Elle
Chapter 35–If organs had personalities
The other day, Maria and I were having a moment of delirium and started about human organs as if there were actual people. This whole convo started on my first day back from having the actual flu and Taco Tuesday was on the menu. While I indulged, my stomach made it VERY CLEAR that it was not quite up to processing the ingredients composing the aforementioned taco (salad in my case).
So Maria and I started imagining what my stomach would say to me if it had the ability to do such things. And then we came up with Organ Superlatives–kinda like Senior Superlatives in high school.
Friendly Organs
Liver– Most Friendly; Best All-around. The liver is the single mom of the body.. Under appreciated, mostly ignored. Hard worker, quietly toiling away juggling multiple tasks such as cleaning up toxicity, making proteins, and filtering blood. It’ll even take on the work of others when needed (no gallbladder, no problem). Too many bad life choices? The liver still supports you and helps clean up the mess. The liver only complains when it’s been abused too much.
Skin–Best Overall. Skin is inclusive. Welcoming. Keeps everyone together. Acts as an ambassador out meeting everyone
Colon--Most overlooked. Works quietly in the dark for years doing the worst tasks imaginable without making a fuss. Can grow resentful when ignored.
Brain–Literally the IT kid in school. Can make you feel good or bad. Keeps the heart in check. Works quietly but can be a real bitch when aggravated.
Heart–Most Athletic. Plays all the sports. Works out all the time. Knows that it can dominate all the others opponents. Knows its the absolute star on the team. A little selfish. Wanting all the oxygen and blood for itself.
Lungs– Cutest Couple. Works better together. Will keep going when one dies. BFFs with the heart
Bladder— Most easy-going. Friendly, flexible, goes with the flow. Reminds you to drink more water
Spleen– Most welcoming. The spleen is like the freshman advisor. Takes little lymphocytes and teaches them what they need to do to graduate
Clitoris–Biggest flirt. Need we say more
Not so friendly organs
Pancreas–Shadiest organ. Most likely to be on an episode of Dateline. The pancreas sits in the corner of the basement chain-smoking menthols during a AA meeting. It doesn’t bother anyone, but if you accidentally bump in to it, the all bets are off and fisticuffs ensue. When it gets angry, other organs suffer.
Gallbladder–Jerkiest organ. Your emotionally unstable friend that you never know how they will react in any situation. Will turn on you in a hot minute. Also will hold a grudge forever and piles up stones until you’re basically dying.
Stomach— Harsh environment. Can be very fickle.
Appendix–Emo goth kid still trying to figure out its purpose and reason for existence. Literally worthless unless it’s trying to kill you.
Ovaries–Definitely the Mean Girls of high school. Back-stabbing, popular, rich bitches who can make you popular. They can give you all the things the cool kids have (boobs, estrogen, kids if you want them). On the flip side, they can also cause pain and kill you if you ignore them.
Uterus— Most likely to get a red card for being dramatic. Will cramp up for no reason. Bullies stomach and intestines into beating you up too.
Kidneys— Mean beans who try to drag everyone else down. They will throw rocks at you just for not meeting their “demands”. They are also pretty condescending.
Testicles--Wall Street Bros of the body. They work way too hard doing a task that’s mostly unnecessary. They aren’t especially productive, but get way too much credit. Are overly sensitive to criticism.
Falling in love is hard on the knees (Aerosmith)
Chapter 32: Happy Hogmanay
I don’t think I even told Chris what I had intended to tell him. After yet another on-call night fueled with sex and cocaine, I began to think this might be a little too regular occurrence when Chris hit me with the ‘well, you should see what I do when you aren’t here.’ and to be honest, I don’t know if I want to know what Chris does when I’m away.. While, I’m never one to deliver ultimatums, I did this time “stop the drugs or stop me”. Chris said all the right things. Where I was merely *enjoying* the drugs, he crossed over into dependence and addiction. And I couldn’t get my medical license revoked before I got one.
I had intended to tell Chris that I was going to Europe before I started classes. I needed a medical break before essentially giving my next 7 years of life over to medicine, but we fought, and I left, and I never told Chris that I was headed to Scotland.
New Year’s Eve in Edinburgh
I stepped off the train at Waverley Station in Edinburg and the cold hit me. I knew Scotland in December would be cold, but it’s hard to prepare for something you’ve never experienced. And a Scottish December is something I’ve never experienced. I grabbed my bag and made my way to my guesthouse. Due to the argument, I never got around to telling Chris that I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve somewhere New, and after I read about Hogmanay, I knew that I had to experience it for myself. Chris didn’t like large crowds or loud noises, but I wasn’t afraid of going somewhere new alone But I didn’t answer when he called, and he didn’t answer when I called back, and pretty soon, neither of us bothered to try anymore.
