Warning: This post contains the judicious use of profanity and is rated PG-13. Please proceed at your own risk.
Good evening, dear reader. Sorry, no attempt at a clever little subtitle this evening; I just don’t think I have it in me tonight. As you can perhaps deduce (or, if you follow me on Twitter, you already know), I’m a bit overtired at the moment. You see, I was productive today.
Yes, that’s right, productive. For the first time in months, I mowed the lawn (or the back yard, at least). Granted, this may not seem like a big deal, and it’s probably not – truth be told – but for me, it is a good feeling. The way I look at it is this – I earned this tired feeling; I worked for it. That makes it much different from all the other feelings of tired that I’ve been having of late. See, those tired feelings were a sign of weakness, my body was weary from the illness and treatments and side effects – and the fatigue that those brought on made me feel weak.
Today, I feel strong. And it is good.
I still have more to accomplish this evening, and my list may or may not be successfully completed. But I took a big step today, so I’m satisfied. I’m beginning to think that this is a fundamental part of my overall progress as I work toward recovery – perspective. I have repeatedly encountered others – doctors, fellow patients, former patients, cancer survivors, all kinds of people – who will contend that event x, whatever it may be, is impossible, or that event y is unavoidable. And perhaps most empirical evidence would validate those suppositions.
However, simple historical patterns do not universal directives make. I was originally given a 30% chance of survival. To borrow a turn of phrase from everyone’s favorite scoundrel, “Never tell me the odds.”
I was told that I would never eat real food again and that I would have the PEG tube for the rest of my life. I currently have ten teeth, yet I am already eating real food. I have eaten soups ranging from a smooth, creamy bisque to a chunky, hearty stew (ok, so that didn’t go as well as it could, but I ate some of it). I’ve eaten eggs. I have eaten one french fry. Some of these may have been difficult, even frustrating. But I accomplished them. Imagine what will be possible in three months when I have a full set of dentures.
I was told that it was unlikely I would ever really talk again. I really should make another recording so that you can hear my progress in that area. I will do so this week, and I invite you to tell me what you think. I’ve even started trying to sing again. Granted, I only do this when I’m alone in the car because I really do sound horrible, but I can generate tones. They may not be completely clear, and I may not be able to hold them for very long, and I may have a very limited range at the moment, but I can sing musical notes. I can sing. What will happen when the trach tube is finally removed and I can breathe and support my voice in an unencumbered manner?
And these are just three facets of my recovery. I have been told that I must prepare myself for my new limitations, that I must accept them and move on and learn how to live with them. That I must adapt to function with parts of my being missing.
Make me, motherfucker.
Today, I am strong.
Until next time, my friends, take care of each other.
So say we all.
