On the Seconds of Transitioning

by HelluvaGirl

I had my second most terrifying experience today.

There was a kindergarten fest for the International Family Day. The backyard was embellished with paper flowers and many small chairs were put out for parents to watch the kids’ performance. A long table with homemade deli (or purchased, whether a working parent or not) was laid under a roofed open space at the back of the garden. It was lovely, colourful and the kids were abuzz.

Quite unavoidably, the time came in the programme for parents to step in with some activity.

Oh I hate those, we giggled with another mum sitting next to me. Pia sang in a contest together with her girl.

I heard my daughter shout out.

Mum, come here, please, mum!

Ok, I sighed, I really ought to do this if she’s asking.

I stood up smiling and it wasn’t for several seconds that I understood I couldn’t really feel my legs. I tried to step on the grass but my movements felt uncoordinated and I truly didn’t understand from which side the grass was getting nearer, and what the fuck happened to the gravity. Was it there? Was it different? And why?

Two thoughts flashed:

The pills?

Next week.

I assume it took me around ten seconds to remain standing, to turn around slo-mo, murmuring there were enough people for the task already, and to return to my seat. I was guessing if anybody noticed. I felt relieved I didn’t spoil the afternoon with some tastelessly dramatical fainting.

What happened inside me within those ten seconds, was very similar to the humid winter morning shock before my school 2.5 years ago when I left Pia next to the car and leaned inside to start the engine. I turned back and she was gone.

What arose then during those seconds wasn’t thoughts; more of a sensation of slipping down the abyss of irrevocability.

Today I caught myself exhaling desperation: was that it? I would not walk? My life was about to change for good? Everything I knew would not count any more?

That sense of possible transitioning past recall was shattering. What was I becoming after this? What would happen to Pia?

And no time, people, no fucking time for any doing, thinking, arranging. No control whatsoever.

Isn’t it ironic how I like giving away control when I choose to.