The city was alive with laughter, music, and the flickering lights of stalls selling everything from hot chocolate to mulled wine to traditional Scottish fare. Yet, despite the joyful atmosphere, a twinge of anxiety clung to me Something was not right, but I was determined to shake it off. As dusk fell, the city transformed into a magical wonderland. I joined the throngs of revelers and headed towards Edinburgh Castle. Bagpipe sounds filled the air and people swirled around wrapped in scarves and laughter. Without any effort on my part, I begin to feel excitement and started to vibe with the energy of the crowd.
Just as I found the perfect spot to take in the view of the castle, I noticed him—a tall, handsome stranger with tousled dark hair and an easy smile. He was chatting animatedly with friends, laughter lighting up his face. For a moment, their eyes met, and I felt an unexpected flutter in her stomach. I hadn’t felt that flutter since I ran into Chris.
“Looks like it’s going to be a fantastic night,” he said, turning to her as if sensing my gaze. “I’m James, but my friends call me Jamie.. You’re here for Hogmanay?”
“ElizaMarie” I replied, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s my first time. It’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“It’s magical,” Jamie said, his eyes twinkling. “You’ll love it. Do you want to join us? We’re just about to grab some mulled wine.”
I hesitated. The warmth in his invitation was inviting, but thoughts of Chris tugged at me.. “I… um, I’m not sure,” I stammered.
“Totally understand,” Jamie said, his smile softening. “No pressure. If you change your mind, we’ll be over there.” He nodded toward a nearby stall before stepping back to rejoin his friends.
As the countdown to midnight began, I felt a mix of excitement and dread. The vibrant energy of the crowd around her pulled at me yet something was definitely wrong., I sent Chris a quick WhatsApp message ‘happy new year. I hope you find peace.’ I saw that it had been delivered, but not yet read when I put my phone away. As the final seconds ticked down, I couldn’t shake the thought of Jamie and his easy charm.
“Five… four… three…” The crowd began to chant, and I got swept up in the moment.
“Two… one!” The air exploded with fireworks, painting the sky in brilliant colors. Cheers erupted, and I felt a rush of exhilaration.
After the fireworks faded, Jamie came up next to me.. “That was incredible, right?” he said, his voice full of excitement.
“It really was,” I admitted, my heart racing. “But… I’m not really looking to get involved right now. I’m starting graduate school in the US soon”
“I get it,” he said, disappointment flashing across his face. “But it doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just a chance to enjoy the night together.”
“Sure, why not? It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”
Jamie’s expression softened. “I understand. We can just talk, or enjoy the night without any expectations. I promise I won’t push. Let’s just enjoy it.”
We spent the evening walking through the festive streets, sipping mulled wine and sharing stories. Jamie’s laughter was infectious, and slowly, the weight of the past began to lift. With each moment, I felt a glimmer of hope, realizing that perhaps not all connections had to lead to heartache.
As the night wore on, we found ourselves at a quiet spot overlooking the city. The twinkling lights below mirrored the stars above, and the atmosphere felt intimate and safe.
“I’m really glad you decided to hang out with me,” Jamie said, looking out at the view. “This night wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“I’m glad too. It’s nice to feel… free, even if just for a moment.”
“Whatever happens, I’m here for the night,” Jamie said, his tone sincere. “No pressure. Just two people enjoying Hogmanay.”
Jamie walked me back to my guesthouse and I invited him in for tea. “just two people enjoying Hogmanay.” I repeated. Still no ping from Chris, and with Jamie across from me, I forgot all about what may or may not be waiting for me.
Chapter 31: Flashes of light
The conversation with Chris did not go as planned.
Perhaps neither of us were in the right frame of mind for such. After all, we were in a phase. Kinda hard to describe phase, but suffice to say all the partying I didn’t do as a rebellious teenager, Chris and I were doing now.. Drug fueled debauchery and then it’s off to save the tiny humans. Even I can’t suspend disbelief long enough to believe that this is now my life..
Call rooms aren’t just for sleeping. Or adrenaline fueled sex. The amount of coke I’ve consumed in the call room isn’t none. And my own twisted thoughts say –well, if you’re going to overdose on drugs, at least you’re in a hospital. It’s far more comfortable than the street. If that’s not mental, then what is?
AND it was one of those days where I (probably we, but definitely I) had had too much cocaine, too much adrenaline fueled sex, and not enough vodka when I told Chris that I was accepted to medical school and I had accepted my acceptance.
