That last post was not easy to write. I don’t like having bad news, nor sharing it. Who wants to read a story with such a sad ending? It turns out many people do. Thankfully, only a few of those people LIKED my post.
The reality of my health challenges has not yet hit. I may have suspected bad news was coming, yet that suspicion didn’t temper my surprise. Shock is a common response to learning of a terminal illness. Grief is funny that way. I’ve worried about dying for as long as I’ve been sick, but having to face my own demise head on? That’s another matter altogether.
Now that I have the results of my biopsy, I feel unexpected periods of calm, as if I’m walking around in a fog. Every so often my panic erupts, but I shove it away quickly. Thank goodness for my defences, which help me from falling to pieces at times like this.
I even feel some relief at the news, as weird as that sounds. I don’t want to die, of course, but the threat of death hanging over me for so many years has been wearying. I’ve spent 18 years containing my anxiety about a situation I have no control over. If only I could sustain this relief.
How can my emotions be so chaotic? I think it’s because my body doesn’t feel any different today than it felt yesterday. I know that my health is declining–my biopsy results confirmed that–but my body has not registered these changes. I’m not in hospital, and I’m still able to go about my day. How do I accept that my life may be ending when I don’t feel all that sick?
When I am faced with a crisis, I often get stuck. I can help other people manage their stresses–that’s what a psychologist does–because the solution is always easier to see from the outside. But I’m on the inside this time, and I can’t seem to find my way out. Not worrying about dying is far easier said than done.
I was telling a friend how distressed I’ve been, and she wisely reminded me that focussing on death while I’m still physically well is a waste of precious time. She suggested I might as well keep living for as long as I can. J. has been saying the same for years whenever my anxiety about my health has escalated. My life overfloweth with very wise people. I should listen to them more often.
This afternoon, I had the perfect opportunity to stop feeling sorry for myself while Jelly and I attended a PALS visit at the university. The stressed students needed comforting. Jelly’s howls echoed through the hallways as we approached the visiting room. Once we arrived, Jelly kissed and cuddled dog-loving students for 90 minutes, in between naps. For those 90 minutes, I put my worries aside and remembered that I’m not dead yet.
If you catch me moping over the next while, please tell me to snap out of it. Sometimes an outsider’s wise perspective is all I need.