It has been more than two months since I have kept up on this blog. Suffice it to say that I have been busy. I know that is no excuse, but it is the best I have.
I have been living.
A cancer diagnosis will do that to you. At least, it has for me.
I suppose that I should be more diligent about writing here on this blog, as I am about all the other ways I am living life–my other blog, work, being a contestant in a pageant, and so many other ways.
I must figure out a way to check in here more often. So today I will start by sharing what I wrote earlier this morning and posted at my other site.
I haven’t always told my story here with the same voice as I do elsewhere. Perhaps, I fear being found out when I feel the most vulnerable.
Today, I began to fill in the details of what started my fiasco two years ago. I suppose that even in my telling of the story, the layers are so thick, that I am only now starting to peel them away. I never expected to be able to tell it all.
As many of you know, I did not expect to live this long…
(Original post on 4/13/2014 as Two Years: It was a Friday, Part 1)
Today marks the day two years ago that I was forced to take a look at life (and symptoms) seriously. I did not often go to doctors, and had some signs that passed months before, but this morning I became more concerned. I was downright scared. Even so, I put off going to the hospital.
I was to leave on Monday for Wichita, Kansas to facilitate a workshop for the week. I was in my preparation mode with packing, cleaning out the refrigerator, and the general running-around-like-a-chicken-with-its-head-cut-off mode I go into before a road trip.
In the wee hours of Friday morning, I woke up with excruciating abdominal pain on my left side. I was doubled-over and it was intolerable. I remembered that same pain from two other episodes–about a year earlier, as well as four months.
This time it was grossly different. Projectile vomiting made me take notice of the pain that I had let pass on two other occasions the previous year.
Yet, I did not call emergency. Quite honestly, I just wanted to fall asleep and get better. I was more concerned about having to be on a plane on Monday morning for work.
I thought about all the things it might be and how I would get through it:
–My favorite coconut chicken curry soup I had eaten for dinner several hours earlier. Could it have been bad? Did I have food poisoning? It will pass.
–The flu. It, too, will pass. Beside that, I have worked through tougher things.
I laid back down about 4 o’clock in the morning, hoping that this would pass quickly. I still had to finish laundry and pack my bags this weekend. I wanted to be more relaxed and get it done with time to spare. But all I could think of that moment was for the pain and nausea to end. I really did not have time for this.
I stayed in bed most of that day. I kept some water and saltine crackers down, but by the time evening came I was still in pain and feeling horrible.
It was the first moment that I considered calling my boss to alert her to have someone else on standby for the workshop. I figured that I would give it another day to see if it would pass.
As I crawled back into bed that night, the last thought I remember going through my head was “Ugh. Today was Friday the 13th.”
***To be continued***
***To gain other perspectives about the journey and how it affects one’s thoughts at different stages, please check out more from this author***
“How Long to Live? One Year, Two If You Are Lucky”
“Suicide: The Night I Took My Life…”
For a variety of topics written by this author, take a stroll with her…