I wish I had that answer … and certainly wish at times that a vampire would sweep me off my feet. I have so much blood taken out of me so often that living eternally might be poetic justice to cancer … if that makes any sense.
More blood … more doctor visits … and more of the life of living with cancer.
It’s impossible to move forward with my life because I’m reminded constantly that I’m living in pergatory — being stuck on an earthly plane as a prisoner in my own body. Every time I think I’m getting better and can get out and do things, another test reveals just how vulnerable I actually am.
What really hurts my heart is that my friends don’t seem to really care any longer … within a few weeks after surgery, everyone stopped calling to see how I’m doing … I guess they presume that as long as I’m alive, I’m okay.
The last few blood tests (in a matter of weeks) shows I have very high levels of Uric Acid, but I don’t have gout, and a slightly elevated level of Creatnine. Both these results were perfectly normal just a few months ago.
I’m sure my body is protesting its aging process! Yes, I refer to my body in the third person because I’m along for the ride and can’t get off the ride — it’s a very odd feeling to be disconnected from my own body. My body has no other excuse to be taunting me with such ailments — I couldn’t live a more clean lifestyle — almost saintly I am.
Okay so I curse a lot and have a potty mouth … so not so saintly … perfect for a vampire to come sweep me away.
Life has an interesting way of testing bonds between people …
Somewhere along this crazy ride called cancer, I read that breast cancer survivors have a high suicide rate. I initially was quite surprised by that: we may be missing a body part or two, but we have our lives and loves to celebrate life and living. Why would anyone want to take their own life when there’s so much more to do.
I now understand that statistic.
I’m not suicidal, but I sure feel like life has stood still for me where I see everyone move forward with their lives.
It’s been six months since surgery and I still am unable to raise one arm more than 90 degrees. This physical disability has taken tennis away from my life: something I thoroughly enjoyed.
A few weeks ago I fractured my big toe — I have no idea how I did it and while there are days I can manage to get around, today it happens to be extremely painful.
For three years I’ve also been struggling with a strange skin condition and chronic vertigo — issues that leave me sleep deprived most days and I know has altered my personality.
Most of my good friends know about these health issues I have, and do you think anyone has called to ask me how I’m doing? You would be right if you answered none.
The first few weeks after the mastectomy, even two months later, I felt that people cared, but now their lives have moved forward and I feel forgotten.
I’d like to think that the majority of my friends know that I would give them my last dollar if they needed it — that I would give them a place to live and food to eat if they could not provide for themselves.
I’ve dropped lots of hints and have asked a few friends to pick up the phone. I want to hear a voice on the other end. I want to hear laughs. I want to hear tears dripping down our cheeks as we sniffle through the ups and downs of our lives — I want to hear about their lives, too.
One friend said she didn’t have time for “leisure conversations”. After 10 years of friendship, I’ve been religated to her joke list only.
Note to self: scratch that friend off.
Another friend I’ve known since we were 2 years old tells me she doesn’t get home until late so would rather send me an email instead — she’s the worst email writer I’ve ever seen — she doesn’t know what smiley faces are — at one point I thought she might have a drug or alcohol problem because her emails were so incomprehensible, nor does she seem to comprehend my messages.
Last week she shocked me by saying we have nothing in common and that she thinks I’m anti-social.
Note to self: scratch that friend off.
And a few other friends who have said they would come visit me — some of them are within 5 minutes from me — none of them have.
Out with the old and in with the new — it’s time to make new friends rather than try to convince people I’m worthy of a few minutes of their time.
Pills and potions may take the physical pain away but there’s nothing that will help my hurting heart.
When was the last time you picked up the phone to talk to someone that may not be feeling well? I’m sure they would love to hear from you — don’t send them an email — it’s never the same as a voice. And if that person is a bit cranky or depressed, just know that hearing your voice may be the medicine they need to lift their spirits.
My friends haven’t done anything wrong. This is about me and my feelings. Their lives continue to move forward and there’s nothing wrong about that.
I may be bruised, but I’m not broken … and I’m off to discover new rainbows.
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