See more monologues from Margaret Edson
After an awkward encounter, where Vivian Bearing, an accomplished professor of seventeenth-century
One thing that can be said for an eight-month course of cancer treatment: it is highly educational. I am learning to suffer.
Yes, it is mildly uncomfortable to have an electrocardiogram, but the...agony... of a proctosigmoioscopy sweeps it from the memory. Yes, it was embarrassing to have to wear a nightgown all day long- two nightgowns!- but that seemed liked a positive privilege compared to watching myself go bald. Yes, having a former student give me a pelvic exam was thoroughly degrading- and I use the term deliberately- but I could not have imagined the depths of humiliation that-
Oh, God- (Vivian runs across the stage to her hospital room, dives onto the bed, and throws up into large plastic washbasin.)
Oh. Oh. (She lies slumped on the bed, fastened to the IV, which now includes a small bottle with a bright orange label.)
It can't be.