It was just over a year ago that I was told my cancer had become inoperable, that they could give me chemo to slow down the inevitable, and that without treatment I had maybe a year to live. I later found out that this idiot oncologist hadn’t even read my biopsy results, she had just assumed (as the surgeons had done) that the “buckshot” mess found on my peritoneum during my second operation was cancer – it turned out to be old scar tissue. Anyhow, this is one of the many reasons she is now my ex-oncologist.
Since then I have had another recurrence, have gone through chemo again (April-July) and am now living on a “wait & watch” basis, with scans being done every three months…
I can’t tell you how much that wrong diagnosis affected me; indeed has never left me. And although I am very happy to still be here more than a year later, feeling relatively hale and writing this blog post, I basically live with my heart in my throat most days. People seem to think I’m so strong & brave, that I have such a great attitude, that I look well & healthy … but I know that I am dying and, quite frankly, that scares the shit outta me. And I know that I am alone with this, and that makes me feel terribly sad at times.
Yeah yeah, I know I’m not dying today, for which I am very grateful. And I am probably not going to die within the next six months (I hope!), but I have stage IV cancer – a terminal illness – and anything could happen. Including a really extra long remission that could last years, yes, I know that’s possible. But there is also an equally good chance (50/50 – remember?) that my next recurrence won’t be as treatable, that the cancer might spread even further, and other scary scenarios. I don’t dwell on this consciously, meaning that I don’t spend time thinking about what might happen. In fact, I hardly ever think about it. But I feel it. I feel the fear almost every waking moment.
I deal with this in various ways. Distraction therapy, going to the gym, a few glasses of wine, good food, keeping active, keeping interested, focusing on my cats and friends … but I still wake up in the night feeling alone and scared. I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep.
During the day I try to focus on things other than my neuropathy-affected feet and fingers, the port in my chest, and the pain in my rather extensive scar area (which has actually been quite bad this past week) … but I find myself drifting and unable to stay with one project long enough to make any noticable headway. So added to the fear is self-loathing, because I am being weak and not doing better. Not achieving enough. I go to bed feeling so disappointed in myself. And then I don’t sleep.
How much of this can be blamed on cancer and chemo side-effects, and how much of it is just me being weak? All I know is that I try so hard to make every day count and be something special, and so often I let myself down. I don’t let myself “wallow” – in fact, self-pity is one thing I don’t do and I am rather proud of that. But I do get overwhelmed, or let myself get overwhelmed … you see? I can’t tell the difference anymore.
And I am writing this here today because I am really really happy that I’m still alive a year after having been given a death sentence. But I am also letting you know that I’m not always okay and so, if I ever come across weird in an email or during an IM chat or in a blog comment, maybe you could cut me a bit of slack? Or check with me before writing me off? Because that’ll be the fear talking. You don’t know how much it means having people stick with me. I’ve lost more than a few “friends” over the past year or so.
I am still “the az” who loves doing geeky things, is in love with my cats and Sevilla, and who looks at life as a happy challenge to be met. It’s just that some days are better than others, you know? But I am always trying …
casa azahar 
I’m so happy you’re still blogging and that you’re feeling happy & positive! I was so stunned and speechless and sad when I read that post a year ago…How to deal with the death of a blog friend? I’m so happy that none of us have had to deal with that with you!
I know you’re not in Canada, but Happy Thanksgiving. There is so much to be thankful for!
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Thanks, WC. I’d love some pumpkin pie…
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I’d love to send you some! Doesn’t mail well, unfortunately!
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Az, honey, you are not weak. Absolutely, definitely not weak. You are human, like all of us. If its not scary to be confronted with the mortality which we all know is part of life but which we all carefully avoid and ignore for as long as possible, then I don’t know what is.
But you’re doing all the things we should all do, every day, given that any of us could get hit by the proverbial bus at any time. We none of us know how long we have here, and we should all be making the most of our finite time.
