severe metaphor shortage

I think in metaphors. I am a metaphor machine. Or maybe I am a metaphor miner, sifting through images that I see and words that I hear, finding sparkling connections to another experience. The client who once learned how to fold her arms and float down class 3 rapids provided a great metaphor for what she needs to do now that her leukemia is back. People are kites -- tethered by relationship, we can go far into the sky, in meaningful directions; without that tether, we are just litter, blowing about with no anchor, no direction. Life often makes us tread water, but depression adds cement shoes. Is there any way this client can remove his shoes, gain more freedom of movement? Just because someone throws you the ball doesn't mean you have to catch it. How is replacing your windows a mirror of your life? What would change if you had new windows? What will you miss about the old glass?

That kind of thing.

But at 6:00 this morning, I looked in my closet and all of the metaphors hanging there are out of season, out of taste, or just plain don't fit. You can hear it even in this skimpy outfit of a paragraph.

I want to write about anticipating chemotherapy, and I need metaphors. Last night we met with the oncologist and got the chemotherapy schedule and run-down. A meeting like this is --- can I use a gladiator again? Not Laura the gladiator and her courage in the face of my constipation; that metaphor fit like the saran wrap on her finger. This time it was like the gladiator, just before walking into the coliseum. "Okay, guy," says his coach. "This is what's going to happen; it's going to hurt. The lion comes out and is going to play with you for a few hours with his teeth. Maybe his claws. We'll pull you out when you can't take it anymore. You'll feel pretty bad for about 5 days, and will have to stay in chains (we give you painkillers for this) until you're ready for another round."

Anticipating the treatment is where I have no words yet. Is it like anticipating the arrival of a long visit with unpleasant company? Company that smokes cigars, craps in your fridge, and maybe insults your character and decor? Weak, weak metaphor. Is it actually facing down the lion? Is it anticipating an exam when you are pretty sure you studied the wrong stuff?

All I know is that it sounds very unpleasant. The plan is pretty aggressive, tough-going. I'll be having two sets of treatment, each for 8 weeks. The first round starts on January 7th. They have to delay because of the damned burn under my arm. But that's okay -- it will allow me to get my practice in some kind of order. The doctor thinks I need to shrink down to about half of my practice or less, which is dismaying to me. I've had to cancel three nicely paying workshops I had been slated to give in January and February -- one in San Francisco, one in Los Angeles, one in New Haven. All are scheduled at the wrong times.

Hair will fall out around noon on January 21st - I kid you not. They can predict that pretty closely. It will be like the ginkgo tree display on that autumn day when its leaves go all at once. Only less cool, I think.

Other side effects to anticipate -- fatigue and nausea, of course. Five different medications are added to help with nausea, but contribute to the fatigue. Anticipate mouth sores, anemia, urinary tract infections, constipation (say it ain't so!), heartburn, exacerbated menopausal symptoms, an acute inability to generate metaphors. Symptoms build to a creepy crescendo with each succeeding round, of course -- the cacophony of a John Cage composition. The second regimen (March and April) causes lots of bone pain, and most people are down with that for 2-5 days each round. Those are all the likelies -- the list of unlikely side effects is the same horror show you hear in any given drug commercial: heart explodes, canine teeth descend and sharpen, that kind of thing.

Lots to do before January 7th. Company's coming! It's a pride of cigar-smoking lions!

Ach. Damned metaphor machine.