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I made up another word, do you know what it means? I am once again in a holding pattern. This doesn’t mean I am in a bad place at all, just an uncertain one. Now you might say “Picante, isn’t life uncertain?” Well, yeah, of course it is, anything can happen at anytime but when your body is literally held under a microscope it’s harder to live in the illusion that everything is totally fine...It’s like in the movie “The Matrix,” except instead of just ingesting one red pill I ate the whole bottle.

I have been feeling pretty good energetically but my booty sensations are on low to medium volume whispering once again in that Han Solo voice that seems to haunt me on occasion and of which I have referred to at least a million times in this blog over the last (almost) 2 years “Don’t get cocky kid.” And also like Han Solo I reply “I know.” These conversations usually happen in my head but I do find myself having out loud conversations with my body, dead loved ones and my dogs more and more often, I will not confirm nor deny whether they talk back, ha!

The small ulcers in my butt crack or for you nerds 🙄 upper gluteal cleft, are slowly becoming less angry, the full healing of which I am aiming before I go back on my chemotherapy pill. The idea of starting said treatment before the area is completely healed is not a good one in my opinion and hasn’t worked before, as my skin, raw and irritated after 3 days of the medication, basically ripped itself apart the last two attempts at following the protocol. My body, much like the soul that inhabits it, insists on doing things in its own way...In rereading that sentence I think of what I have said before “I am not a statistic.” Therefore circling back around to actively living in the unknown.

Cancer isn’t the only thing that can kill you when you have it, random infections can destroy a person and our skin is an important barrier to all sorts of insidious interlopers. I have seen more than my share of stories about how people died from complications of cancer treatment but the narrative that seems the loudest is for those that “beat their cancer,” which from my personal perspective, leaves a sour taste in my mouth…Now, before you think me a horrible person let my clarify why I feel the way that I do. I have said this before (oh dear, I know I am repeating myself, at least of this I am aware) but cancer is not a monster to beat. This does not mean that the effects of cancer or the subsequent treatments aren’t monstrous in nature but in my opinion the cancer itself are cells that were (in some cases) unintentionally and/or subconsciously created by the person that has an excessive amount of these confused cells that don’t know when to die. I personally picture them as workaholics who don’t know when to call it quits. The trick is to figure out what is going to get these cells to stop what they are doing and leave their workspace better than how they found it, hopefully. So I prefer to hear about people healing their cancer rather than beating it (though regardless of wording, if you no longer have cancer, well, that is awesome.)

This is just my verbal preference and putting it into those words feels less combative and more hopeful to me. My advice is to find the words and definitions that work for you, seriously. There really is no wrong way if you feel it resonates with you.

I have a weird theory about why I have a rectal tumor. When my mom started actively dying, her last month on this earth in corporeal form, I started having diarrhea more often than was comfortable. This increased throughout the next couple of years even though I was doing all sorts of things to get healthier, even though I would have periods of ease, the purge would start again until it became a daily occurrence and then an hourly occurrence sometimes. There were days when I would imagine a plug in my sphincter, something to stop the seemingly endless supply of shit that was stored inside of me, something that would stop the anal retching as I clutched my guts and did my best Nancy Kerrigan impersonation, rocking and crying “Why me?” The cells in our body are just trying to do what they think is best, I think I had a part in manifesting what became known to me as a cancerous mass. This being my theory, I believe that I am an integral part in my body healing itself, I also believe it is imperative for me to be a facilitator in my own outcome of which I am hoping will be positive.

The last of our friends that have been visiting since May, left today. I found myself a bit of a sloppy mess. At the minimum I am working towards being able to travel easier. I loved having people visit and will continue to enjoy this when people want to come here but I look forward to the time when I can go somewhere without worrying about wound care and whether or not I can handle sitting for long periods of time.

Note to self:

One step at a time.

One foot in front of the other.

Focus on the bird song and the light that dapples through the trees as I walk through the not so dark forest.

Until next time❤️

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