Live long and prosper Az!
xxx
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I like that prospering idea. But that proverbial bus … I serioiusly want to bitch slap the person who came up with that stupid platitude.
On the other hand, looking Death in the Face does add a certain je ne sais quoi to one’s life. And I’m not being flippant. I now have extra added intensity! And that has not always been a bad thing. Sometimes I do think My Life™ has become much richer since I got cancer, simply because some of the good experiences in the past year and a half have been very intensely GOOD, and would not have happened otherwise.
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I missed the start of this Az, and hopefully I’ll miss the end, but I think back to Bels’ log on h2g2 when he had bowel cancer.
I remember clicking with tredpidation on that link each time it came back to the top of my in-basket, dreading what it was going to tell me about my friend.
Eventually it was the news I’d dreaded, though not in the way I thought.
When I came to face heart surgery I looked back on Bels’ open and fearless writing. I’m sure he was as scared I was, as you were, but he wrote as if it was just another slab in life’s pavement.
Keep on truckin’ ~
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Yes, of course I remember Bels. Last year I went to have another look at his journals but, at the time, it was all a little “too close to home”. I think I’ll give them another try. He was truly an inspiration. Remember his tagline – the “incurable optimist”?
One interesting thing is that remembering how I felt reading his stuff a few years ago helps me understand what it must be like for everyone here. Except, unlike Bels, I am responding well to treatment. At least for now.
Keep on truckin’??? Ha, showing your age, D1. 🙂
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Get rid of that self-loathing! Geesh – look at all you are doing and have done. I would have been in bed with the covers over my head for the past year. If only there were a way to erase the memory of that false diagnosis – that must have left deep emotional scars.
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I remember that day feeling so unreal after leaving the hospital. And of course, in typical az fashion, my friends and I went out for an amazing post prognosis lunch and we commenced to get totally shit-faced.
After the hangover lifted the sense of “unreal” stayed for quite awhile, and it was awful. And then I got the news that my biopsy results had come back negative for cancer and that another op was being planned.
It really was a shame the surgeon misdiagnosed the peritoneum mess during that second op. If he had gone ahead with the liver resection then I would have ended up doing normal post-op chemo (instead of having a third operation in November and no post-op chemo) and my outcome might have been quite different. Meaning, I may not have had a recurrence so soon, like I ended up having in March. Oh well…
These days I do keep the covers over my head, so to speak, living in a sort of “semi-denial” state, which is about the best I can do. But yeah, I do think the scars are still there from that day I thought my death was just around the corner.
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I still think you should be The Az with a capital A.
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Oi, I don’t need no stinkin’ caps! 😛
Everytime I think of “the az” I remember these scenes from The Big Lebowski. The first one is one of the most perfect scenes ever (though this one is dubbed into Spanish) and the last one … well, nobody fucks with the az.
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Az, I’m there, too. Beautiful fall weekend with (mostly) no rain, long to-do list…I spent it (mostly) sleeping, resting, meditating. The list of things I didn’t do is longer than the one of things I completed. I didn’t even blog until just about 30 minutes ago. At least I got some pear butter made, and a load of laundry done so that I’ve got clothes for tomorrow. And because I slept most of the weekend, I’m now WIDE awake — good thing, because I need to go get some groceries for morning.
This is not, I keep thinking, all that I can be.
But I am also unfocused, and unable to break free of my life-between-scans, new plans only every four months existence.
I don’t know the answer, Az — but don’t loathe yourself.
You are so NOT alone in this, and I’m not sure it’s even possible for a sane stage IV cancer survivor to act in any other way.
My strongest thoughts — and now I need to get my butt in gear and go get some coffee and kefir so that I can make breakfast!
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You and JDepp are my heroes, you know. The two of you have been through so much more than I have, especially chemo-wise, yet you have handled it without whining & complaining like I’ve done. Or at least you haven’t done it publicly like me. 😉
That you have made it past the five-year mark is amazing, and also gives me hope that I might too.
