Sometimes I feel as if I am sitting at the bottom of a well, the muck deep around me. There isn’t much water, just damp earth and no way out. I can see the blue of the sky, hear people laughing and talking. Do they even know I am down here?
Then the rain begins to fall.
I think a therapist might say I am depressed. I’d like to see him/her deal with terminal cancer.
Most days I can stay fairly optimistic, especially if I manage to get some sleep. Unfortunately, sleep is fleeting lately. For instance, last night I had about two hours before the pain was so bad I woke crying. After that, I dozed for about thirty minutes only to wake from a dream where Milo was attempting to rape me (no, clearly the lack of that kind of intimacy thanks to the cancer isn’t affecting me at all!) When I woke that second time, the pain was still bad and I could only sleep sitting up, which required that I sleep on the couch. I maybe had two more hours.
So, yea, emotional today.
Probably doesn’t help that they told me the port isn’t causing the heart problems or that I keep hearing that I need a miracle to survive.
I hate cancer.
I’ve returned to writing fiction when I am home during the day, but some people have suggested I tell my story in a novel. Anyone interested in learning about the chubby kid picked last who eventually grew into the chubby girl with cancer?
Sounds like a laugh a minute, no?