This memory is layered upon a lifetime of others: hours spent in the exhilarating mountain cold of Fish Lake in SE Oregon where my grandparents had a cabin; dive bombing with my cousins into my other grandparents kidney shaped pool; polar bear swimming at Cleowax lake at girl scout camp; the visceral pleasure of trading the weight of a backpack for the cleansing and refreshment of an Oregon Cascade lake. I was always the first one in and the last one out of any body of water that came my way. Scuba diving, snorkeling, floating, lolling. Being in and around water defines me. Then, the grown up pleasures of Belknap hot springs; star gazing from my folks hot tub and countless hours soaking in bathtubs.
With careless casualness, my Urologist informed me earlier today that this is over. No baths, no hottubs, no Maui wave surfing. Apparently he forgot to tell me that with a superpubic catheter water immersion isn't allowed. Is that a problem for you, he asks. As if gimps don't float.
I haven't stopped crying since then. He broke my heart. How could this be true? How can I survive having something so integral to my entire life coming to an end.
Shouldn't doctors be required to warn you if choice A causes thing B to end.
I can't write any more about this. Maybe once I have processed a little more this won't seem so bleak. But I doubt it. Maybe there is an upside that eludes me right now. But I doubt it.
Down around Biloxi
Pretty girls are swimmin' in the sea
They all look like sisters in the ocean