"We either make ourselves miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same."
― Carlos Castaneda
I am just coming out of the abyss. Out from the dark / chemo drugs / radiation blast / pain meds infused hellish delirium that was the last week or so. I felt better today.
I ate today.
I went to the bathroom.
I walked around the house, and walked to the car, went to the hospital, talked to my doctor.
I always feel like I need to provide some context for this - as in - what does "better" looks like? Is there really a sense of comparison to what came before, once it's gone? and do my people really have a clue about this reality? Do they need it? Not so sure. It's pretty fucking awful.
I have spent a lot of time focusing inwardly on myself, moving, breathing, shifting a mm to the left. swallowing. It is very hard. It is a miasma of up and down, pain and relief throughout the day, and clashing with any number of physical indignities connected to the human body. I am at a loss for words. (Hah, I know, you say! Really, this is you at a loss1??)
But for this blabbermouth, words have been hard to even form, let alone write down. And then all blurred together on the mental page. Normally, when so indisposed over the past year or so, I write the post in my head, scrolling up and down to fix and revise. The drug cocktails put me into some weird Carlos Casanedas type trip - where the page was all hands scratching and voices mingling ending up in a terrible soup. Which actually kinda sums it up. And it's not that nice happy grinny Fast Times at Ridgemont High stoned place - it's like of a Blair Witch Project novel kind of stoned place. Harsh. Bleak. Thick and unforgiving. Shuddering.
And on a brief logistical note - i am moving over to the morphine pump tomorrow - much easier and manageable and they have maxed me out on Oxy. It's a hard drug to take. we hope this alleviates some of the weirdness.
I have cracked up standing there mewling like a baby. So primal. And there have been some hallucinatory moments - Michael's face was sheer terror, yesterday morning - Looking at me, then looking - again - who the hell is she talking to!? Kinda funny. And freaky. Who is this person?
I don't know.
But I request patience for the patient. I love the notes, drop ins, cards, thoughts, emails, - i need it. There has been a deluge, and I love it. I physically need it - i may not respond, shortly, in kind, or coherently. But please be patient. I feel some guilty at not responding - but then apparently this is quite common for patients - they feel they are taking up more than their share of good karma on the planet. Irony.
This sucks beyond all imaginings. But please stay with. So I can sink and resurface, and bob up and down.