Every Little Thing

Here in Terminal Diagnosis Land, things can get pretty weird, pretty quick.  A week or so ago, I was walking a mile or a little more, two days in a row, feeling mighty fine I must say.  Smug, even.  Hey, look at me!  Walking a mile, and I’m supposed to be dead!  Ha, ha, take that, death!

Then on July 7th, I felt my death again.  It’s as if the cells of my body began to separate, and whatever it is that lives inside began to evaporate, or evacuate, to seep out the tiny cellular spaces that were slowly opening up.  Since then, I’ve been weak, holding on to the walls as I move about the cottage, trying not to fall.  Eric watches with some degree of concern, as does Tara, our dog.  “Mom, what are you doing now!” her eyes say.  She follows me from room to room.

Today, I’m doing fine again.  Yesterday, I walked into the village for the Farmers Market here at Rose Villa, and I walked without my stick, holding a large basket of herbs to sell from my little garden.  So go figure.  I have no idea why I got so weak, and I have no idea why I am now “back to normal”, whatever that might be in this realm.

I like it better when I know why this shit happens to me.  When I don’t know, I have no control over it, and I hate that.  Do we really have control over anything, really?  Probably not, but I like that particular illusion.  Meanwhile, life goes on, and I’m still included.  For now, anyway.  If I haven’t given you my attention lately, please do not take it personally.  It’s just how things are.  Very little bandwidth.

One of the hardest things about having terminal cancer, for me anyway, is that when every little thing happens in my body now, I go first to the cancer.  Is it in my ovaries?  Is it in my lungs?  Is it in my pancreas?  Is it getting worse? What now?  Before, mostly I just went on about my business without thinking about things over much.  Not careless, mind you, but not doing the dire trip, either.  Now, dire just happens, I nod, and then practice joy.  When I am able to do so.  It can take awhile to recover my equanimity.  But I do the dire trip, I do.  Cancer sucks.

My next CT scan will be early in August, so I will be able to report from a scientific view then.  My sense?  I’m doing okay.

At the moment, we have an abundance of magnolia blossoms, and so, the scent of heaven is in our cottage and outside, too.  Divine.

 

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