Fear of the Hours

When we moved into the house, one of the first battles my roommate faced in reclaiming the back yard was Virginia Creeper. It's a rather ambitious vine that winds and twists its way around everything. It climbs up limbs and wraps around them, coiling and digging in, and all the while, it gets stronger.

This is what fear was like for me last year. When I first got the cancer diagnosis, I was in denial and stayed there, even past the surgery, really. As the days passed though and the date of said surgery grew closer, so did the fear inside me. I would go through the motions of the day. I would go to appointments. I would make plans and arrangements. All the while, the fear continued to grow.

By this time last year, the vines of that fear were so twisted up inside me that I couldn't breath without thinking about it. This fear was a kind of reality I'd never experienced before. I could die. I could live with constant pain. I could be ripped open. There could be any number of complications. I had to meet all of those people and travel. No matter what I did, I couldn't escape the fear. I would console myself with the most ironic and dark of ideas.

And now, I remember the fear, but thankfully, it has subsided. I still have triggery moments. As I wrote a while back, seeing that part of Tulsa was difficult. However, I can sleep through the night without waking up for hours of dread and questions. I am so thankful for this.