Thanx, mate. You ol’ softy, you. Oi!

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One week of something wickeder than chemotherapy and bone marrow transplants began with Maya’s face freezing in a grimace and no food or liquids in and no control of liquids out, followed by a road trip back to our gargantuan home away from home to dream a li’l lost nightmare about train crash death, and insulin overdose death, and “Joey, I’m in the clouds over a hill watching myself be cremated,” death, and “Joey, am I dead?, death . . .  while mom & I sat beside trying to be of any comfort to this little blue jay unable to hear the reasonings of two people and up to 9 medical professionals who weren’t suffering the mental machinations of graft versus host and treatment induced encephalopathy. 

Then one afternoon…

Precious splendid suddenly sojourned. Her voice not a broken record of repeated terrors, but far more clear and determined and solemn and even sophisticated in a worn out way..

Maya called me and said, ………

I’m dying today, Joey, say goodbye….

I can’t feel my legs and I can’t see the sky.”

I said, “You’re sad and you’re scared & you’re

fed up with that bed and the north facing window

and the “wood grain” accents, & the signature single

eastern coastline print yantra of a dune path & seashore;

&...the constant  machinations all around your procedures.

And I feel you, Maya, and believe you when you look at me

with those weary & lovable-eatable n humble ocean-blue eyes!

But you’re lying to yourself, Maya-girl, Maya-lala, oh Maya-blue, …

you are so alive. Alive and worth fighting for in the sunset tonight. She said, "No, Joey, just listen to me, please, I can’t feel my legs and somethin’s broke inside me. …Now be quiet Joe-Joe ‘cause I’m saying good-bye: I love you, I’ll miss you, lover, please…don’t cry all night." I said, "Try, Maya, …try…to reach up to your head. ..Feel that the EEG wires are not there, instead…you have pretty gold-blonde hair growing nice and so soft and the same hair is on top as it’s coming downtown; that’s living, mama, that’s your whole self evolving, more willing to seize the day than you are right now in that bed there so frail, no don’t throw in the towel!" So she rubbed her head and paused a moment then said, “I had  thought the wires were still poking my head but you’re right, they’re not there, I can feel [my] silky-soft hair, and sun is setting over Carnegie there, …and for a minute..yes, oh!,  I think I just felt my toes."  I said, “Ya see, girl, you’re not out of reasons to be..all down to business and visionary..of a love-life and this mighty-might fight for your freedom to live so inspired. Not too tired to feel the need." "Okay, Joe, you see me in a way I’m not seeing, you feel me in a way..that I have not been feeling.” Then she sighed and conceded, “…So I will make you a deal: ..If I’m still here tomorrow, I will get back on the wheel.  There will be no more talk of dying and more talk of trying, if I make it through tonight…we’ll get back in the fight, …BUT know that I am sure that I’m dying tonight. I’m so broken, you know it, Love. Please, Joe, say goodbye." ..I said, "sleep, Love, ..goodnight."

Maya slept through the night, then woke up Sunday morning next to her mom…and said, “Call Joey for me, I have something to tell him.”  She told me that she remembers our agreement, and a promise is a promise, let’s get busy living. I have no strength, I can’t walk, ..can’t write, can't hold a candle to the night, it’s going to be so hard for you helping me, …alright, …but (now) I can eat and drink, and I can think; I love you, Joe-Joe, and I know you love me.

~~