I. Ate. So. Much. Can't. Hold in. Stomach. The nurses warned me that some patients reach a point where their appetite decides to turn on. Yeah, I'm there. I had like, two, three ish dinners. Healthy, mostly, but still. Lots of food. I suppose that's good though, better than not eating anyway.
So, the good news. My doctor promised to sneak me outside today. He finally came through, around 6:30 pm. It was dark outside. But it was outside. I got to walk around my building. It sounds lame, but I have been inside for 20 straight days. I was willing to take whatever I could get. Gown, mask, and gloves, yes, but it was outside. I felt air. I felt wind. Oh man. So that was a good thing.
The thing is, the "sneak out" couldn't have come at a better time. I pretty much reached my breaking point last night and during the day today. Couple reasons: Last night, I read White Oleander, Janet Fitch's first novel. So, firstly, this woman is the most amazing author I have read in a good long while. Her language is so beautiful. Just about every word that I read last night cut me straight through, seared my emotions, left my heart bleeding. It also made me terribly depressed because I realized that I have nowhere near the intelligence nor the command of the English language that this woman has, the ability to write engaging and beautiful prose. And then I realized that's why I'm going to school and majoring in English. So I can study these authors and eventually master my own writing style that other people will want to read. And Then I remembered that I'm not going back to school until September. And then I got sad. And this was at about, um, 4:00 in the morning. And then during the day today, I finished her book. I recommend it to everyone. It's fantastic. But pretty much, everything just snowballed in my head. I thought about how hard I worked first semester, school and non, how at the time I was so happy doing it. I was so exhausted, but I was doing what I wanted. I was working, doing well in school, had friends I saw occasionally, living in Boston. But then it stopped. And here I am, unsure why I worked so hard. What was the point? I have a sick camera, okay, that's cool, but I would have gotten it eventually. I'm trying not to let myself think that if I hadn't pushed myself so hard, I wouldn't have gotten sick. Because that's crap. I didn't give myself cancer. It eventually would have popped up, just possibly later. But what would have happened if I hadn't worked so hard? Gah. These are terrible things to think, because they don't have answers. So then I got to go outside. I got to walk around. And it cleared my mind a bit. I still don't have any answers, but I'm a little more okay with the questions now. There's nothing I can do about first semester now. I'm in a good place to start the school year again in the fall. What's going to happen is going to happen. There's a good probability that I'll go back to Boston and work myself too hard again, but that's who I am. I push myself to my limits because I can, because I need to. And that's what's been up today. My blood cell counts are all going up. I'm doing really well, in terms of recovery. I should be out of here in 10 days. Okay. One day at a time. Let's go.