“Why are you telling me this now? How long have you known? When did you even apply? Fuck, Liza…I don’t even know you any more”
“Whose fault is that? You are the one who has been missing in action while hiding in plain sight since your sister died. And I get it, you two were close. She was part of you and now that’s gone.. I don’t know how else to help you grieve. And I’m almost positive that you’re doing a lot more of this than you let on.”
“You haven no idea. You have no one. Not a sibling and especially not a twin. You can’t imagine. And fuck you. I still go to work and take care of patients so who the fuck cares what I do in my off time.”
“But you’re not exactly off when we’re getting high in the call room bathroom. And then fucking for hours. And I can’t exactly reach you when you’re off. And you know what, I don’t do any of this when I’m back home. Only when I’m with you. So maybe that’s the answer. I can’t help you. You can’t help yourself. So when you evidently overdose, I hope it’s where someone finds you in time, because I am done. With all of this.”
My head was swirling with rage. And adrenaline; And too much cocaine. It didn’t help that the hospital hallway lights were motion-detected,, and that every step caused another light to turn on. Then off.. Then on again. My only saving grace is that the call room is near medical offices and medical offices are generally deserted at 1am so no one saw me leave.
“Liza, wait.” Chris followed me to the parking lot.
“What the fuck do you want? I came here to share my good news, and not only did you try to rain on my parade, you tried to cancel it all together.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do”
“You need to get yourself together. Or you’re going to lose a lot more than me. I can’t be around this. Or you when you’re like this. Call me when you figure things out.”
I got into my car and pulled away. In the distance I could see the purple electrical storm dimly lighting up the dark night sky.
”
Chapter 30: Pale Green Stars
I woke up, choking for air, strangling even. When I opened my eyes, all I she saw were the pale, green stars on the ceiling and walls. It reminded my of my childhood bedroom. Where am I? I thought. Certainly not in my childhood bedroom I answered myself.
I looked around, my eyes trying to focus, but the blinding headache prevented any kind of focus. Everything looked hazy–like my eyes had a film over them. I briefly wondered if it was worth it to get out of bed and look for ibuprofen. I decided it was. And also water. My throat felt as if I hadn’t had any water in years.
Naked, I climbed out of bed and went towards the bathroom. Where was I? Everything looked vaguely familiar, yet not. I shielded my eyes from the morning sun daring to enter through a gap in the curtains. Where the fuck was I? And what the fuck happened that I can’t remember anything.
There was a lump in the bed. Oh, there’s someone else here too. Maybe they know what happened.
I made my way to the bathroom. I was definitely not in. my house. There was no ibuprofen where there should be ibuprofen. But I did find a bottle of oxycodone. HMMM, I’ve never taken oxy before, I thought to myself. Maybe it will help, I thought. I struggled with the orange prescription vial but managed to open the child-resistant top after a momentary struggle.
Still naked, I made my way to the kitchen. I swallowed the pill and chased it with a mouthful of wine from a bottle that I don’t remember having last night. What the actual fuck happened last night? I thought again. I looked around the kitchen and it was a mess. 6 empty wine bottles lay strewn around. An empty bottle of vodka lay sideways, mocking me, or at least I thought it was. There was a small bowl of pills, another small bowl of herbs, and some powdery residue in various places in the kitchen. For the umpteenth time, I wondered what the actual fuck happened last night. Oh, and where was I?
Suddenly conscious that I was still naked, I made my way back to the bedroom, looking for clues in each direction. My clothes were everywhere–down the hall, in the bed, on the floor. I gathered them up and attempted to put myself together. I remembered that my throat was still parched. After putting on clothes, I went back to the kitchen and filled up a somewhat dirty but the cleanest cup I could find with water.
Twenty minutes later, the warm, lightheaded feeling with a twinge of nausea arrived. The narcotic wave.
I pulled the covers back and discovered Chris was the naked figure in the bed, Well, I guess that’s good, I thought to myself. At least if I’m going to drown in debauchery, it’s with my boyfriend. I walked back through the house trying to figure out where I was. Through process of elimination I realized I wasn’t in my apartment or Chris’s house. I still had no idea where I was or how I got there.
I tapped Chris on the shoulder and he grumbled “oh my fucking god, what!”
“Chris, where are we? What happened last night?”
“You don’t remember? Oh my god, you were amazing”
I stopped asking questions as I’m not sure I wanted to know anymore. I could piece together that there was sex involved. And drugs. And alcohol. I don’t even think I want to know anything more.
I focused on the pale green stars, the kind that would glow in the dark if it were dark.
