The last thing the anesthesiologist said to me was “Did you watch the newest season of White Lotus?”
I was fast asleep before I could tell her that Shane from season one reminded me too much of my brother, who reminded me too much of my mother, and thus made the whole show unwatchable for me.
Instead of thinking about tv shows in the medical slumber, I dreamt of the tarot reading I had done for myself the previous night. I was so scared about having to have the surgery, that I thought turning to the cards would make me feel like I knew what the outcome of all of this would be, and knowing the outcome gave me the illusion of control… and I needed that illusion.
So, on the eve of my throat slicing, I whispered my question into the stale air of my bedroom, and pulled three cards without breathing.
“What will happen to me?”
The first card pulled was The Fool. A new journey. Duh. This didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. No matter what, my life was going to be different after the surgery, whether I woke up or not, it was all going to be a new journey.
I flipped the second card, hoping for more clarity, and delighted a bit when I saw it was Judgment. At last, the potential for bad news.
The biggest thing the doctor kept telling me was that my tumor was really close to a vocal chord, and there was a chance I might struggle to speak after the removal. The Judgment card reflected the truth I wanted back to me: the truth that there may actually be an unfavorable outcome to this all.
I flipped the third card and everything really clicked into place. The Justice card was here to tell me that whatever happened after surgery was because, without a doubt, I deserved it.
I might’ve smiled to myself when I saw that, because that card confirmed my deepest belief that if it turned out that I wasn’t able to speak again, it was cosmic punishment for never speaking up for myself in the first place.
Mother didn’t like it when I told her how I felt, so I learned to say nothing at all… even when she hurt me. Especially when she hurt me. Eventually, I stopped speaking to her altogether. I wish I told her why, but I was never able to spit it out. I just went silent after she told me my bad energy was the reason Father’s cancer metastasized… and then I stayed silent to her ever since.
Sometimes, I wondered if my own tumor grew in my throat due to all of the times I swallowed my words. I was certain that sort of thing had to manifest itself physically somehow.
The tarot cards and their grand ominousness swirled about my head, mixing with the sound of Mother’s voice telling me, “It’s all your fault.”
She didn’t know I was going under, and I wondered how she would’ve responded if she did. I wondered if she could have found a way to make it about herself? She always found some way to spin things back to her being the one who needed to be taken care of.
In the same appointment where I learned the metaphorical lump in my throat turned literal, they told me the tumor was the size of a lemon. They said it wasn’t cancerous, but that they needed to remove it due to the pressure it was putting on my wind pipe.
I had told the doctor “I always thought I was just out of shape.”
She assured me that I wasn’t, but then warned me that removal would be risky due to it’s precarious position.
The doctor didn’t laugh when I told her “I understand. Sweeney Todd is my favorite movie.” Maybe she wasn’t in a laughing mood that day, or maybe I just confused her.
My mind started to drift back to the operating room, and the anesthesiologist who had tried to joke with me. I felt bad that I was asleep before I could give her a proper response. There was a chance I wouldn’t ever wake up to tell her I didn’t care to watch the newest season of White Lotus, and if I didn’t wake up, it would also be exactly what I deserved (according to the cards).
Some people pray for salvation before these types of things, but I didn’t want that. I just wanted to know that if another bad thing happened to me, it was because I did it to myself somehow. It would be easier to know that it was my fault, than to be the victim of another thing beyond my control. I didn’t want another therapist to remind me that tumors happen, and you can’t choose your family.
Then, light started to seep in to my dream, until it was so bright that I could no longer sleep.
I woke up in the hospital bed one tumor and half a thyroid gland lighter, with barely a tickle of a sore throat. The nurse rushed to my side to ask me, “How are you feeling?”
How rude. Shouldn’t he know that I was about to be punished to never speak again? It was obvious that that was what I deserved, and therefore that was going to be how this all played out.
Still, I opened my mouth to confirm my fate, and was shocked when I was able to loudly and proudly tell the nurse that, “I never liked White Lotus.”