I should be going to sleep right now. I am supposed to get up and run some miles tomorrow morning, but I haven't been able to fall asleep at reasonable hours lately. 12.30 a.m. (for me) is not a reasonable hour. I think there has been so much on my mind lately that I can't quiet it down, but I also cannot distinguish between thoughts. Tonight, for instance, I have spent the past few hours looking at a number of different cancer blogs, and almost all of them have made me realize I have been rattling on in the b-log, whining about the small stuff and the emotional not-really-drama in my life. People - young people, old people, generally beautiful people - are sick; they are dying, and some have already died. And I read those blogs and struggle not to cry because it is not fair that I should be sitting here bitching about a stupid cold while they are savoring life even though they may be struggling to breathe.
How is it so easy to forget what we've learned? After the hard stuff is over, when the life-loving glow of surviving a trauma fades away, which it inevitably will for most of us, we often forget what it means to truly appreciate each and every day for what it is. Why has it been so easy for me to forget? A year ago when I had the face tumor, I was happier than I had been in a very long time. Yes, I was in serious pain for a while and couldn't really eat, but my friends surrounded me and supported me, and I was completely and absolutely in love with life. I was recently perusing some of the b-log archives and my old journal, and I realized why I felt so free. I had, yet again, escaped a death-sentence. Before they finally diagnosed and started treating my tumor, I thought I was going to die again. Not die, again, but face the fear for the second time. And then they told me it was non-cancerous and four weeks of Rituxan and Bam! face-tumor free. The physical effects of the tumor were negligible on my overall mood because I was just so freaking relieved to know what it was and to have a plan of action.
Only one year later, however, and one week away from my three-year anniversary of my diagnosis, and everything seems to be just a bit off with me. Losing important things; breaking things; sniffling. I really don't want to get sick again, and I don't think that I will, but I might. I am only one year out of treatment. It is anyone's game at this point. Looking into my chest full of emotions, I can feel a storm brewing (mixed metaphors, what?). Right now though, the swirling intangible cloud is comparable to when you are in second-grade art class and don't yet fully understand the color wheel and so mix All of the colors together and get... a muddy sort of grey? That's not pretty at all. Nor is it possible to discern one color from another. Nor am I sure what I feel or even what I want to feel.
So I blame the cosmos for messing with my chi (qi). Although in fairness, I have completely lost or am ignoring my inner peace. I know it used to be there... I read other blogs or hear from friends and see their amazing news, their daily stepping out to meet the day head on, and I wonder what I am missing right now. I have accepted and am generally no longer inhibited by the cancer, but the next step is eluding me: the maintaining of the found or acquired peace in daily living, throughout the mundane and the frustrating everyday annoyances. People survive. They get through, somehow. They smile, then laugh, then move on, if they can. If they can't, hopefully they are happy now. I am learning just how much of a challenge life can be, but it is still wonderful. I am still sitting here next to some of my photos, in a sun-yellow wrap, watching a candle flicker on my desk, and it is still beautiful and hopeful. So there's that. There will always be that. Well, that, and my ramblings... In the meantime, hopefully you have your own Peace.
