Living in an Undefined Space
At the same time, I can still take care of myself. I cook (a bit), clean (a little), work (some). So far, I can manage most of my pain with prescription drugs that are non-narcotic. I can still ride my exercise bike, just not as much as I’d like. I can still laugh and I can still love.
It feels selfish when I want to talk to close friends about what are usually called “end-of-life issues”. It feels like self-indulgent drama-queenery to talk about my feelings about the cancer and about dying. I feel like a jerk when I have to cancel arrangements or can’t talk on the phone because I am not well enough. I feel like a selfish, entitled idiot when I find myself crying for no apparent reason. So many people are suffering more than you, I tell myself. Lose the drama. You don’t have it bad in the least!
I don’t pray for healing any more. I pray for God’s will to be done and for the grace to accept everything with peace and joy. It wasn’t a decision to start praying like that; it just happened. I haven’t stopped making plans, but the scale of my plans has contracted a little. The God I believe in does miracles, but by their very nature miracles are unusual. I’m not counting on one.
It’s an undefined space that I occupy now. It’s uncharted territory for me, and I don’t know how to conduct myself. I worry a lot about the people who love me. I pray for them all the time because I know that my dying and my death will be painful for them. I thank God that I am blessed with people who love me – so many people are deprived of that.
. . . . .
On a more practical note – tomorrow (yes, Sunday is a working day here) I go back to the neurologist to see about those holes in my skull (the venous lakes) and my more frequent and intense migraines. It’s a nice change to go to the doctor for something that can be treated.