Injection #7 of 60, with a dose of survivor’s guilt and a pinch of PTSD

Here I sit in the parking deck at the cancer center, about to get my monthly injection that will hopefully keep my cancer from returning.

I am overwhelmed by a bewildering swirl of emotions. 

My cousin and childhood playmate lost her husband to colon cancer last night. He was diagnosed 1.5 months ago and they are both in their 30s. She and I are the same age.

I spent a good 20 minutes of my day curled on the floor of my office sobbing, for a combination of pain for her, for him, for myself, for everyone who has been impacted by this fucking disease, and even at life itself for being so damn sweet.

We all cope in our own ways. Here is one of mine:

  
May we all find a little bit of peace today wherever we can. Please.

One thought on “Injection #7 of 60, with a dose of survivor’s guilt and a pinch of PTSD

  1. One of the many things that I LOVE about you is your honesty. Oh, another is your courage to meet it (whatever) where you are, head on. If there is PTSD, damn it, curl up on the floor and cry and scream. And then there is the knowing of what the comforts are that bring you calmness and sweetness and stillness…
    It is all good, crappy at times, but good.
    We all die. Most of us have no idea when that will be. But we get to stop fearing it, and then we are set free to live each moment. This is the best feeling in the world.
    Maybe there is a gift of this journey with these crazy injections and “pre-mature” menopause. Who knows.

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