The Operation

Crossing the Threshold

Hey Epic Human,

The call came on an ordinary afternoon.

A new surgical slot had opened.

A slot that should not have existed.
One that had not been on the schedule.
One that felt like a hinge — a doorway creaking back open after refusing to budge.

I felt Ben’s unseen hand moving behind the scenes. I don’t know how many strings he pulled or what planets he realigned to pull this off, but I sensed his influence at work.

I said yes before the universe could change its mind.

---

We drove back to Exeter on a bright, unassuming morning.

Stonehenge appeared on the horizon again — our ancient wedding witness — but this time, I didn’t glare.

This time, I nodded toward it quietly, like greeting a very old friend who had, at last, softened.

Or perhaps I was the one who had softened.

At the hospital, Ben arranged something else I had hardly dared hope for:

Room 27 again — the same room as before.

The same room where everything had unraveled the last time, before it ever began.

It was an odd, small act of continuity that somehow felt like protection — as if the story was destined to continue here.

We settled in.
The room was bright, quiet, and more familiar than it had any right to be.
The air smelled of disinfectant and paper flowers.

I began changing into a hospital gown with Robin’s help.

And then — a comic scene that somehow felt tender:

A brisk knock.
The door swung open.

Ben walked directly into the room, eyes locked on the paperwork in his hands.

For a heartbeat, it was the wrong kind of unveiling.

We all froze — the kind of mortifying misstep that belongs purely to hospital life.

He backpedaled immediately —
apologizing, flustered, human —
the man who would soon see more of me than anyone ever would,
startled by catching me naked,
shielding myself modestly with a flimsy hospital gown.

The absurdity wasn’t lost on me.

---

I dressed and seated myself.

A few minutes later, he returned — composed, professional again — holding the documents that would set everything in motion.

We reviewed the consent. The words were spoken in a monotone, flat and procedural.
“Full hysterectomy and removal of ovaries.”

Hearing him speak the words aloud felt stranger than reading them on any document.

The words hung in the air, hovering like a small storm cloud. I tilted my head, taking in their meaning, perhaps for the first time.

We both signed. This was our contract.

Then Ben vanished like smoke.

Robin kissed me.
A wheelchair arrived.
He held my hand until the nurses gently parted us.

I climbed in.
They tucked a warm blanket around me.
The wheels began to roll.

The corridor stretched long and pale ahead of us — a liminal tunnel, the kind you see in dreams or myth.

Into an elevator…
beginning the descent
Like Persephone, slipping beneath the world.

There was no turning back now.

The metal doors opened and disgorged us.
They wheeled me out.

We turned a corner.
A door gently opened.
The anesthetic room was softly bright and humming with quiet machines.

A nurse placed a reassuring hand on my arm.
The anesthetist smiled gently.
Both were strangers, yet suddenly part of the Fellowship the oracle had foretold.

We traded quips about something, I forget what.
Something inconsequential and slightly ridiculous — as if levity were the final offering before descent.

And then:

A warm rush.
A loosening.
A dissolving.
The sensation of the world unhooking itself from my edges.

I had dreamed of crossing this liminal threshold already — once attempted, once refused.

Everything softened.
Everything slipped.

The threshold opened—

—and I crossed.

more anon,
–Dr. Vicky Jo
The Soul Compass Coach