Passage to Autumn

I noticed today that my fingernails all have a ridge on them about halfway up from the cuticle. The top half of the nails is courser looking, with perhaps a slight yellow cast to it. The bottom half has more of a matte finish, and looks smoother and pinker. The ridge must be the dividing line where my new liver started to “kick in”. I noticed about a month ago that my hair had become more willful, less controlled by the goop that my hairdresser suggested I use to maintain the “look” that she cajoles my coiffure into. It’s also been about a month since I had to start shaving the armpits again; during my illness I lost nearly all of my body hair (more than any of you needed to know, I’m sure). Little by little, the signs of my illness are vanishing, my fingernails serving as a timeline by which to measure my transition.

And so this is the way I welcome in fall. The season segues from summer to autumn, while I segue from illness to health. On the surface, the metaphor would work better if I’d gotten my transplant over Christmas, and we were now moving from winter to spring. But that’s only on the surface.

Fall is the season for letting go of the past. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that this means autumn is depressing, though. After all, look at the crowns of glory the trees wear before bidding this year’s leaves a final farewell. Fall is not about the process of dying; it’s about letting go of the deadwood and the things that are no longer yours to keep.

Likewise, winter is not about death, but about contemplation, dreaming and planning. Things look dormant, but just beneath the scenes great changes are taking place. The river still runs beneath the ice. Worms transform into butterflies in their chrysalises. The deer graze on buds and bark, while spring fawns turn in the womb. Winter is a time of potential.

It may have said “summer” on the calendar these past few months, but I begin to realize that my body and mind would have done better to be more in tune with autumn. I think perhaps I’m finally catching up to the calendar, or perhaps the calendar is catching up with me. I’ve been resisting fall, unwilling to let go of the dead wood. Part of me clings to my illness, makes it part of my identity. Part of me holds fast to the things I have lost as though they defined me better than the things I have gained.

Perhaps it’s time to let go of my illness. It’s no longer mine to keep.

I need to work on becoming winter. I need to drop the deadwood, so I can start planning what I want from life, and how to get there from here. It doesn’t matter that I already planned for what I wanted, and worked for it, and achieved much of it. That was last fall, last winter, last spring, last summer. A whole metaphorical year of my life has passed. The cycle is beginning anew.

In fact, the whole damned metaphorical ecosystem I live in went and evolved into something new. I’d better work on evolving too.

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Today The Mouth insisted on standing in my doorway to give me the annotated version of how she wasn’t feeling well and was leaving to go to the doctor. A quick e-mail would have been sufficient. If she really felt the need to give me details, then a phone call would have been more appropriate. What part of “stay away, I’m immunosuppressed” does she not get? I do realize that “immunosuppressed” is a whopping five syllables in length, but she’s supposed to be a college graduate.

Then my cake gets iced. She returns from her appointment and heads straight to the Big Boss’s office. I was having lunch with him when he was beeped out of the cafeteria because The Mouth wanted to see him right away. Her doctor says she has a sinus infection, and put her on antibiotics.

Big Boss decides that it isn’t safe for me to be sharing the same office area that she’s in. Most of The Mouth’s duties are in the main building, while most of mine are in the immediate vicinity of my office. Most of the employee traffic is in the main building as well, meaning that I’m more likely to encounter other sick people over in the main building. So what does the Big Boss decide to do?

It’s obvious. Big Boss decides that I have to temporarily move my office into the main building. *sigh*

I suggested to him that it would probably be sufficient if I kept the inside door to my office closed, and if the outside door to my office were used by me exclusively. To my relief, he agreed, so I’m not kicked out of my office after all. I now also have an excuse to keep the inside door to my office locked, keeping The Mouth out, albeit temporarily. I’ll take what I can get.

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This morning the skies opened up and delivered an ocean’s worth of rain as I drove to work. OK, OK, it wasn’t exactly an “ocean’s worth”. It was a helluva lot of rain though. I crept along at 25 miles per hour, watching as the road began to flood beneath my tires. I heard later today that they ended up closing one of the roads I drove on shortly after I passed that way. I witnessed the aftermath of two accidents on my way in, and seriously considered pulling off to the shoulder and waiting the storm out at one point. I successfully navigated what turned out to be the worst of the storm though, and only arrived to work a little late.

This afternoon, though, the sun has won out, and it’s a clear, cool day, complete with cartoon clouds and the sounds of geese passing overhead. A coworker gave me a “stress ball” that you are supposed to squeeze and squish when you get frustrated. The ball is in the shape of a little yellow duckie though, and I haven’t the heart to squeeze it. I think I’ll just let Duckie sit on the top of my monitor, where he can look out the door window at the puddles on the asphalt and dream of spring. As for me, I’ll be keeping my mind on autumn.