Aside from grey weather and a continual drizzle outside, things were somewhat less awful today. Nothing broke. Nothing cost me a lot of money. I had a chance to kind of revive and collect my thoughts again. It was enough to make me feel a little less fragile and a little less vulnerable. I hate that money can make such a huge difference in my life, but that's just part of reality.
It's twelve days until my 41st birthday. As I said before, it's somewhat amazing we've made it this far. This time last year, I was blogging about a bobble hat I'd made. I whipped it up in just one night, as if such a thing was easy to do and not a problem for me at all. There was no thought of cancer even in my mind. There was no clue that I would end up in the hospital several times, go through a couple of surgeries, and spend days facing life without feeling like myself.
The irony is, in many ways, I am better off than I was this time last year. The lipoma is gone from my arm. I'm not having to deal with various degrees of 'female trouble' or concern myself with bleeding all over things. I weigh less. I can stand for a longer period of time. I know my body can heal quite well. And no, maybe I don't quite feel like myself, and maybe I wake up terrified sometimes, and maybe I can't access my imagination as much as I used to be able to, but I have to believe all of that is temporary.
It's just that as you get older, especially if you're pretty depressed, you don't really look at the future and think about what you may gain. Basically, you assume you're not going to gain anything except for stuff you don't want (wrinkles, fat, etc). It's more that you worry about what you may lose. Will I lose my sanity? Will I lose my memory? Will I lose my ability to take care of myself? Will I lose me? What will I do if I lose me?
I'm guessing the next twelve days may be fairly maudlin.
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