Here we go again. That’s what I thought any way. More lumps. This time I had no desire to write about it. I kept thinking I might and then I didn’t. This time the news was good. After a mammogram, an ultra sound and a needle biopsy, the results are in--fatty necrosis. Couldn’t I at least get a diagnosis without the word “Fat” in it? I should just be grateful that the word cancer isn’t in it and leave well enough alone.
The good news came last week and I was elated. Now I have crashed for no reason I can determine. I feel wiped out. My friend Ginny suggests that I was geared up for battle and when they cancelled the war, I suffered some sort of withdrawal from my heightened preparedness. I guess that’s as good an explanation as any. Maybe I’m in an adrenalin slump.
I keep thinking that I should do something important with this new gift of time. The problem is that I don’t have the strength or energy for anything important. It’s about all I can manage to water my potted plants, putter in the garden a bit and get a meal or two on the table every day. If I’m not “sick” then why don’t I have more energy? It’s depressing and sad. I feel so whiney. I certainly have nothing to whine about. I think the losses of September 11th took a toll on my thinking. I think about all those useful people who were lost and are still missed.
I guess that’s part of the confusion for me. It didn’t make sense to me ten years ago and it still doesn’t. What a horrible waste of potential. Of course that doesn’t mean I should necessarily feel guilty for surviving and yet somehow I do.
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