Some of you know how old I am. And also how I keep it a closely guarded secret. And will continue to do so. Today’s thrilling blog post has to do with time, which is the only reason I bring it up – my birthday is about 4 months away and today I was thinking about where I was last year at this time, and wasn’t all that sure that this year was guaranteed. Yeah, I know nothing ever is. But last July, even though I had gotten the all clear on the cancer front, I didn’t know what the next year would bring. Well it’s a year later, I’m still that effervescent ball of flippin’ sunshine you all know and love – fatter, still tired, still snarky and ready to get on with the business of figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.
I’m really cancer free for one year. Really and truly. I can finally say the words without a niggling thought in the back of my head about not having scans and xrays to back that up. There’s still some little growing glob of something deep in the dark recesses of where the girl bits uses to be, but according to my oncologist, nothing to be alarmed about. And since he was the one who decided the baby sized tumor was cancer even thought Johns Hopkins and an army of other voodoo practitioners seemed to think it wasn’t, he’s got a certain level of credibility in my world. I should get a chip or something like in AA. 365 days cancer free. Or like a sticker or a certificate. Seems I’ve been ripped off. I know I’m not out of the woods yet. I won’t be till I get past that 5 year mark, and even then it could still sneak back for round two, but I’m okay with being one year free. It’s a year that I wasn’t even sure I had in good ol’December 2011, laying in that cushy hospital bed, watching the ol’ flatscreen, sucking down cranberry juice and hitting the button for that morphine shot, all gutted like a giant tuna.
The funny thing is, that everything that has come after has been measured in relation to the fact that I had cancer, chemotherapy and radiation, and most everything is far less traumatic than that. Like tire blows out – so? I had cancer. IRS bugging me about some missing income tax forms – so? I had cancer. That isn’t to say that there haven’t been some serious emotional wrecking balls crashing into my house of sanity lately, namely one nearly 22 yo son. Yet, overall, it’s nothing compared to that 9 months of uncertainty, body poisoning, irradiation, and sickness. It’s all like cake.
And perhaps the most amazing thing that came out of all of it is that I am no longer afraid to die. That does not mean I want to, or plan to anytime soon, but I just don’t care. Somehow in all of this, I have realized that no one really loses anyone when they die, it just changes the type of relationship you have with them, and all this shit that I hoard, it doesn’t matter, because tomorrow I could be dead, and it would all get thrown out anyway. All that matters is right now. Am I happy? Am I grateful? Am I enjoying something or nothing, am I just okay with how things are right now?
Don’t get me wrong – there are lots of things I want to change, improve, dispose of or acquire, but if those things don’t happen, it doesn’t make me any less of a good person, or mean I’m not worthy. It all happens for a reason, and a lesson, and I’ve learned that there’s something good in every damn thing. You just have to willing to find it. And if things don’t happen, then so what, it didn’t happen. Life is always going to have might have dones, could haves, would haves, should haves, and disappointments. My house is a disgusting mess. I don’t have the energy to clean it yet. I have way too much stuff, I suck at managing money, I’m a damn grasshopper in a world of ants, and yet, I have moments when I feel joy so fucking profoundly that I could die in that instant and know I learned exactly what I need to learn in this life. Joy. Laughter. Love. Experience. That’s what it’s all about.
No, I’m not high. I haven’t even had a percocet in days. Andy didn’t make me any tea or feed me mushrooms, or blow smoke in my face. It’s just that I realized that since the worst thing that could possible happen in any situation is that I die, and since I am relatively sure that isn’t about to happen, it’s all good from here.
I was going to write about other things, but I’m feeling pretty happy with this post right now. I’ll save the mundane for tomorrow or next week or whenever. I’m tuckered out from my dr. appt today. And I was attacked by that viciously brutal blood pressure machine in Radiation Oncology that squeezes your arm so tight it feels like your hand it going to explode. That’s enough to send anyone to their bed. So I’m gonna get out my little notebook, write some plans in it, climb into bed and read a bit and then close my eyes and hope I have another one of those hot dreams about Jax Teller. That’s right, it’s less that six weeks to the season premiere of Sons of Anarchy. So nighty night kidlets, I’ll be back sooner than later. I’ve got pictures to post and stories to tell. XO