It gives me strength knowing that you’re there, and that I can talk to you when things get to me. Because I know you’ve been there and will understand what I’m talking about. But I’d much rather swap recipes and “tweets”.
Anyhow, thanks for reminding me that I’m not alone with this. And I think you get about a million more things done than me, so there!
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Pingback: Is this the best I can be? « Life Out Loud
Fear is debilitating, isn’t it?
Sometimes I repeat this little bit from an old sci-fi story when I’m afraid. I keep thinking it will work someday:
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
Deep, huh?
I don’t have cancer but I’ve been walking around with dread at the edges of my life and in the pit of my stomach. Mind-fuck on my part, I’m sure. Even if I’m not focused on it, it’s like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it’s a just a matter of time before IT happens. No safety. That’s the name of this, according to my shrink. Need to learn to be safe.
This is maybe the first thing I’ve really been able to empathize with you on except ….(how could a non-cancer having person ever really know how you feel?) … yours is real and mine is mostly some weird externalization of some internal issues. Does that still count?
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No, it only counts for me. 😛
Of course it counts, Beth, and I don’t think your fear is simply a “weird externalization of some internal issues”, though I can relate to what you’re saying because I think I’ve woken up afraid almost every day of my life. And yes, it has to do with not feeling safe. Always scanning for danger. I think growing up with two violent alcoholics for parents will do that to a person, or at least, that’s my “excuse”.
And now I have an even better excuse… but yeah, the fear has always been there. It’s just more acute now.
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Hello, beautiful az!
I felt all choked up and teary by the end of this post. I’m really really happy that the stupid-ass oncologist was so wrong, too. (What is it with some doctors? Just because you know a lot doesn’t mean that you know everything. A medical degree does not grant omniscience. Sheesh.)
I’m so glad that you are still out there, blogging strong, and sharing all of this. The good and the bad. The tapas and the chemo. The snibbling and the blues. Your life has become a part of my life.
I can’t express how glad I am that I got to meet you in person, az. Now I just have to figure out an excuse to get back to Sevilla again soon!
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Uff, I cried all the way through writing this, alejna. In fact, I’ve been crying all weekend. I think it’s kind of like a pressure-release valve or something. Even the slightest sentimental thing on tv has had me blubbering away. So I thought that writing about this “anniversary” might help. And I think it did! Feeling a bit less bleak today.
“Your life has become a part of my life.”
What a lovely thing to say – thank you. And it makes such a difference now that I know what it’s like spending time with you in person, especially with the kids. I can really relate to the photos on your blog more now. Still think we should have got some photo evidence of me holding Theo on the bus – nobody will ever believe it.
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All I can do – and I wish it was more – is say again that I will be here.
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Well, you are a rock, Johnny. Or was that an ocean? Protein? I get so confused …
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lol
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Well I tried to LOL before – I’ll try again.
I think vegetable probably sums me up better.
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Weak?! You, my dear, ain’t weak. I don’t know how you’ve set your baseline, but we’re setting our new baseline of strength by you and this blog over the past year. What’s the bit about courage — that it isn’t the absence of fear, but the moving on in spite of fear…not letting it stop you in your tracks.
I don’t always comment, but I’m always here reading. Usually, I feel I don’t need to comment, ’cause all I’d be saying is ‘Ditto’… the people who speak before me are similar in spirit to me — they quote Dune and put up The Big Lebowski bowling videos. (I don’t lick my ball when I bowl, but I can appreciate The Jesus’ style!)
Please don’t beat yourself up about crying…change your metaphor. How ’bout seeing your inner self as a pressure cooker? Every once and awhile you have to vent some steam…
Hugs from Metro and I,
Lori
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Oh, I don’t beat myself up for crying … a real good cry often feels quite refreshing. It’s the *not getting stuff done* that makes me feel bad about myself.
Boy, I wish all you no-commenting readers would say something! It doesn’t matter if it’s just ‘ditto’ (though I’m sure you have more vocabulary than that, loricat!).
