Let's kick some butt

I returned from Great Hucklow feeling really depressed-and I was depressed for two and a half weeks. I had a real pity party: feeling sorry for myself, wondering how on earth I ended up in the position of having (suddenly) such rotten health, a good friend who turned out to be no friend at all (we don't speak to each other now-and that is fine, who needs someone like that?). I had the hospital run nearly every day: the immunologist, the neurologist, the gastroenterologist-and Mr. Tan, the oncologist, who prodded under my arm to see if there is a mass. Not fun.

That was Monday; Tan has ordered a body scan, which I will have on Thursday. Ten days after that I get to see Tan and get the results. Oh, Joy.

I decided to give a name to feeling so down. I call it the Black Dog Blues. Why not give it a name? I think I started to feel a bit better on Monday, since I not only gave my pissy mood a name, but I also decided that I was going to feel more cheerful. Actually, I was boring myself rigid-so I told myself off, reminded myself that life doesn't wait for anyone, and get over it. And, with that, I kicked the black dog's butt out the door.

So now I am feeling better, back to being my irascible self (always allowed when one reaches middle age). And-I will not worry (as if) about the scan or the results. Simple: either I survive or I don't. Either I start living as much as possible now-or I don't.

It's interesting (to me, anyway) that I felt anger, hatred and bitterness toward the people who caused the gentamicin damage-and to those who refused responsibility (so I wasn't compensated-and if I lived in the USA, that would be very different), and those really seriously negative feelings drove me forward. I don't know that I would have come this far-although it has been four long, hard years-if I hadn't been pushed by anger. It turned out to be constructive-at least until last year, when I got the extra blow of being diagnosed with cancer. Personally, I think it is all interrelated.

So now, I just keep plodding along. Tomorrow I see a physiotherapist who will give me extra vestibular exercises-and my balance and vision have been really awful since the weather started to change. But I don't give up. I never give up. There is no sign of a singing fat lady.There is, however, a bag of Kettle Chips with my name on it, and I can hear it calling me ("eat me, eat me"). Now I wish I'd bought stock in the company...