Here comes the rain again and again and again…
Time fell back this weekend and the heavy that is a promise of winter weighs upon me. This is not a bad feeling, I have always enjoyed the shifting of the seasons, though I wish the cold, wet and windy would have eased in rather than just shown up one day in full force with snow whispering from around the corner. Today I am a little low energy, I took a tiny nap during a salacious and disturbing documentary about Jerry Falwell Jr after coming home from wound care. When I was at my appointment I heard a person in the next cubicle talking about her wound, the doctor was encouraging and felt it would heal. I hope one day to hear that my wounds are healed.
When people talk about friends and family with cancer the usual talking point is survival or death. I want to know more details, maybe that's why I keep adding my own here. When they speak of someone surviving cancer, sometimes over and over, the conclusion is "They keep kicking it!" Or something similar, like there is no in between...Onlookers can close their eyes and skip to the good parts (or what they consider good parts) while those of us riding the roller coaster have our eyes taped open Clockwork Orange style, however badly we want to close our eyes or look ahead, our bodies force us to experience everything, the price that's paid for not paying attention sooner, I imagine.
I have had open wounds in my body since my first abscess surgery in 2020. Malignant wounds are not supposed to heal, though mine have done a pretty decent job trying to. I think the most open wounds I have had at the same time were 5, right now I have 3. Wound care is not as intense as it has been, I used to have to be packed twice a day. The worst part is the serous fluid that oozes out of all of the holes of my undercarriage, "moist" is not just a creepy word, it's a miserable feeling at times. At this point I am not "malodorous," which has been noted in my chart before, an indication of infection and a horrible feeling...I really hate being stinky.
My point in sharing the uncomfortable and gross things is not to be a downer. I have lived with some pretty hellacious shit but I can still enjoy life as much as possible and I am certainly not the only one who lives with some personal horror that feels this way, I am sure.
I would just like it if people on the outside would...I don't know...Maybe not try and tie a conclusion of "survival" up with a bow, like there is nothing more to it and everything is perfect now. As if being deemed "cured" means you are the same as you ever were. As if just being alive was a "win." I will never be the same, even if my parts were all put back where they belong but regardless of dealing with some disease or not, change is inevitable and we can fight it or we can roll with it.
Don't forget to vote!
Until next time ❤️
P.S. Remember when I got to open up the National Air Guitar Championships in Portland last summer? Here is the video. I am beyond proud that I was able to perform, and choreograph this piece even if there were some technical difficulties. My hussies, as always were amazing and weird in the best way possible. I am beyond grateful to my own body and powers that be (friends, loved ones, science) that made this possible however silly it may be.