Imagine…

5/18/22

A place where you can go and everything is ok. I think of this place a lot. I don’t know exactly where it is but I keep searching because I know eventually I’ll find it. It has to be out there or what am I do all of this for? So as long as there is a breath in my body I’ll be waiting to exhale.

Cancer limbo. That special spacial spot that exists just because. That’s where I’ve been relocated to while I wait for the toxicity to pass through my body. And there’s nothing I can do to speed up the process. I’m forced to embrace the wait, as June 7th slowly approaches which is the day the doctors get to scan my bar code and hopefully reveal some progress.

It’s the wait that gnaws at you. Like a rat burrowing through your home’s insulation, defecating all through out the walls, leaving it’s filth behind to proliferate. Professionals use poison to counter the infection, following the old adage that two negatives make a positive. Meanwhile you’re stuck trying to stay positive in a world full of negativity.

Then there’s the Greek Freak. And I’m not talking about Giannis. My cancer teams surgeon hails from Greece. Are you aware of what Going Greek means? Let me see if I can sum this up for you. My doctor from Greece who I’ve nick-named my therapist (The-Rapist) will be performing a manual exam again and I find this terrifying.

I’m bruised and battered. I’m exhausted and feeble. My body won’t adhere to normal daily activities. I’m sleep deprived, and I’m slowly deteriorating from it. I see things that aren’t there, hallucinating without any pharmaceutical assistance. I flood my system with medication that’s meant to ease my suffering but eventually causes additional problems I’ll have to deal with down the road. And yet I’m still here, still moving forward, still presenting preposterous positivity like everything is ok.

Imagine…, a place where you can go and everything is ok. I’ll get there eventually.