Suzanne Samples - Stargazing in Solitude

By

Suzanne Samples

Stargazing in Solitude text copyright Suzanne Samples

Edited by Barbara Lockwood

All rights reserved.

Published in North America and Europe by Running Wild Press. Visit Running Wild Press at www.runningwildpress.com Educators, librarians, book clubs (as well as the eternally curious), go to www.runningwildpress.com.

ISBN (pbk) 978-1-947041-92-9

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-947041-93-6

for e.e. samples and w.w. thompson

Years ago, my heart was set to live, oh

And I've been trying hard against strong odds

It gets so hard in times like now to hold on

Well, I'll fall if I don't fight

Big Star

I don't mind how quick the seasons change

You know to me they's every one the same

The sweetest sunshine drips the drain

Death's comin', I'm still runnin'

Two Gallants

preface

Spoiler alert: Im still fucking alive.

boone, north carolina

I do not know where I am going. I get in my tiny purple Scion and head toward Asheville. Its a route I am familiar with; for three years, I commuted two hours to work at App State when I was living in Asheville and married to Kevin, who is now married to Tristan.

I wish them the best.

I really do.

I leave my phone and computer but take my wallet if I get pulled over. I do not know what, exactly, I am driving away from, but I have to get the fuck out of here. I need to leave my apartment, and I need to desert the cozy candles I light every night. Despite losing my sense of smell after the tumor, I still love candles. Right now, though, I cant stand to look at Vanilla Boysenberry or Parisian Caf any longer. Still, out of my senses, I am glad smell is the one that got away.

I have read online it is typical for brain tumor patients to lose their sense of smell.

I am so typical.

I pick up speed before the crying starts. I have never had a panic attack before, so it takes me a minute to realize Im not having a heart attack or a stroke. I am driving nowhere and heaving and crying and trying to get away from something, anything, everything. My emotions desperately have no place to escape except for the confines of my car. How many times have I heard theres nothing we can do for you? How many times have I heard theres just no way we can fix this? How many times have I heard there are just some things that have no solution?

And then comes the repetition in my head, the repetition I hear in my nightmares every night: The neurosurgeon saying glioblastoma glioblastoma glioblastoma. It is as if he is rehearsing for a play and trying to get the words just right. Glioblastoma glioblastoma glioblastoma.

If I could get away, get away from everything, then no one could deliver any further bad news. If I could hide from everyone and no one could find me, I could live forever. I could pull off the Blue Ridge Parkway at some point and exist between two trees, cover myself in leaves for warmth, and linger like a feral child with adult sensibilities. I would not have to go to MRIs, appointments, or hospitals.

Just me and nature, baby.

This thought allows me to stop crying and gasping and wheezing.

Fuck. The initial blow of everything that happened has finally worn off. Fuck.

I have shed the shock of terminal brain cancer like a snakeskin in Winston-Salem, where the ambulance shipped me same day delivery after the emergency room doctor in Boone declared that there was a mass on my brain.

I could go to Kyle and Kellys.

Kyle, my first cousin, lives in Asheville; I love him and his wife like they are my siblings. I could burrow there, convince them I need to stay for a few days until my thoughts clear up like the mountain views and my brain settles down. I could persuade them to keep all of this mess a secret until I stop crying and clutching my chest. I could play with their dogs and get a good nights rest, or maybe a few.

Maybe I would stay there forever.

I could go to Chriss, but she is going to be reallll mad at me for leaving Boone and forgetting to tell anyone I was gone. This is what happens when youre diagnosed with terminal brain cancer: People want to know where you are all the damn time.

But I dont think about people looking for me; no one should need to. Im not required to be at school today, and my animals have food and water. CK, my girlfriend, would be over later, but she would understand. She would know I just needed to get out for a minute. An hour. A few years.

If anyone is looking for me, I am easy to find. Ive driven this road so many times, it feels like another circuit in my brain. I know every abandoned house and overlook associated with this route. Of course, this is where I would be.

Suddenly, I feel the need to hide. The panic attack has ended, but there is still something lurking in my brain that does not feel right. There is something that needs to come out, something I need to shake.

I pull onto the parkway and feel paranoid. Paranoid on the Parkway: The Suzanne Samples Story. Ive been watching way too many Lifetime movies since being released from the hospital, and I fear too much television is starting to affect my mental state. I reach an overlook and pull up next to a huge SUV. I cant see them, but they must be elderly. The leaves have not turned pumpkin orange and apple red yet, so the parkway is not crowded with leaf lookers, just bored older people looking to share an easy afternoon with nature.

And me.

If I had my phone, which I was smart enough to leave at home, anyone could find me. They would just need to contact my mother, otherwise known as Jenifer-With-One-N. She gave me an ultimatum: Either download an app that continually shows her my location, driving speed, and battery percentage, or live at home.

I downloaded the app and cursed her for being a Baby Boomer proficient with technology.

The worst of both worlds.

I want these people to drive away so I can get out of my car and stretch. I think about jumping off into the mountains once these nature lovers leave. Knowing me, I would leap, end up breaking both legs, and suffer for days before rescue squads would eventually find me and scold me for being such a brat. Dont you know the value of life? Dont you know you have survived way longer than you should have? Dont you know how lucky you are?

I discover a trail looping around the overlook, and I ponder crouching in the damp grass to think. Or not think. I might calm down then, maybe. But when I try to squat, I realize I cant bend without falling. My coordination and strength are so weak, I cant simply sit and rise again. I would either collapse and petrify like a leaf in stone or keep standing and hope for the best.

I dont really want to die.

I really dont.

Please.

a summary of frontal matter: glue gone wild (also an overview of my life)

I was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme three days after I turned 36. GBM is cancer most often reserved for men over the age of 55. (See: John McCain and Beau Biden.) After a seizure in a coffee shop, I was transported from Boone, North Carolina, to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where I had a craniotomy four days before Christmas. I resided in the hospitals rehabilitation center until the end of January. I had to relearn walking and using my right arm; unfortunately, some functions of my right side never returned to normal. Although I was convinced the brain tumor was just a quick distraction from playing roller derby and teaching college freshmen, surprise! It was the worst brain cancer of all, and I had a survival time of 11-13 months. The surgeon removed most of the tumor, I did 33 rounds of radiation, and I took chemo for nine months.