And it was me who put up the Lebowskit vids … oh, and that should have read “Metro and me” … 😛
Hey, are you guys really hiding the wine in the cat litter?
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As I scrolled down just now, I thought “Oh, it was az who put up the bowling vids…” Okay, so I wasn’t paying full attention.
Speaking of correcting spelling etc. Check this out http://bit.ly/4BZit3 (Subtle error = damned funny)
So rain is up all night, and finishes off leftovers and the tail end of bottles of booze in the cupboard. It’s like a mini-spring cleaning. 😀 No, we’re not keeping the wine in the cat box….we just label things that I don’t want her to eat/drink in the middle of the night. (I make is sound like she’s a lush…she’s only nocturnal…)
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Well, I wouldn’t mind being there now to do a bit of hot-tubbing and general hanging out. Though you reckon there would be space enough for both Rain’s and my Personalities in the same room (let alone our Bodies in the same hottub)?
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I haven’t been ‘here’ very long – but I make sure I read your blog every day, even if I don’t always comment – so you haven’t scared me off.
And to echo other better speakers / writers up above – you are NOT weak! That word shouldn’t even be used in your vicinity, let alone about you. Being afraid is one of the most human things there is and all that matters is how you deal with it. Not everyone does it the same way, but you face yours and get on with it.
So what if you haven’t done the errands yet? So what if you’ve done your facing it thing whilst lying on the sofa? Maybe the problem isn’t that you’re not accomplishing what you think you should be doing – the problem is that you think you should accomplish more than is reasonable.
It’s a bit like that Woody Allen sketch with a couple at a therapist. Diane Keaton is asked ‘How often do you two have sex?’ and answers ‘Oh, all the time, like three times a week!’ Woody Allen is asked the same question but answers ‘Almost never, like three times a week!’
I.e.it’s all in the eye of the beholder. Us healthy people probably don’t pack in as much as you try to – we’re busy taking it all for granted and not being arsed to do something.
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That’s from Annie Hall, isn’t it? Back when Woodie Allen was funny.
Yeah, I know that if it were you calling yourself weak, etc, I’d be leaping to your defence too. So, touché.
Thing is, I’m doing quite okay physically these days. Still waiting for my brain to catch up, I guess.
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Yeah, it’s from Annie Hall – and it’s oh, so true.
>>Yeah, I know that if it were you calling yourself weak, etc, I’d be leaping to your defence too. So, touché.<<
I find these days that I make the same mistakes again and again. And then finally, hopefully, eventually, I learn from them. Ideally I'd like to learn from them a little quicker, but I'll settle for learning at all.
And now I have this image in my head of us fencing, each defending the other! It would be a very surreal and wimpy match, I'm sure, but it made me laugh 🙂
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“Or check with me before writing me off?”
Like as if….
Hon, you have been giving me sage advice for all the years I’ve known you. But NOBODY fucks with the az…. except az, herself… We’ve all heard the sayings, “Willows” as opposed to “oaks” and “only makes you stronger” and all that shit.
You ARE strong and you are amazingly resilient but it doesn’t make you immune to fear and concern and doubt and… whatever… Now, if you had someone giving you the hugs you need when you need them, (Zoomer-style hugs ‘fer instance NOT THAT I KNOW WHAT THOSE ARE LIKE, MYSELF, MIND YOU BUT I’M NOT COMPLAINING OR ANYTHING DOISOUNDBITTER?) it might make all the difference.
Virtual hugs can only go so far.
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A REAL hug would go down pretty damn well right now, it’s true.
Cuddling cats is also nice.
Heard a variation on one of those sayings the other day… “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you wish it had”.
Heh. It appealed to my warped sense of humour.
ps
that video clip is SCAREEE!
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My own version of that is “What doesn’t make you stronger, kills you…” .
