Fairy Gift

“Are you afraid?” Liam wondered.

“Of course I’m afraid. It’s surgery. I’ll be under and anything can happen.”

I leaned back against him as we sat on the grass under the birch. The scent in the air hinting toward the pending autumn left ghostly traces on the back of my tongue and I breathed deep to taste fall.

That particular taste and smell always reminds me of the last days of fireweed in Alaska, when you know as the final purple flowers bend toward the earth, you have only two weeks before winter folds you in snow for nine months. The last days of fireweed are celebratory and frantic as though you know you have to get your last bit of living in before the first dusting of powder on Sugarloaf Mountain signals time to sleep.

“You know I will be there.” He whispered against my hair.

“I know.” I replied and snuggled a little closer to his body.

“Why do I sense that you are sad? I thought you were happy for the surgery finally.”

“I am. I’m very happy for it. I will hopefully get to keep all my organs and be rid of all that’s making me unwell. I’m happy. Really.” I insisted.

“Why are you trying to convince me? I already know you are happy – I just don’t understand why you are also sad.”

I sighed and turned to look at him. In all these years he still takes my breath away. A lopsided grin with one dimple, and eyes that stop my brain from remembering English for a handful of heartbeats.

“I am sad. It’s true. I’m sad because now that I understand what’s been happening to me on a chemical and hormonal level I wonder how far back this stretches and how long ago I could have been treated and had a higher quality of life if someone had noticed it sooner. I’m sad because I feel totally abandoned by the people that I thought would be there for me in this. I’m sad because I have trouble telling what is a real feeling to react to and what is only my hormone malfunction so I don’t dare speak or act for fear I will speak or act wrongly and then I feel trapped by the injustice of not having defended myself. I’m sad and angry that it took six months, four specialists and three doctors to find just one – ONE who would give me the option of keeping my ovaries and uterus. I’m sad that I even have to think about the quality of my friendships and acquaintances when I’m sick, or the level of toxicity of my work environment – which I have to endure to keep my insurance – insurance which is bitching and arguing constantly with my medical needs. I think I have legitimate reasons to be sad or angry. And then I am sad and angry because I feel childish in all my needs and helplessness. I feel weak and that makes me angry.”

Liam pulled me into his body, his wings stretched to either side and folded us into his cocoon.

“But I’m also happy.” I leaned in, placing a kiss against his neck. “I am happy because there is a plan. I go in to surgery in early October and will be home to recover for two to four weeks and in that time I’ll be able to rest. Stop bleeding and remember what it’s like to breathe. I will have you, and my art. I am happy because in November we will know more of what can be done to improve my quality of living. And soon this will all be a memory. A hiccup in my search for bliss, this understanding how much health and hormones and chemicals contribute to the ever ongoing search for bliss. I’m happy because it’s all interconnected. I’m happy because this journey has revealed the flaws in my youthful logic, my assumptions about health and the strength of some of my oldest friendships and the weakness of those newer. I’m happy because all this I would not have known or understood without this magnifying glass on how serious and important this quest for bliss really is. It’s been a painful blessing. A fairy gift.”

“The fairy gifts are the hardest,” He agreed.

“So I am happy and sad and angry and scared and happy again.” I shrugged. “Emotional rollercoaster and all, ya know.”

“Always remember I am here, Athena.” Liam said and we held tight to one another as we sat enjoying the last of the summer light.

As I drifted into a lazy nap against his solid body, I couldn’t help but feel that last of the fireweed sense in the air. A need to get my good living in before the hibernation because I can’t shake the feeling that I will be coming out of the other side on this – altered. Not the same, not better or worse but different. That I will have hard-earned something that I will never be able to un-know. A little bit of innocence to lie down with the last of this year’s fireweed and a new something to be revealed after the thaw.

But just as the thought crossed my mind, sleep swept it away. Ask me about it next spring.