“Chris, I was accepted to medical school, and I’ve decided that I’m going to do it”
Museums of Broken Relationships
2020 Michelle here: This museum I found in Zagreb, Croatia is perhaps one of the more interesting museums I’ve ever been in [The Sex Museum in Naples is another]. While Zagreb is no uber charming city, this museum had me enthralled. The end of a relationship is always a trying time for everyone involved even if it’s just a ‘whew, I dodged that bullet’ thought. But I’ve never thought of putting my relationship detritus in a museum for others to look at. Let this be a reminder that atypical museums can be some of the more educational, informative, pleasurable. museums out there.
A break-up is like a broken mirror: it’s better to leave it alone than to hurt yourself picking up the pieces.
His name was Michael. Today is his birthday. I shouldn’t remember that, but I do. When we met he was 32, and I was 24. We met at work. I loved his sense of humour and he loved my adventurous spirit. We were friends first. Nearly a year, before anything more than friendly happened. But as is often the case between men and women, something did happen. I practically dared him to kiss me, and when he did, it was as if time stood still. July 19, 2004 –after lunch. The kiss lasted exactly 42 seconds. I know because I had a digital atomic clock on the wall in my office. The kiss touched every neuron in my body, and for the first time in my life, I felt alive.
I named him “Nobody” and he called me “Girl. ” If people asked me who I was dating, and they did because people love to meddle in the affairs of others, I’d say “Nobody.” If people asked him who he was seeing, he’d say “Just some girl.” It was our secret, and it was exciting.
We carried on our secret affair for 18 months –until I moved away… co-workers weren’t supposed to date. And even after moving to a different state, the thought of him was like a drug. We were like addicts addicted to each other; couldn’t stay away, yet couldn’t get enough.
The first step in recovering from an addiction is admitting that there is a problem, and oh boy, there was. Michael was as strong as any drug I’d ever encountered, and willpower alone wasn’t enough to make me quit him. Over time I came to rely on a power greater than myself and contact with Michael became more and more sparse. Withdrawal is a painful master. There was physical pain. There was emotional pain. There were tears.
There were no stuffed worms. No legs were broken in this break-up.
The last conversation I had with him was right before I left for Moscow. He said “you always did want to go places.” and I said “I will always love you, but this will be the last time I tell you that.” And I haven’t had contact with him since. After returning from Moscow, I wanted to call him. I wanted to tell him all the amazing adventures I had. Instead, I got a cat. I named her Lily. She was a sweet cat.
Lily helped me heal.
I still have a post card he gave me. And ticket stubs for various events. And a necklace. And various little notes. What can I say, I’m a sentimental soul.
I knew before I went to Zagreb that I wanted to go to the museum of broken relationships. I find it fascinating to see what people keep as mementos from relationships. Not every relationship ends on a sour note. Some have other obstacles that time just could not overcome. Some just aren’t meant to be. Some exist solely to prepare you for the future. Michael was not my first boyfriend, but he was my first love, and without that relationship, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
I’ve held on to the mementos of the relationship with Michael for 10+ years, and karma, good energy, and such being what it is, it’s time to release that energy into the universe. Good bye Michael, and with that I turned my items over to the museum of broken relationships
PS...I have a slight confession to make. Once upon a time I was dating this guy, James. Now I knew the relationship with James was never going to be long-term, but he was ummm, fun, and I had recently broken up with a cheating bastard I caught with another woman. I made James brownies for his birthday. I left them on the kitchen table with a ‘Happy Birthday’ note. I came over the next day to find everything in the trash. I was pissed to say the least. Livid. Irate. Incensed. A seething cauldron of raging fumes; you get the idea. He was being such an ass. I went to the local World Market, bought a bottle of cheap $7 Il Bastardo wine, and switched it out for his fancy $200 bottle of French Bordeaux. My friend and I drank the rich, velvet wine while sitting in her hot tub cursing all the shallow men in the world. I still feel no shame in taking Il Bastardo’s prized bottle of red wine.
In retrospect, the Il Bastardo was still probably pretty tasty. After all it comes from Tuscany and is a Sangiovese so probably still good. I really would have like to have smashed Il Bastardo over the bastard’s head, but I got my revenge in other ways that even though the statute of limitations has passed, I’ll still keep my mouth shut because some things are just better left unsaid [or in this case… things are better left un-typed].
at least no axes were ever involved in any of my break-ups although a knife was involved in one very traumatic incident.
PPS…Names and dates have been changed to protect the innocent…Except Il Bastardo. His name really was James.
PPPS...If I dated women, I’d totally give every.single.one I ever broke up with this bar of chocolate. Because I am a petty mistress.
