the wellsprings

They gave me a vial of my spinal fluid, for some reason... It was slightly warm, having very recently been drawn from me. I placed the plastic tube, marked with a raised numeral 4, in my purse. What else to do with it? It felt more personal, somehow, than blood might have – not something I could casually dump into the next orange-lined waste bin. And so I carried the vial, a few milliliters of fluid so clear it could have been holy water – a sacrilege to dispose of it flippantly.

On occasion I wonder: Were I to live long enough, might the ocean inside my head erode my skull to sand? It is a reproachably silly notion, thought in day-dream-haze... Allowed eternity, how long might the carefully filtered waves beat at these seemingly immobile shores?

The vial of spinal fluid is old now, still sealed and perfectly clear, kept in a shoebox full of photos and letters. My body has been momently, efficiently producing more of the stuff from its crimson wellsprings – beautiful, vital fluid, taken for granted. A holy distillate. In my case, a blessing bestowed in gratuity.


Blogger Internal Medicine Doctor said...

Nice to have you back.
Great post.

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11:09 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

yeah! Great to have you back - I love the ocean metaphor, very insightful.

11:19 AM  

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