By the grace of God, I found rejuvenation and the healing has begun.
By the grace of God, I found rejuvenation and the healing has begun.
A little over a year ago, I received a grim cancer diagnosis from Dr H.
This particular surgeon looked far too frail and unsteady to be in a kitchen slicing tomatoes, let alone performing an intricate surgery.
I just wanted out of there.
Then I had the privilege of meeting Dr K, an oncologist with the bedside manner of a boorish oaf.
Dr K. informed me that all the prayers in the world wouldn’t be enough to save me.
He also made it clear that I could go to 100 different doctors, and they would all confirm this.
At that point, I was not fearing cancer as much as being “treated” by these two doctors.
So out the door I went, thinking of all the other possibilities that surely must exist.
After trying a little of this and some of that, I was doing fairly well.
I had taken total charge of my personal health, while doing my best to reduce the level of stress in my life, and even taking an extended time off from work.
I became my own full-time job.
It was the best job I ever had.
Reconnecting with myself.
Finally becoming Number One.
There is nothing funny about cancer.
I thought starting a blog with humor would help lighten the overwhelming heavy weight this dreadful disease inflicts upon the body and mind.
I must have been kidding myself.
After a while it dawned on me.
I was not laughing at anything that happened during the course of cancer, nor was I laughing reading about it.
If anything, it brought back memories I’d rather have forgotten.
So then I came to the wise conclusion: the heck with blogging.
I don’t care how funny some incidents may appear, I am done with it.
No longer want to think about it or relive the past year.
Emotional scars left behind .
Huge bills from hospital and doctors.
Really not very funny.
Clothing not fitting the way they use to.
Not at all funny.
Too tired to get out the bed most days.
Not even close to being funny.
But just when I was ready to throw in the towel, I received an email from a fellow blogger named Ashley about how my positive post helped her .
After reading her posts, I was touched by her raw emotions and how, after waiting 2 years, she mustered the courage to finally start a blog in hopes of helping others.
I was touched by this young woman’s outreach and honesty.
She helped me to realize that sharing can be healing.
And so I promised her to dedicate the next blog to her.
Cheers to all my fellow bloggers for a positive, successful, and healthy New Year .
I always somehow manage to break them before the end of January.
So how about not making any?
All I know is, I will try to be kind to others, do good, and be good to myself.
Seems easy enough.
I promise to keep you posted on the progress.
Let’s make this new year a great one, live life, and create as many memories as we can.
And, of course, find reasons to be happy and laugh often… even if it is at ourselves.
Happy New Year!
Life is not only about conquering cancer or any other illnesses, it is about conquering our fears and living life.
Making each day count.
Looking forward, not backward.
Appreciating what we have.
And simply being thankful for every new day given to us, for each day is a gift to be cherished and treasured.
Wishing everyone a joyous holiday season.
Thank you all for joining me on my journey.
Here’s a good rule of thumb:
Stay away from hospitals.
Far, far away.
You’ve got to love some of these doctors.
From the impressively competent to the downright scary last-in-their-graduating-class type of underachievers, there’s one doctor who stands out among all the others.
With a talent unparalleled, Dr. M was truly a character.
From the second he would enter a room, he always managed to create chaos.
Prior to a scheduled procedure, he came by to start setting up.
A second later, my freshly delivered fettucine alfredo lunch tray was airborne.
It splattered and clattered to the floor.
The overturned tray, utensils, and all.
Well, so much for lunch.
Dr. M profusely apologized, then dropped to his hands and knees to attend to the disaster he’d just created.
All I know is I wasn’t about to eat that crap after it had rolled all over the hospital germ-infested floor.
My appetite effectively gone, I watched carefully to make sure he thoroughly washed and sanitized his hands before performing the procedure.
For a supposedly minor procedure that should’ve been done and over with in 15 minutes, his sheer incompetence turned it into a horrifying ordeal that lasted over two hours.
I thought I died and went to…
Well, someplace that sure didn’t resemble my idea of what heaven would look like.
And then I opened my eyes.
That jerk was still standing there.
And this time, he was holding a manual.
Was this for real?
Anybody, just help.
My son in-law walked in at that moment, and didn’t realize this dimwit was actually a so-called medical professional.
Maybe I would wake up and find that it was all a dream.
Dr. M was still there, this time with a YouTube video pulled up on his cell phone, showing my daughter and son in-law how to perform the intricate maintenance procedure once I’m released to go home.
If I’m lucky enough to make it home at all, at this rate.
The next day, the misfit showed up again with a packet of papers.
And guess what happened next?
That’s right, the entire stack of papers somehow managed to fly out of his hands and onto the floor like a heap of confetti.
Only without any occasion to be celebrating.
Even Dr. M had to admit that things always seemed to go wrong whenever he was around.
God have mercy.
It all started on a seemingly normal enough September day. I had been working and feeling fine just a week earlier. Next thing I knew, I could hardly muster up enough energy to even get out of bed and walk to the bathroom.
I felt like I had been dropped into a 5 billion gallon fish tank without an oxygen tank.
After my daughter finally managed to convince me that this was not exactly normal, I wanted to go to Urgent Care, figuring it must be some horrid strain of flu that would be fixed with a few doses of antibiotics.
Well, Urgent Care wasn’t to be, and I ended up in the local Emergency Room. My oxygen level was very low, while my blood pressure was over 200.
I’m not sure how I was even still alive.
At any rate, it was determined that I’d be spending at least a night in the ICU.
But this hospital was under construction and just wasn’t equipped with what I would need, so I got to experience my very first ambulance ride.
Let me tell you, when you’re the one laying in the back of that ambulance, it’s not nearly as exciting as you might think. And it’s a bumpy ride, like bumping along on a gravel road.
On a horse.
All while being hooked up to an IV.
The next hospital would be my home for a solid 10 days.
The only redeeming thing about any of this was the in-room dining service. When you’re bored, pumped with pain meds, and tired of alternately watching the clock and the TV, eating is pretty appealing.
I soon learned all the hospital code jargon. As a matter of fact, I became an expert on recognizing the color code.
Did you know that a Code Purple could mean in-house fighting?
I discovered this in the lobby, where a half-dressed, and half-baked, woman was getting handcuffed by police officers as she was refusing to be admitted.
Or sometimes it meant fighting among family members not in agreement of a particular treatment for a loved one.
I tell you, always something to pass time.
There was a silver lining, though.
Whenever a baby in the hospital would arrive into this chaotic world, Brahm’s Lullaby would play throughout the entire hospital.
Oh yes, my favorite.
Life is precious.
What a beautiful reminder.