Making a Wish

My last two eyelashes shot out from my right eyelid. Defiant little buggers, as if they could make a case on their own. Hmmm, these must be resilient, determined, stubborn eyelashes. They must not realize it’s the Alamo; all their friends have fluttered off in the wind. What do they hope to prove? They look ridiculous these two, all by themselves in contrast against a watery eye with a murky, muddy pupil. I used to have dark brown eyes, now they are more like hazel mush. Eyeliner doesn’t stay on or help much. My eyes have become lost in a blank landscape of steroids and medications; a pale and puffy bla. As much as I touch, rub or moisturize, this is not the face I know. Breast cancer has taken who I used to be over the past six months and left a blank faced blob in its place. It is usually easier not to look, to avoid mirrors when possible, but there are times when I catch a passing glimpse and I am shocked by the bald stranger peering back at me. Today is different. I sit behind the wheel of the car, feeling a light breeze while waiting in a parking lot. There is not much to do other than lower the visor and flip up the mirror to take a gander. I focus heavily on the two absurd eyelashes and wonder what makes them cling on… nothing. They are just remnants which don’t realize they’ve been left behind. With a small squeeze, they release their stronghold, no pain, no twinge of angst; they lay motionless on the tip of my numb fingertip. Now what? Make a wish baby. I remember balancing an eyelash for my daughter several years ago; it had fallen lightly on her cheek, I scooped up the treasure and we grinned at each other at the excitement of making a wish. Any wish. The options were endless and she relished in the moment of her heart’s desire. With a light puff the eyelash was gone and the wish delivered to the universe on the breath of a beautiful child.

Today is different. Today is just a desperate woman, staring at her last two eyelashes, wondering if the wish counts since she pulled them out herself. A wish is still a wish afterall… Today we’ll have the MRI. Today we will see if the months of pumping my body full of chemo treatments have done the job they were meant to do: the necessary evil of killing the growing cells, shrinking the tumor and somehow saving the rest of my body. Today my body will tell a story. Like most stories, the climax is cleverly disguised near the end and we must wait patiently for the answers to be recited back to us in a doctor’s office. We meet with the surgeons on Thursday. We will calmly discuss how much of my body to amputate, how much must be taken, as if the toll we’ve paid so far has meant nothing. This has all just been superficial. The loss of hair, the loss of health, physical strength and my place in the world. Even as fingernails bubble up, throb a steady pulse and threaten to fall away, I know they do not matter. They are collateral damage to the bigger picture. Have we done enough? Have we damaged the body to a point where the cancer will release its twisting grasp and relinquish its selfish claim? I imagine that if we damage the body with enough certainty, then the host becomes inhospitable, right? Unfriendly and unwelcoming to the foreigner who decided to set up camp several months ago. Get out of my body, I want to scream, you can’t have it anymore. But the words are weighed down below my collarbone, the suspense tightening around my chest like a vice, squeezing my ribs until they ache, making it difficult to breathe. I close my eyes and lean back, letting go of the fear, frustration and madness. I breathe in through my nose and peak out to see if the eyelashes still hopefully exist. There they stand, the two lonely lashes, balancing precariously on the tip of my pointer finger, waiting to be cast out into the world. Ok, you two little buggers, here we go: I examine them closely and wish for my life back. I wish for my husband’s happiness and to see our children grow old. I wish for time to slow down enough to savor every minute of each given day. I wish for laughter around the dinner table and the warmth of the sun shining on the faces of those I love. I wish for peace of mind and doctors who know how to help my body heal. I calmly blow the air out, every ounce I can muster and all the wishes I have left. The eyelashes are gone… a silent offering delivered to the universe on the breath of a wishful woman with muddy eyes.