From Within Valleys

A Dark Wood

The past fortnight has been one of the more difficult which I have had to face in the preceding six years. The culmination of a very difficult semester, combined with the finalisation of my doctoral applications, would have been sufficient enough to stress out any student. Indeed, many of my colleagues find themselves weighed down with the coursework alone. My father’s surgery for cancer also took place. As always seems to be the case in my experiences, nothing went right.

The surgery appeared to proceed smoothly, but the doctors gave my father liquid Vicodin when he was in recovery. My sister had advised them not to do this in the strongest possible terms, but they ignored her. My father spent most of the night vomiting; he expelled his food tube, his breathing appartus, and so on. It was a disaster–especially considering the fragile state of his vocal cords, and the need to preserve them from damage or infection.

The doctors saw the error of their ways and corrected the medication. However, it turned out that they missed some of the cancer. Another surgery was deemed necessary–this time, to remove his vocal cords entirely, on the day he had originally been intended for release. Once this was done, they put him on new medication. The new medication caused psychosis. My father was confused; he did not know where he was, and was in a constant state of panic and disorder in his mind. He believed himself still married, and could not sleep. His conversation, carried out in writing, was incomprehensibly muddled.

The medication was changed shortly after my sister and my mother managed to get a doctor to listen to them. For my part, I could not visit my father as I was laid up in bed with a severe flu and dared not come within any distance of him whilst there was the least threat of contagion. Only today did I finally begin to improve to the point where I could sit up and move about. I feel I should be better in another forty-eight hours; and a good thing–my father will be home later today.

An Obstacle to Progress

He remains confused, though somewhat improved. The whole situation is not without its issues–once again, my parents and my sister are using this a vehicle to try and prevent me accomplishing anything. Though my father will only be in recovery for six total weeks, and only in intensive recovery for a fortnight, they are already demanding that I drop out of the Master’s program at Oakland and get a job at Wal*Mart or Meijer–nevermind that I have put six years of work into this, nevermind that I have wagered my entire future on it in incurring six years of student loans, nevermind that I have poured my heart and soul into this one goal: a career as a professor or English. –Nevermind any of it. I am expected to sacrifice it all so that I can ease the burden of my dissolute sister and my alcoholic mother for a mere six weeks They genuinely believe the past six years, and my entire future, should be abandoned for this.

I am not inclined to shout, nor to employ strong language in arguments. I am patient and I prefer to simply get up and walk away when people are being unreasonable. But I have spent my entire life walking away, letting my mother, my father, and my sister grind down upon me like a millstone. They have used every eventuality as an excuse–whether it was a job, or a relationship, or an illness. They have opposed, at every turn, my every effort. They have tried to make it impossible for me to study. They have tried to make it impossible for me to obtain books, or a means of travel, or even freedom of movement. Finally, today, when I saw that they were even willing to use my father’s illness as a tool to achieve their vile ends, I reached my limit.

I told my mother in language clear, direct, and unequivocal, that I would never, ever abandon my goals–that I would sooner live in a gutter and drink water from the sluice; that I would sell my piano, my books, and my clothes, and all of my possessions; that I would go crawling, naked and begging to my friends; that I would endure any privation which man could devise before I would give up this one goal, this one dream, which I have had ever since I can remember. I would rather die than throw it away. For, what I would have if I were to do that would be something less than life, and not at all worth living, I think.

Trees Without End

There may be no chance of me getting into a doctoral program. I am aware of my many limitations and faults. I am far too lazy, lacking the bottomless well of industry which many people I know possess. But I also know my strengths: an indefatigability of spirit, an immeasureable strength of will, and an enthusiasm for my profession which has burned within me, unabated, increasing in magnitude, since the earliest moments of my recollection. “One day, you will be a great scholar,” everyone said. “You seem like a professor already,” they continue to say. It is the only thing I have ever wanted, and I want it with all of my being. I will do whatever it takes. Maybe I will fail–but if I do, it will be in the trying–not because my family has squashed me under their heel once again.

This is the moment of another great hurdle. So far, I have crossed them all intact. This one will be leapt, too.

Once, I sat in a tailback on the way to visit Thea, and thought I would be in it for hours. It seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see. Soon, I crested the top of a hill and, just beyond the crown, there was a small accident. I passed it at once, and from there the roads were open and clear all the way to my destination. From the other side of the hill, the clearing was out of sight. Similarly, from within this valley, it is hard to see the edge of the forest–but all forests have an end, and this one too. I may come upon it sooner than I expect. I certainly hope so.

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