I'm unsure whether this was correct. From what I've been reading there are mixed views. Some professionals say it's fine, while others adhere to the rules strictly. One study suggested current dietary restrictions for colonoscopies are too restrictive, claiming patients could eat things like eggs and yogurts before the exam without issue. Researchers found patients feel better when they're properly nourished and not feeling weak and hungry. This is sensible to me, but I'm no doctor. As a patient I do recall how I felt leading up to the last colonoscopy I had and it was pretty awful. I'm not looking forward to starting the prep here in a few hours.

At the moment I already feel slightly nauseous. It's unclear whether this is due to stress or the dental work I had done last night. My appointment was for 17:15 and I was under the impression it would just be a quick and painless routine. They were to put fillings on the front of my teeth where my gums have receded because of nighttime teeth grinding. Somehow I understood this would be as simple as applying nail polish. When I sat down in the chair and saw an assortment of polishing instruments and other objects - the purposes of which were unclear to me - I began to realize I may have been mistaken. Once the needles came out, I was certain of it. The operation took over an hour as the dentist and her assistant treated five of my front teeth. It involved fastening a set of rubber clamps to the place where my gums met my tooth on each of the five teeth. Then a filling agent was applied. It had to be hardened, scrubbed, sanded and polished to approximate the color and texture of the lower half of the tooth further down from the gumline. The novocaine wore off in the middle and they had to keep reinjecting me to stop the intense stabbing pain. My jaw was spasming and quivering like a mad dog's. I struggled to even hold it open by the end. Finally, once it was all over, they handed me a mirror. 

I felt like Jack Nicholson in the start of the original Batman movie. My teeth were fine, my gums were caked with blood. When I rinsed, because the upper portion of the front of my lips were numb and paralyzed, all the water spilled out directly onto the crotch of my light blue jeans. Jesus I thought, why didn't anyone warn me I wouldn't be able to spit? I tried again, this time leaning deeper over the small sink, but this still resulted in dribbling even more water out onto my crotch. Now it really looked like I'd pissed myself. They stuffed my upper lip with gauze to absorb some of the blood and sent me on my way. Between my swollen lip, bleeding mouth, big frizzy beard, piss-stained pants and my inability to speak, I looked like a legitimate, bonafide crack head. I made the walk of shame to the subway and headed home to meet my friend who would soon join me. When he saw me he must have thought I got my ass kicked. He didn't say it, but it was in the eyes.

I awoke at 6:40 this morning because my mouth was dry and my lips were sticking to the tender area where the dental work had been done. My stomach feels queasy and I'm not sure if it's from stress or swallowing whatever traces of blood and chemicals they put on my teeth during the filling. I feel like I'm about to have diarrhea and I haven't even taken the laxative yet. I know it's important to keep a positive mental attitude, and I'm trying, but man does this feel like an ordeal. Part of me honestly believes I'm going to die either during or after the procedure and I'm almost reckoning with my mortality, trying to see where I need to make amends before it's too late. The sad part is I don't have enough time. I'm working today. Later, I'll begin drinking this horrid drink and I'll be glued to the toilet for the remainder of the evening. Which reminds me: I only have one roll of toilet paper left. I'll need to go to the store during my lunch break. I am to wake up at 4AM and drink some more laxative, reacquaint myself with the toilet, and arrive for the colonoscopy by 8:30. 

What space is there to tie up a life's loose ends?

What would I say to those I've known and loved if I could eke out one final salutation? Do they know I love them all? Of course they do, right? That I'm grateful for their friendship and for having known them? For the memories we've made? What about my family? Are they aware that I'm thankful for the good times and the bad? In truth it's the bad times that seem to really shape us. I hope my parents know I don't resent them for the bad times, for their mistakes, any moments of meanness or failure. They were only human, tasked with a responsibility fit for a God. I believe people are always doing the best they can. People are imperfect, flawed, error prone...myself included. We must seek understanding where we can, and find the strength to forgive. We punish too much, ourselves most of all. 

What would I say to Asia? The thought of her pain causes me a great deal. Did I do all I could to make her feel loved and appreciated? Was I a good partner to her? Would she forgive me for my imperfections and indiscretions? How would she remember me? These are heavy, heavy questions to contemplate. Perhaps too heavy for any extended length of time. One must breathe through these lines of inquiry or else succumb to a sort of spiritual suffocation. 

There's comfort in knowing your partner will move on and find new love, go on living their life without you. It's harder when you consider how your family would be changed; parents losing a child, a brother and sister losing one of their own. These wounds are deeper and longer lasting when you've known a person for the entirety of your life. The relationship is irreplaceable. With your siblings you've shared trauma, you have many of the same formative memories and core experiences. If you're lucky they are some of the closest friends you have. Over the years I've dreamt, on occasion, that one of them had died. Always the feeling of grief is overwhelming. The sorrow is so strong I would wake up from the dream with crying eyes, sobbing. It takes a few minutes for the feeling to part, and knowing it was only a dream doesn't seem to hasten away the feeling during those initial 120 mournful seconds. 

While I write this I see one of my cactuses has suddenly withered and died. This must have happened over the past few days. It was healthy when I watered it last week. Immediately my mind perceives this as a kind of omen. This thing was tenacious. I've had it the whole time I've lived in Berlin. It survived the pandemic when I was tucked away in Poland for several months and left it without water. Some of my other plants weren't as fortunate. There is still the other cactus, a small crassula in the kitchen, the orchid in the bathroom. All of them have been here almost as long. Somehow I thought this cactus to be the strongest of the bunch. I'll try not to read into it too much, but I am saddened by its passing.

For my transgressions I am sorry. If I've ever wronged you, or been unkind, I'm sorry. If I've ever dealt with you coldly, or carelessly, or without empathy or understanding, I am sorry. For judging you or condescending you or hurting you, I'm sorry. For any and all deliberate and unconscious cruelty, I am sorry. If there's one thing I'd want people to remember, or do in honor of me: be good to one another. This is no easy task. Life gets in the way. Each of us have our struggles and pains, fears and insecurities, and these things make us too much inside ourselves; we forget about the other. 

No one means to be mean, it is something done in confusion. All my experiences on psychedelics seem to have suggested as much anyway. We're all the same. All connected. At our disposal we have the capacity for great kindness and love. The choice is always there even when it seems forgone. Remember that. Summon kindness when speaking to someone who has views different than your own. Summon kindness for the person who cut you off in traffic, or for the person who was rude to you. Summon kindness for yourself. Practicing this makes us less angry, less entitled, less judgmental, more connected. These are things I'd like to work on, personally. Too often I find myself quick to anger or judgement even though I know this is not the way. We're all on a lifelong journey trying to learn how to be better. 

For some of us that journey is over sooner rather than later. Do not think you have more time than you do.