The Healing Celebration

Once in a while, I indulge myself in the healing-celebration fantasy. In this daydream, friends and anyone and everyone who has ever cared about me gather to rejoice in the liberation of my body from pills, injections, and sickness. I am cured of diabetes, congestive heart failure, and kidney disease. I am free, free, free! And I am surrounded by scores of people who share my joy.

Georgette flies in from Florida, and Heather wings her way from Denver. Mark comes from San Francisco and Tony from Santa Barbara. Rob leaves his wife and work in Shanghai to give me a big hug. Robin, who is always struggling to make ends meet, somehow gets the money together to buy a plane ticket from Seattle. Jose pulls himself away from an endless stream of meetings and commitments. Erin brngs her baby, and Chris brings his boyfriend. Tom, who is deathly afraid of hospitals, illness, and death, is there. So are my favorite massage clients, Carol and Karen. Katherine, with whom I've traded massages for facials for well over a decade, and Sue, with whom I trade massages, are there too.

Old lovers and old flames with whom I have not corresponded in decades somehow know about my happy turn of events and show up at my doorstep, just in time for the party. Ken arrives from Tuscon and Tuyen Tran from Detroit. Naguib Akbar, the Pakistani with the beautiful doe eyes, red rose in hand, kisses my cheek. Charlie, who kissed me in a golden aspen forest outside Flagstaff, tells me he wouldn't have missed this for the world. Sean, wherever he is--surfing in Costa Rica or growing pot in Mendocino County--drops what he's doing and rushes to the gala. Even Mike rises from his grave to make an appearance.

Daphne and Alexi and Amy and Dan and Araia and Rachel and Matt are there. So are my high school friends Liz and Mary. My acupuncturist, Dr. Mai, whom I've seen at least once a week for more than four years, is forever inscrutable, but inwardly oh so pleased that I have been restored to health. Dr. Lin, the ever-kind internist, and Dr. Phan, my ever-concerned cardiologist, can't believe it, as my healing flies in the face of their medical understanding, but they, too, are happy for me.

All gather around as I ceremoniously eat a dark chocolate as a sign of my newfound freedom to enjoy a sweet without worrying about how it will increase my blood sugar and damage my organs. Everyone cheers, then closes in for kisses and hugs.

Of course, I know that if I ever was healed, very few of these people would come to my celebration. They would be too busy with work or school or with their family or other friends or with their housework. They wouldn't have the time or the interest because they wouldn't understand what this meant. For the most part, they are healthy and have been healthy all their lives, so they would not appreciate what I have gone through and what it means to be free of all this.

The only person I can be sure who would be there is my son, Aaron. He has seen me on the brink of death many times. He's been in the ambulances with me and he's watched the paramedics bring me back to life. He, like no one else, would rejoice with me. This would be celebration enough.