Keys

The idea of sleeping for weeks at a time appeals to me. Turning off the world so I could hibernate, peacefully and dreamlessly and utterly unaware, seems so incredibly inviting. There must be some kind of prescription drugs that could satisfy that desire; the key obstacle, aside from not knowing what drug it is, would be doctors’ reticence to prescribe it. I suspect many doctors might be willing to make the drug available if they were guaranteed protection from lunatics who claim the right to control the actions of other people. I am of the opinion that I should have absolute sovereignty over my body and mind—no one else’s, just mine.

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Yesterday morning’s power interruption served as a reminder that “always” reliable electric service can disappear in an instant. I was on a Zoom birthday call with family, in celebration of my brother’s birthday, when my computer monitor went blank. A second later, it recovered for another second—only to go dark again. In a matter of just a few seconds, the cycle repeated itself two or three times, before the screen stayed dark. A short while later, I received texts and email messages from Entergy, the electricity service provider, informing me that the outage impacted 5,103 customers; the company estimated power would be restored by 1:30 p.m.. By then, I would be at my oncologist’s office, a bag of IV fluids attached to a needle in a port in my chest. When I returned home, the power would have been restored. All would be well in my insular little world. Bah.

Any disruption in the power supply to my house is cause for at least mild concern…my thoughts instantly turn to the possibility of spoiled food in the refrigerator and freezer, room temperatures fluctuating out of my control, and—if the outage might last into the night—inconvenient darkness. Yesterday, though, the chaos brought about by Hurricanes Helene and Milton, tempered my worries. I thought of the people in the six states battered by Helene, whose loss of power was far worse than simple worries. And the soon-t0-be victims of Milton, whose lives would be disrupted within hours. In those cases, the lack of electricity would pale in comparison to lethal winds, rushing flood waters, loss of potable water, dwindling food supplies, and countless other life-threatening (or life-ending) circumstances. My brief experience with a loss of power was not worth even a fleeting thought.

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We went out with friends yesterday afternoon for an early dinner on the deck of a nearby lakeside restaurant. My dinner of two appetizers—fried green tomatoes and sliced calamari steak with Thai chili sauce—was almost too much. By the time we returned home, I was more than tired; I just wanted to drift into unconsciousness. I had planned to try the Zoom call again last night, but opted to postpone it until this morning. The IV fluid drip, which I had expected to restore my energy, did not come through as I hoped. I was in bed by 8:30, sleeping off and on between pee breaks and the unpleasantness of waking to the discomfort of mouth sores. One (or both) of the chemicals from the recent chemotherapies causes the sores. The Miracle Mouthwash, prescribed by the oncologist to alleviate the pain, works but only for a couple of hours at a time. Damn, all I do is bitch and moan about my discomfort. If I had been through the devastation of Helene or Milton, I would have a real, legitimate reason to complain.

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My keychain has keys that mean nothing to me. What are those extra, meaningless keys for? They probably are useful, working keys; but I do not recall what some of them are or why I carry them. That experience has been with me my entire life. I seem to collect keys until, after an inordinately long time has passed, I finally give up on knowing anything more about them…and I discard them. Keys are permanent reminders of one’s distrust of unknown—or known—criminals. We would not need keys if strangers could be trusted. And what about friends? We willingly give keys to our homes to people in whom we feel confident in placing our trust. But we do not give keys, willy-nilly, to every one of our friends. That reality is offensive to me; both as a non-recipient of friends’ keys and a non-giver of keys to all my trusted friends. Locksmiths’ businesses are built on fear and distrust. So are alarm system businesses; keys are not adequate…we have to try to call attention to people who outsmart locks…we seek to call out the criminals among us who know how to bypass deadbolts. When our fears get out of hand, we hide weapons or hire security guards or mercenary soldiers to protect us from the growing crowds of friends and neighbors who would seek to steal from us or take our lives. This world we have created is a dark, dangerous place. No wonder I have so damn many keys.