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This was a sobering post to read, especially with all the comments. It puts all my little problems over at the Havens into perspective, all right. I haven’t been writing for a while, I haven’t even really been lurking either. We’ve been out carousing and visiting the people who were moving, and dealing with Jesse and the incredible mess he has chosen to make of his life right now. These are just blips on the radar compared to the experience you have had the last year.
I have only one more thing to add to all the wisdom and hugs you have already received. (We love The big Lebowski here, what an amazing movie.) Everybody is dying. It’s just that most of us do not have some condition and label to make us confront that fact. Some of us are approaching that final breath faster than others of us, and all of us ought to be more aware of the fact that that end does exist. Maybe we would treasure our present moments more if we did admit it. Mostly we are able to pretend it doesn’t, and don’t have to start thinking about it until we are a lot older. When we are in the middle of our lives and busy doing the things we love and enjoy, having that end thrown up before you precipitously is a shock that is very hard to get over. ‘
You are getting better, and there is nothing like a good cry to relieve pressure. I probably need to indulge, actually. Eventually you will come to grips with this fear. I prefer to hold to my original thoughts about this situation that you will come through it and live a good long while.. As your physical body starts healing from all the chemo and the surgeries and you have more strength, you will get more done, and your pain will diminish. I even visualize the neuropathy in your feet going away. And after a while you will probably stop looking over your shoulder for that octarine glow that surrounds Death and the cold echoes of his voice will stop reverberating in your ears. You will gradually find that the fear no longer rules you.
Death is not hard, it is getting to it that is the real difficulty. I did not make that up, but I forget who said it in what book. And I probably don’t have the quote exactly right either.
Snibble the boys for me, okay?
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No offence, hmh, but “everybody is dying” is yet another of those pat expressions that oughtta get run over by a bus (though I’m sure you weren’t being glib with it).
I can only imagine welcoming death and being unafraid of it if I were in so much pain that life had become meaningless. Otherwise, I can’t imagine ever being ready to “let go”. Our bodies are programmed to live, so anything threatening that will usually cause fear. But yes, it would be nice to not have it be such a “constant companion”.
I like your visualisations and also hope they come true.
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Interesting that you feel that “everybody is dying” is a pat expression. Of course you have a different experience going on, but in my life I hardly ever hear that stated. Most times what I observe is that people spend a lot of time and effort avoiding that “pat” truth until it rises up and smacks them in the face because their dear Aunt Georgia just died.
I’m not totally convinced that our bodies are programmed to live, either. If that were true, no young mother would have to struggle to figure out how to get their baby to nurse (this is so difficult many of them actually give up the attempt) because that survival mechanism would be so ingrained there would be no difficulties. A two year old has no fear of the traffic filled street. I drank paint thinner when I was 18 months old, which resulted in my near death (and stomach pumping) followed by a whole winter of being ravaged by pneumonia because the fumes seared my lungs. Apparently that nasty benzene and petroleum smell was not something I was innately fearful of. People are not afraid of jumping off bluffs into the river either.
We are taught by our parents and society to be afraid — the world we live in is too complex and changing too fast for us to have an instinctive survival mechanism for most of it, the way a kitten will refuse to walk over an edge they can see.
I hope you are not interpreting my comment as a belief that it is right to “let go” or to “Just give up” in the determination to remain alive and healthy as long as possible, or to successfully fight off a disease or recover from injury. What I was trying to say was that our society avoids the subject of the inevitability of death while at the same time trying to make sure that we are all “afraid” of it due to the implications of “where we will go” after the event. It is one of the subjects dear to the heart of every major religion, and used as a way to control our behavior. Unfortunately, that sort of programming does not help a person in your situation.
I’m not saying that our death is something we should look forward to or welcome. What I do believe is that we should acknowledge the fact that everybody does it sooner or later and stop pretending it is such a shock when it actually happens. If we were taught that death was something that it is wise to avoid as long as possible without all the guilt tripping that major religion applies to the subject (“If you do That you will go to hell”), maybe we would not have a crippling fear of it.
