But I find it harder to push those pesky niggly little thoughts of test results aside on days when the sky is gray, as it is today. I had 2 CT scans last week: 1 of my chest and another of my abdomin. Next week I go for a bone scan.
On days like this I find my mind involuntarily asking questions. Questions like:
. The last several scans have been good, but how long will this last? . What is the longest anyone has lived with mets to the lungs?
. How long can I manage on long-term-disability before I have to dip into my meager RRSPs?
. Should I plan another trip to Halifax to see the energy healer in Mahone Bay?
. Is crocheting in front of the TV the best use of my time, or is it therapeutic? (It's becoming a bit of an addiction - I'll post pictures later).
. Is the slight ache in my back something to be concerned about? (Probably more from poor posture while crocheting in front of the TV).
. Did the character in One Week die or was he the narrator Campbell Scott as an older man? (I thought I knew the answer but Adam & Tara saw it a different way. Now I have to see it again, which I wanted to do anyway).
While I'm on the subject of questions, here are a few of my answers to the questions asked in the One Week movie trailer:
When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them. They are the life boats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely illusive. So the question becomes, or should have been all a long...
What would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live?
While it appears that I have more than one day, one week, or one month (unless I'm hit by the proverbial bus), metastatic cancer has definately made me take yet another hard look at my life. I still hope to chip away at my bucket list, but I find myself just living, without a lot of fanfare, maybe because I never realized before this that living a simple life can be special in it's own way. It's OK to just BE.
What life boat would you grab on to?
The people in the boat with me are more important than the life boat itself. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like without the wonderful friends that have come into my life.
What secret would you tell?
Secrets? I'm pretty much an open book (which is why I'm comforable writing a blog) so there aren't too many secrets to tell.
What band would you see?
The Rolling Stones.
What person would you declare your love to?
That's easy: my son Adam, unconditionally, always and forever. (That sounds so sappy, but if you are a parent, you know where I'm coming from).
What wish would you fulfil?
When I wish on birthday candles or on a star, they are usually wishes that are out of my control: I wish a long and happy life for my son, I wish happiness & good health for my family, I wish for a quick and painless death.
What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee?
Coffee on the side of a mountain in Nepal would be wonderful. Maybe I could fit it into a tour of Cambodia, Laos & Vietnam.
What book would you write?
A book for my future grandchild(ren). I'd call it 'The Story of Amma'.
2 comments:
What a beautiful post. I'm sitting in the MRI waiting room at the General Hospital and I started to tear up a bit when I read your post. I too hope that the pictures come back clear and that my breast looks healthy. I wonder if I am as good as I feel.
Daiva: I'm sure your tests will be clear. I write about women with mets because that's where I'm at, but I can't tell you how many more that I know that have been cancer free for 20+ years.
In the early days of the Busting Out dragon boat team there was a young women named Brigette. She was 29 and just married when she was diagnosed. She had treatment and then went on to have a baby several years later. I'm guessing it's close to 10 years for her and she's living a healthy cancer-free life with her family.
Chris
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