June 10, 2026

I literally thought I was dying. I had woken up out of a deep sleep, unable to breathe. I was choking on the tube extending into my throat, and could barely see anyone in sight. I thrashed on the table, turning my attention to the silver tray of tools and instruments, creating a ruckus the medical staff would soon notice. After fifteen seconds of sheer terror, I heard a surgical nurse say, “Oh, dear!” and someone came near me. Within moments, everything went dark again. 

This memory is etched into my brain as the most frightening experience I have ever had that I can recall. I had just woken up from surgery, and knew where I was. I had not opened my eyes to see white sheets, a blue sky from my bedroom window, and smell brewed coffee coming from the kitchen in the comfort of my own home. Instead, I was thrust onto a stage where I was the main character, but had no speaking lines. Nonetheless, I spoke, not with words, but with clear action and intent, adamant that I was suffering, and it needed to end promptly. For those brief moments, I was robbed of peace and self-dignity.

I later returned to get that liver stent removed, which required another surgery. Upon awakening, I heard the male physicians around me misstate my breast cancer diagnosis and follow-up treatment. I listened quietly, like an investigative reporter, then opened my mouth when he finished talking, correcting him in front of his male cohorts, as is my feminist style. The first time in surgery I woke to chaos and impending doom, and the fear of losing my voice and life. The second time I woke to quiet conversation of my health status with nothing in my throat to prevent me from speaking. Willpower led me when my survival was threatened, and guided me when the truth was misspoken. 

Sometimes we find ourselves dreaming because we ache for change, sometimes it’s because we believe that is our only escape. Whether we commit a wrongdoing, wish for a better life, or find ourselves on a hospital gurney, the reason for our dream-state remains the same: we yearn for a perspective on our journey that reaches outside our current realm of perception. We dream, not because life is (necessarily) imperfect, but because as spiritual beings, this is our reason for existence. Without dreams, altered states of consciousness, or medication to take us there, life gets boring very quickly, or we lose our motivation to enjoy a novelty-free life. The joy of creation, whether internally or physically, remains within all of us, even if we go under (or through), and do not make it back out again.

Today’s poem, “I Dream, Nonetheless,” speaks to the initiative in us to create new things, when we are ready to do so, even in the absence of desirable realities or a current outlet for these expressions.  Below you will find this week’s story, “The Abyss.” In this piece of flash fiction, a woman removes the threat of perceived future annihilation by escaping into the wilderness. Ultimately she finds herself approaching death, yet later encounters reconciliation when she least expected it. I hope you enjoy this story, and please let me know what you think of my creative writing! ⚢