Leila Chatti’s poem “Waking After the Surgery” seems to me as though it’s about a very personal and significant experience. When I say significant, I even mean life-changing.
After reading more about Chatti, I understand now that she had to deal with a two-year battle against a tumor, so I might be able to infer that “the surgery” mentioned in the title references a crucial procedure regarding that tumor.
Chatti begins quite powerfully, but directly by stating how, “just like that, [she] was whole again.” It’s no surprise to me that such an awful and painful experience might make someone feel less of themselves, less alive, or even less human and in touch with the world. I feel like here Chatti is saying that she felt like part of her was missing, like it was stolen from her, and she was living her life without being “whole,” whilst dealing with her medical affliction. That is, until she woke up “after the surgery.”
She continued to paint a picture of a strange in-between atmosphere, almost like a middle realm between the living and the deceased when she mentions, “[she] was somewhere or something else,” and not quite in touch with reality, not really “living” in her own body for a brief sickly moment. She continued by saying was “not quite dead, but nearly, freer,” and soulfully/spiritually released from her body that was causing her so much pain, as though it were some weight or overly complicated apparatus holding her down.
I found it sad that this situation had to be a reality for someone, and that pain is such an inevitable part of life. The thought that someone would actually finally feel free because they no longer suffer from living their own life is so unhealthy and sad. The fact that it took such an extreme point in Chatti’s life to remind her what “freedom” feels like because she couldn’t know it or feel it in her own life is also such a reminder to never take good health for granted, and appreciate the health of our loved ones and ourselves. Perhaps I’m over-analyzing, but there can never be one way to interpret poetry, right?
Finally, the end tied together this triumphant feeling of grasping life once again, not only physically, but ideally grasping the control of one’s own life again. Chatti illustrated how she calmly allowed “a balloon [to] [slip] loose of [her] grip in a room with a low ceiling,” showcasing that she did not fight this fatal obstacle in her life (the balloon being her life) even when faced with such a small amount of hope (the room with a low ceiling being both a hospital room and a symbol for minimal hope). She went on to close off by saying “[her] life [bounced] back within reach, [her] life bounding back toward [her] when called” now expressing that she has control over herself again. She has control over her body, her mind, and her spirit once more now that it has responded to her “call.”
I think Chatti’s calm tone really added to that sad feeling because of how unaffected and ready she seemed for the consequences by the threat of her tumor. I wonder if that “in-between” state in which she was mindfully absent was really just a moment and “place” for her to reflect on her life before she bounced back to it. Perhaps she needed to realize the importance of her life and know not to fear her body even when faced with medical hardships. Ultimately, not having control of one’s own life and body will prove harmful to anyone regardless of their health status, and I think (along with her actual health, of course) learning to have that control could have been one of the valuable takeaways for Chatti from this harsh experience.
Have you ever felt like you didn’t have control over your life?
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