Survivor since 1983…
I drove thirsty and solo, on an empty stomach, to Eisenhower Medical Center in Palm Desert, without seeing other cars on the road, so insular and self absorbed with my cancer surgery that day. I parked my car in a seemingly empty lot.
After registration I was directed by pointed finger to the surgical wing where
I was told to go
my clothes in a locker room and proceed to the operating theater.
My name was never used.
Near the locker room was a small plastic chapel with a large bible on a stand in front of the pulpit.
By this time my soul and being were encased in titanium and the thought of never leaving the hospital was forced to the bottom of my consciousness. I turned the pages to the twenty-third Psalm. I couldn’t see the words because tears from the previous readers had washed the ink away.
I experienced relief unknown to me as I understood I wasn’t alone.