That being said, I’m not sure that dying is actually what you fear. It seems that a recurrence of the disease with the pain and the debilitating treatment is more what you fear, not death. I’m not sure I am expressing this well, but an example is my mother, who is not afraid of dying. What she IS afraid of is becoming an invalid who cannot care for herself. This is not a fear of death, it is a fear of incapacity while alive. Living in constant pain and debility is something to be afraid of, not the end of life as we experience it on the physical plane.
In this country, around 40,000 people are killed every year on the highways in accidents. Quite a lot of those deaths occur due to no fault of the driver who was killed. I am quite aware that I could die any day, as could Jim or any other person who I care about. Rather than allowing this to make me fearful, this knowledge makes me aware of how precious our time is together, how important it is for us to live our lives in as positive a way as we can. This makes our disagreements and fights short, we try to resolve difficulties effectively. I would hate for my last words to Jim to have been hateful and unloving, so when he leaves to drive somewhere I make sure I tell him I love him and to be careful. But I don’t then sit in fear that something bad will happen.
I can’t help but think how Death is a major character in Terry Pratchett’s work, he showed up in the very first book and has always had a place on Discworld. In fact, some of the humor of that book came about because Rincewind was so bad at keeping his “appointments” with Death. Pratchett was interested in the subject, to the point that he wrote an entire book about the implications of what would happen if people no longer died when they were supposed to. And it was funny, too. A measure of his talent, that he could address such a grim subject and be profound and funny at the same time.
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Ack, I’ve been given the “everbody is dying” line more times than I can even remember since I got cancer. It’s right up there with the “being hit by a bus” one.
When I said that our bodies were programmed to survive I was just talking bout our physical bodies, not about external situations or personal choices. I remember when we had Maria the vet come over to give Lua The Injection. She had previously been sedated to the point of unconciousness, but it took ages for her body to give up the ghost, even though she was very sick. It kept fighting to live. That was what I meant.
Dying is actually what I fear. The end. The unknown. What? No more me? Scares the fuckity out of me. I guess because I don’t feel ready to go. Having looked Death in the eye more than once now, I can no longer be blithely philosophical about it. And so it irks when people who have never had to face this try to gloss it over with “wise words” about the cycle of life, that death is part of the journey, and other barf-making platitudes.
I do, however, LOVE Terry Pratchett’s take on Death. I reread so much Pratchett last year, and Death continued to be one of my favourite characters.
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I have never faced cancer. I have, however, faced death, looked it right in the eye and been sent back to finish my life, which apparently was not finished, according to the three entities that sent me back to my pain wracked existence. So perhaps I have a different perspective on the subject.
This experience is one of the things that has made me face my demons and go on rather than giving up (I was seriously considering suicide at one point), as I was pretty sure that if I was still “not done” I would be sent back again to heal from whatever horrible thing I had chosen to do to my physical body. Better to at least face the future without a sick liver, a hole in my head or other such scars.
I’m sorry if I have irritated you with what seem like platitudes.
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Also, the near-death experience has made me unafraid of death, because it was made very clear to me by that experience that there is something afterwards, it is not just “no more me” or “the end”. Unknown, yes; the end, no. The empty sands? No, I remember it as a sweet smelling (the sweetest) meadow of flowers. But perhaps each soul experiences it all differently.
This is also why I am not a member of any major religion. As far as I can tell, NONE of them have got it right. (Life after death, that is). And they are all about guilt and power. It is also why I am not an atheist.
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I wonder how skinny these reply replies end up getting …
I didn’t say that YOU were handing out platitudes, Ellie. I said I was tired of them, because I really am. Just like when people say “hey, you’re looking well!”, with the “for someone who has cancer” bit left out. Until I got cancer I nobody ever told me I looked “well”. I mean, sheesh, couldn’t they say I look fabulous or amazing or extremely not dead? At least that last one would be honest.
