At The Hospital On The Day Of The Climate March

At the haematology clinic, the wait time was only about 8 minutes. The 14th floor waiting room's got a wall of windows into the azure and the river. Portable FM feeds my earbuds live coverage of the day's main event. A guest-host panders to us all, repeating that everyone has limits they must face, that we must all contend with ourselves and do what we can within our communities, that one of the great projects for anyone who is alive right now is to try being as human as possible within dehumanizing systems. Blood test took all of 30 seconds. Routine.

Next, 12 floors down, tucked away above the main entrance lounges Gastroenterology, where the blue room has no windows. I checked in early, hopeful I'd have some energy left over. Finally, was not greeted by a doctor. The desk clerk asks me: "Can you come back next week?" Due to a system error, the MD wasn't notified of my arrival. So the time had passed. She couldn't see me. Next week? Huh. Ok. At least I have the institutional note from the day of the climate march.

I stayed tuned in to radio coverage as I left the clinic, north then west, arrived at a green line stop, and watched the crowd. Heard it and and its cries many minutes before eyes glimpsed details of its millipede limbs over groaning asphalt. Contingents of friends singers dancers rolling, celebrating, all blended into the marching worm wafting despair and jouissance both in its wake. Sticking from the ground were red and yellow metal tubes, distorting and delaying the cheers and chants. There, in the streets, bidding farewell to the earth, were so many of us, it is haunting.

There's bitter irony I have not yet resolved in facing obstacles to action imposed by a body has only just the energy to survive and remain calm. Doubtless, many of the people attending to waiting rooms wished to be demonstrating instead. We too wanted to feel a part of a seething mass. Instead, we patiently sat in chairs, awaiting expert examination, hopeful our bodily prognosis is better than that of this earth. Perhaps the calm is a coping mechanism, because to lose calm is to fall into anger and despair, unsustainable emotions when there are bills due on the 1st.

I hear within myself: You are not doing enough. That voice may always be there. There is no other way to exist in a world that is ending but community support. Nothing to be done except mutual aid, redistribution of wealth, and creation of spaces for grief and joy. So what now? For now I just try to get enough sleep.



M-X Marin

My current writing project is wandering the woods to ponder the meaning of patience. I grew up in cities across so-called Canada, and am now out to find other ways of living on this continent. I've got a degree in in Communication Studies from Concordia University in Tio'Tia:Ke. I'm interested in permaculture, cultural theory, illness, SF literature, forestry, and decentralized forms of resistance.

My work has appeared in The Scattered Pelican, Insight, and Darkslide. I previously maintained a bi-weekly newsletter about my experiences with chronic illness titled The Transfusion, which populates the early posts on my blog.

mxmarin.ca