10 June 2015

elephants in the forest

First, I think it's a scam. Then I want to shout. Don't. No, hey wait! But my voice doesn't seem to work and I am sucked out through the open door of the plane and now I am in free fall, rapidly spinning through cold air, hot air, sluggish fog, icy wind, my tears freezing on my cheeks, my stomach churning in protest, shrill deafening noises ring in my ears, the air smells of burning pine needles.
But suddenly I can see my hand resting on the handlebars of my bicycle, the forest in all its deep greens around me, the sun is breaking through a small opening and shines straight onto a small pond, birds singing around me. I don't know where I am or what has happened and I feel the noise growing again so I take a quick picture. Frogspawn on an almost dried up forest pond.





How calm, how beautiful, summer in the forest, I try and convince myself. But now a herd of noisy elephants is racing towards me, I can taste the dust on my lips already and I fall on my knees, cradling my head.
Later on, while we watch the slow drip of a massive cortisone infusion, the doctor still cannot believe me: you came here on your bicycle? I must have, I can see it locked outside the surgery.
And much later, after R has smoothed the sheets, opened the windows wide to let in the sweet evening air, after I tried unsuccessfully to keep down a bit of dry toast, panic seizes me like a force I thought I never knew.



8 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

I do not like this. This sounds absolutely horrid.

37paddington said...

Is this a memory or current? Are you ok?

Colette said...

Beautiful imagery, poignantly creative post.

Fire Bird said...

oh. Here, listening. I know panic...

Sabine said...

Angella, it happened yesterday. I am slowly coming back to the surface, one half hour a time.

am said...

Thought you were relating a dream, but panicky situations like that do have a dream-like quality. Sending love to you as you reorient yourself a little bit at a time, despite the force of panic. I'm struck by your touchstones. The bicycle, the forest, the sun, the birds, your camera. And then R, your bed, the open window, the sweet evening air.

Anonymous said...

I thought this was a dream too, until the words about hospitals and sheets. I am taken aback by this visceral description of what you went through. How did you manage such a thing? Your strength is amazing. Your story heartbreaking. I wish you well. I so wish you well.

JO said...

Do hope you can hang in there, Sabine - these are truly terrible days for you.