I’m glad that your near-death experience has brought you comfort. But I know me … even if I’d had one of those I’d still be afraid of what the REAL death experience was going to be like.
I did have a very real-feeling “between two worlds” morphine dream after my first op, and I was sure that if I stayed in the dream any longer (everything was white) that I’d never get back to my life. It took a huge effort to wake myself up, after which I asked if I could be taken off the morphine.
Anyhow, I’m very glad you’re here, and your visualising stuff makes me feel cared for, and I really appreciate that. Sorry if you felt I was criticising you. I really wasn’t. *hugs*
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Aha! The replies don’t get any skinnier than this.
Thank goodness!
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mep.
It’s the good fight.
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I’ve been thinking, dear Azahar. I’ve carried my “remission” banner longer enough. Time to relax and retire. Pass the torch. So i’m putting the banner into your capable hands, and trust that you’ll keep it safe and pass it along to someone else in twenty years.
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Oh Anne, I do love you!
Well, as long as you’re just giving up the banner and not the remission! Sure … I shall accept it with many thanks and will very happily pass it along in twenty years. 🙂
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Hi Az, I’m one of those non-commenting readers – I have your blog saved as a favourite and read most days. I admire the way you put yourself out there, revealing your innermost thoughts to the world. I’m sure that in your shoes I would run away and hide from the world. You do seem to be savouring life and, while I do think it’s good to set yourself goals, I don’t think you should beat yourself up every night for not achieving them all. I believe if you achieve all your goals every day you’re not setting enough! From what you write, I imagine at bedtime each night you can look back and say “Yes, I’ve communicated with someone I love today” – not everyone can say that, and let’s face it, it’s one of the most important things we can do.
What I admire most about a lot of your posts is the normalcy of them – yoga & pilates, eating with friends [there seems to be an AWFUL lot of that ;o)], snibbles with the cats, just every day stuff that makes up life.
As you’ve said yourself, self-pity is something you’ve avoided. Plenty of anger, sorrow, laughter, the whole range of perfectly normal human emotions, but no sense of feeling sorry for yourself. But if you did feel like that, why the hell should you be ashamed of it?
As someone else has already said, keep on truckin’! There are a lot of us interested and caring, even if we don’t have much to contribute.
Deb x
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Skinny replies make for very “long” ones! (or is that tall?) I’m not sure I felt like you were criticizing me, az, I just wanted you to know “where I was coming from.” I have a very different world/spiritual view than most people, and I’m not sure that the folks around me actually understand me at all.
Drugs can be powerful enablers of astral projection, and if you are not adept at that process it can be VERY difficult to reunite your body and energy body. At least you weren’t having an allergic reaction to that drug. I have a client who went in for a knee replacement and her negative reaction to morphine almost completely destroyed her life after the surgery.
Glad you made it back in one piece.
You actually made coffee come out my nose with the “can’t they say I look amazing or extremely not dead” comment. That is the sort of feeling that those of us who have lived a healthy existence can be completely unaware of. The nuances of everyday comments are sometimes lost on us. I’m going to have to put this in my file of “things to be aware of when talking to people who are recovering from life-threatening conditions.”
I think that is one of the things I also admire so much about your blogging through all of this. You are so honest, you talk about the everyday things that make life absolutely worth living at the same time as you are writing about what it is like to be in the midst of fighting for that very life against a nebulous and unpersonified enemy. See, we most of us know what to do or have an idea of what we would do if we were confronted by a mugger or an armed intruder. How do we protect ourselves against the rogue cell, the mutated chromosome?
I am glad someone had a “remission” banner to hand on to you, because I have been feeling for some time that it is time for you to redefine where you are in your illness. You are still recovering from all the surgeries, but I believe that your medical actions, life style changes, and your attitude have vanquished the Enemy, and now you are in the process of “Nation rebuilding”, to use a modern warfare analogy. Oh, there may be a few insurgents hanging around, but your troops are more than equal to the task of putting them down.
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