I ran into a metaphor this morning.
Good thing I have good collision coverage.
Visit to the oncologist.
Latest CT scan results. Things still clear. Which is good.
But as I’m leaving, I step into the washroom because, well, I needed to wash, and then I see it. It looks like the beginning of a swelling rash of hives on my face. I quickly check my hands, my stomach, nothing. No redness, no itching. Been here before. Last time landed me in the ER looking like Puff Daddy (not really, but you get the picture).
“Huh,” was my verbal reaction.
I went on to teach for a few hours, checking myself during the breaks.
Still there, but not increasing. So I’ll just be watching it.
The metaphor? The metaphor was right there on my face. Not having put anything different into my system, I have no doubt it’s another expulsion from my system of toxins already there in the form of those twelve rounds of chemo.
Looking into my reddened face, I saw it.
Our faces can function well as masks. They can be quite the efficient cover of feelings and thoughts deeply buried behind them. But when there are toxins in your system. Sooner or later. They will emerge. They will find you. And they will come out through your face.
You can try to finesse it, massage it, medicate it, cover it. You can avoid mirrors and face-to-face encounters. You can take to veil-wearing. But they will come out through your face.
And, really, that’s a good thing.
It’s also a good thing to see that yourself. To embrace it. To let the toxins emerge and purge without any facade of smooth skin, to let it be, and so to move on, and even to laugh as you do.
Yes. I thought I only had an appointment with my oncologist scheduled this morning,
not a collision with a metaphor.
Like Forrest’s chocolates, you just never know what you’re going to get.