Life changes, Transformation, Growth

The Dancer

Death Essay

“Mom, my daughter giggled; it is stuck to your face again.” In and out of consciousness, loopy from anesthesia and pain medication, but I could still feel my daughter’s presence at my bedside. I cracked a smile, knowing I kept drifting off to sleep in the midst of trying to keep my parched lips moistened with a bowl of melting ice chips sitting on my overhead tray. My daughter removed the sponge dabber glued to my lower lip, replenishing with a brush of drizzle across my withered mouth. In the background, a nurse was checking the drainage bag from my nasogastric tube, echoing, “your splenectomy was a success.” Then, I thought to myself; finally, my failing spleen, dead and gone, and the whirl with a dying organ is over, but my dance in life wasn’t over. The dance had only just begun.

My problems began in January 2020, starting with mild intermittent discomfort in my left side. I did not give this a second thought. I exercised daily and worked two strenuous jobs in hospitality, one as an innkeeper and the other cleaning homes for private clients. I chalked the aching up to a strain, considering how active I was.

Over the next several days, this minor annoyance escalated to a regular jabbing sensation warranting an emergency room visit. A dye contrast MRI revealed an enlarged spleen with what appeared to be a cyst. The attending physician instructed me to follow up with my primary care physician, suggested Motrin as needed for pain, and released me from the ER.

The following morning, I got up as usual and headed out the door for work; however, I never made it. Halfway through my morning commute on city transit, I called an ambulance. Out of nowhere, I was paralyzed in agony, feeling like my entire midsection was going to explode. Hospital personnel admitted me for three days, performing a series of tests, including a bone marrow biopsy to rule out cancer. Otherwise, a healthy 48-year-old woman, I panicked, thinking that I might die. A hematologist reviewed my case, finalizing a staff decision; my spleen was no longer functioning appropriately, requiring its removal.

I received four vaccinations necessary before a splenectomy and, once again, was released from the hospital to rest at home. Unfortunately, the vaccination window is two weeks before spleen removal, so I spent the better part of the next fourteen days laying flat on my back. Rolling onto my left side felt like stepping on glass, a sharp jagged sensation, and my entire midsection felt overinflated like a balloon ready to pop at any moment. Extremely anxious when I did have to stand, thinking, is this my dance with death? Will I even make it to surgery? Oh, how I longed for my child- birthing days as this pain felt inhuman.

Trying to deflect from the torture, I began reflecting on my life. I spent two decades employed in the hospitality industry. Due to intense physical labor, my parents tried to convince me to consider a career change. Indeed, 48 is not old, but they feared my future, knowing I seldom slowed down. Funny how my hand became forced, leaving me no choice. During my temporary absence from work at the inn, another oddity manifested. A kitchen grease fire blazed through the historic icon leaving massive smoke damage, permanently closing its doors.

Coincidence, perhaps? I think not. I do not believe in coincidence, for this is a simple rhythm in the dance of life.

On February 3, 2020, during a six-hour procedure, my surgeon removed my spleen. Unfortunately, the post-operative biopsy of the spleen revealed a rare benign tumor called Littoral-Cell- Angioma. Alas, the only cure is splenectomy; hence my organ had to die!

At home, I began my slow road to recovery. Then, before I knew it, Covid-19 hit, paralyzing the economy, destroying countless lives. If I were blind to the recent signs the universe sent me, if for some reason I needed further validation, urging me to change my life, then the CoronaVirus was the whopper hit out the ballpark sealing the deal.

I was frightened, terrified for that matter. I had to remain in isolation because my immune system became compromised without a spleen, and my wounds were healing, still fresh from surgery. I was already out of work, one: because of my procedure, and two, my place of employment shut down. So, for the first time in my life, I collected disability. When those funds were exhausted, I went on collecting unemployment. Never before would I have imagined that this could happen, but sometimes in life, obstacles are thrown our way. It was time for me to find a new tempo, dancing to a different tune.

