2. Tooth-ache

Your eyes are crusted shut. Soft rays of Palo Alto sun break through the cracks of your bedroom curtains. It might be eight in the morning. A mass of numbness and pain rests on your face. Your neck is stiff from the extra pillow used to elevate your head. Today is supposed to feel the worst. You wish to sleep through it, but the taste of blood soaked gauze pulls you out of bed. It’s your birthday. You’re twenty-seven. You think about the chocolate Soylent you’re about to drink. It will have been the seventh in three days. Your eyes shut again. You imagine the silky artificial chocolate wash over the blood coagulating in your mouth.

The months building up to the procedure brought out the you that you most dislike. Ever since deciding it needed to happen, the stress induced by getting an IV, going under, and being cut brought on a series of embarrassing vasovagal episodes. You ask yourself why you’re like this. This shouldn’t be a big deal. These are routine medical operations that people do all the time. Yet for some reason it feels like the hardest thing in the world.

Some time passes. You’re still in bed. You hear rustling upstairs. Your dog and sister are awake. They’ll come down eventually. You’re glad they’re here. After fifteen minutes or so, a series of cheerful skips echo from the staircase. Your head perks up. A white curled tail peaks over your blanket covered feet and wags at your eye line. Your head turns over to the right to face the sweetest eyes in the world just a half foot from your own. He leans his weight against the bed frame, breaks eye contact, and thuds his head against the bed-side. Your thumb rubs against the back of his ear. You’ve been conditioned to do this. The hair on his head is like a person’s. It sits on top like a fluffy mop. You style it up and to the side so he looks like Travolta in Grease. For a few minutes, you’re pulled into this moment.

Now you remember you feel like shit. A month ago you left the relationship you had been in since college. Seven years of your life. You came to realize that the life you had been living was not enough to experience the very best of yourself. It may have been the biggest decision you’ve made. Soon your sister comes down. She walks into the room with a smile and wishes you a happy birthday. You can barely open your mouth. You’re not sure whether there’s pity in her eyes.

Your grandma calls. Still, you can barely open your mouth. She says you don’t sound great. Of course you don’t sound great. You explain that you had this procedure and that you can’t talk. She doesn’t get why it’s a big deal. She asks why you scheduled this two days before your birthday. You tell her this was the most convenient option. You stare blankly through the living room window and into the sunlit backyard. You realize that maybe you want to be miserable. Maybe you want to feel sorry for yourself. A couple minutes pass, and the birthday call concludes. You tell your grandma you love her. You’re curt, and you apologize.

You spend the next few hours drifting between your bedroom and the living room where your sister is watching TV with the dog. You lay down. You watch some cooking videos on YouTube. They’re recreating m&ms or something. Your mind wanders. Slowly the fog dissipates.

It’s time to talk to your family. You sit in your office chair. Your sister sits on your bed just across from you. Your dog lounges on the three feet of dark hard wood in between. You don’t have many family traditions. One of them is to center a family reunion dinner around your dad’s pasta bolognese. The other is that on birthdays, the family gets together and makes birthday wishes. One by one, each member tells you how much they love you in their own unique way. They say they’re excited about where you’re going. You still feel like shit. After everyone says their words, you say something. In obvious discomfort, the words begin to come out distorted. You pause. You want to be clear with your message, so you force the shape of your mouth to accommodate. Each word puts more tension on the slowly expanding stitches. You address the elephant in the room - you don’t feel great inside. Then you tell them that they are the most important people in your life. That you feel so lucky to have them in your life. You say you’re grateful to have your sister and dog at home with you. Everyone chats for another ten minutes.

Hours pass. You’re in bed again. Warm afternoon light softly hues the room. Your eyes gaze overhead at the turned off bedroom light fixture. It’s shaped like a donut, but with sharp edges. It has that textured white-glass look. You remind yourself that it’s time to live with your decisions. You know this is the time to dream. This is the time to chase. But right now, you need rest. In the coming weeks, you will spend a lot of time with your sister. Everyday you will tell her about your latest mashed potato iteration. You will develop strongly held opinions on the subject. Everyday the two of you will watch Bon Appetit cooking videos and on Sundays, football. This time together will be referred to as “an era”.

You’ve been anticipating this low point. And now you’re here. In a moment of optimism, you tell yourself that from here you will climb.

You will be okay.