Thanks to everyone who has written in with their support.
The situation really really sucks. Sometimes I feel paralyzed by the grief and then I think, ‘that’s not really grief, that’s more like agony’ and then I think, ‘well sometimes it’s agony and sometimes it’s an overwhelming despair’.
I know folks go through this sort of thing all the time.
It’s funny, cuz when I was doing chemo, lots of people went out of their way to tell me how brave they thought I was. I always found that odd, since I really had a limited number of choices and I was making the best of the lousy choices I had.
And I don’t mean to be freaky, but I just don’t know how to imagine myself on the other side of this, at that point in my life where I say, “Ahh, sure it hurt like the Dickens at the time, but I see now that it’s all for the best.” I can’t ever imagine thinking this was a good thing.
I reckon that day will come, cuz I have lived through lesser heartbreaks, but damnation, sometimes the best I can do is just slip into a wee coma and wait for it to pass. Those are the good moments.
I don’t know which arsenal of personal strength I am supposed to draw on to give me the strength and hope to make my way back to shore on this one.
In some ways, it’s like I lost my sense of purpose.
How am I going to carry on with the crazy world of cancer and all those follow-up appointments without holding each other’s clammy little hands?
Who is going to hold my hand so I don’t faint when I do bloodwork?
Who is going to keep me from coming right out of my skin and punching the lab technician when I do an MRI?
I guess we get tough and figure out how to do this stuff on our own. But I ain’t looking forward to it.
Really, I am scared. I’ve already gone to a few appointments by myself, which was weird and freaky, but I guess it was a good dress rehearsal for the new world order in cancer land.
Scared, scared, and scared, but one foot in front of the other. Off we go.
So far, I seem to still be at Ground Zero but I guess I can work my way somewhere safe from there.
But, thanks to everyone. Your kind words really, really do help me.
Thank you.
You guys rawk, as the kids now say.
Really. You all help a bunch.
Thanks.
You asked “Who is going to hold my hand so I don’t faint when I do bloodwork? Who is going to keep me from coming right out of my skin and punching the lab technician when I do an MRI?”
Your friends will Spike. We love you and will remind you of that as often as need be. I my friend will hold your hand, help you take out piercings before the MRI I will do what ever you ask of me…and stuff your too darn stubborn to ask for. I know I’m not the only one who will.
Then you said “Really, I am scared. I’ve already gone to a few appointments by myself, which was weird and freaky, but I guess it was a good dress rehearsal for the new world order in cancer land.”
Of course your scared. This shit is scary and confusing and wierd and and and! Please don’t add your your fear by isolating and not reaching out to your friends. You don’t have to go to cancer appointments alone…You have enough friends in this crazy town that would move a mountain or a molehill to ease your fear. ASK us dammit. Let us help.
Still loving you…my friend.
yeah…what she said.
i’ll come too. just tell me when and where.
dude – whedon!