During my healing, I began having vivid nightly dreams of being a dancer. Then, finally, I was on a stage, alone, dancing under the spotlight. Twirling and laughing, dressed in a sequin costume of my favorite color; red. My golden curls bounced off my shoulders, and my hazel eyes twinkled with flecks of bronze and emerald as I looked up, completely one with the light. I was unafraid.

I knew that my soul was urging me to analyze my situation, getting down to the nitty-gritty. Life is a cycle of events replaying repeatedly, yet it was time for me to break my cycle, beginning anew. There could be no more going round and round with life as I once knew it. My old life died the moment incisions cut into my abdomen, removing a deficiency. Is it possible that I no longer needed my spleen? It is a vital organ, filtering blood and fighting off infections, but humans can survive in its absence. I began to think that somehow the life-long partnership with this organ is better off severed.

My night dreams soon became daydreams as I reminisced about my childhood when everything was simple and carefree. An imaginative little girl who enjoyed evening storytime, I often acted out scenes of my creation. I wrote short stories effortlessly, and my passion for books flourished as I grew older. The mysteries of the Nancy Drew series, and my favorite young- adults author, Judy Blume, brightened my spirit with curiosity maintaining a vibrant flair for each new day.

My daydreams continued, shifting to another passion, physical fitness. I was a child gymnast and dancer who reveled in the pulsating beneath my feet. Feeling grounded to a beat of my own making, each movement I made, I continued, confident in my decisions as they came from a place of passion deep within my soul.

Moving forward, I recalled my teenage years as a competitive runner and later, in my early twenties, as an exotic dancer; perhaps my peak of creativity and passion, as a naked body bears all to the world. Again, I expressed my inner thoughts with the fluidity of movement done at my chosen pace, alternating styles, and compelling my limb’s positions at will.

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months; however, my journey in recovery from major surgery became exciting. Flashing back through my life, I discovered that I abandoned my dance partner, me! For whatever reason, I became so fixated on being a responsible adult, a single mother of four with duties and obligations, bills, appointments, work, and so on, that I forgot I am important too!

I gasped for a moment, realizing that I had turned off the music, and the dancing became mere steps taken in daily survival. Also, my written words became empty sheets of paper, and the thoughts that prompted those words were lost aimlessly in my mind, waiting to be set free.

And set them free, I did!

In June 2020, after a few months of scribbling thoughts in a notebook, I discovered an online writing platform called Vocal Media. I made an account and began regularly publishing pieces in the contest challenges. As a result, my grammatical errors have improved, and sentences are flowing easier, resulting in minor editing by continuing to write. In addition, the site curators have chosen two of my stories in the editor’s top pick within the last year, placing them on the front page. Recently, I joined Medium and now wish to challenge myself even more.

By reclaiming my passion for writing, I have realized that I have many thoughts rambling through my brain each day and need to share them with the world. Besides the physical workout that hospitality gave me, my primary motivator was my love for helping people. I hope to bring as much joy and resolution to people through my written thoughts as I did for nearly two decades employed in the hotel industry.

Learning a new routine for physical fitness has manifested through my rediscovery of dance. Slowly, I have reconnected to the art form, pacing myself introducing steps as tolerated. Neither sharp nor defined like the discipline of a ballet dancer, however, my spirit soars higher with improved flexibility, regaining my strength.

Eighteen months have passed since my splenectomy, and I will turn 50 in November. As grueling as my illness was for a time, it became celebratory, bidding farewell to a dysfunctional organ. I learned the importance of recognizing cycles within my life and the necessity of letting go and making changes, beginning a new rotation. Now, each day, I rise, allowing my words to flow like dance moves, and I realize that life is simply a series of events never perfect and sometimes unkind. However, each step I continue taking will move me farther along my journey, discovering the joy in every moment. Finally, the dance with death is over. I no longer hold myself back or live in fear. Instead, I press forward and spin accordingly, appreciating the cycles in my life.

Be Open Says;

So pleased to present you 1 of Be Open Golden Stories created by: Yousuf Rafi

Approved by Be Open’s Editors: A Shayens Abran

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