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I Don’t Want a Liver Transplant
Sleep is kind of like a thought eraser that swipes the day clean. But I frequently wake up in the middle of the night and remember the tumor. One night last August I awoke with the image of big clamps all around my chest cavity. Eyes wide open now, I saw myself lying on a table surrounded by doctors and nurses, my face as white as the fish I had seen floating belly up on the pond last year. I could see my head arching back with a tube tunneling down my throat that clicked and whished while forcing air into my lungs.
Blinking hard, I stared at my chest as my breasts moved up and down. I wondered what it would be like to wake up in ICU with that machine on and my hands tied down. Shaking my head with an audible moan, I flung back the covers
Karen Hoyt
July 1, 2024
