Wednesday, July 6, 2011
There is something happening
there is something happening in the universe. There is something very powerful happening in the universe.
Amor Fati
I am not afraid. I am ready to suffer more than any man has ever suffered in this lifetime. I am not afraid. I have no fear. I will push until I die. Until I literally fall into oblivion. Until I literally fucking crumple and can no longer function. Til I cry that there is nothing left for me to give this world. I will push until I literally fall apart and die. There is no choice. I will go until there is nothing left of me. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I will die fighting like a fucking soldier. If I must die then I must, but until then I will fight this shit. I will fight. I will claw my fucking way up this mountain even if it means my complete and utter destruction. There is nothing left to do but push harder than I have ever pushed in my life. There is no longer any option. The only options that are left to me are death and pushing. I cannot die yet, so I must go go go go go go go go go go go go go go go. I cannot die yet I refuse to let myself fall into the mire. I will fight this fucking beast. I will fucking fight this abhorrent experience until it kills me. But it has to fucking kill me. Fuck this disease. Fuck it. Fuck this suffering. Fuck this fucking disease I will not let it take me. I will not let this fucking disease take my life from me. I refuse to break down. I refuse to let this kill me. I will not give up. I will never give up. I will not take my life. I will fight like I have never fought in my life. I will take all the pain of the world on my shoulders. I have no other option. That is my only option. I will not complain anymore. This is my burden to bear, and I must bear it. No one can save me but myself.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
flipwilson quote #2
History has known a zillion tragedies and many have made the most of pure hell. you have one of many ailments that a human can experience. Kids die of leukemia everyday, some poor sap just lost his mind to schizophrenia, another was born blind and deaf, another with MS. Innocent people get shot and raped and swindled. We're on planet pain man and we have to survive and not play the coward.
flipwilson quote
Don't go down without fighting. This is a moment, an experience. it is happening to you right now. Now how do you deal with it? We do not corner the market on suffering and you are one of way too many dealing with their own hells right now. Again, what are you gonna do with this moment? Everyone on here maybe at one time or another never thought we would be in this situation. Bad things only happened to other people right? Well now we're those other people and either you become a statistic or get in the ring and go a couple rounds with this. It's ok to lose, but you can't give up.
Whatever Life We Get is Bonus
Looking through my living room window, I suspect being outside would feel wonderful, but I really wouldn't know. As I write this from my bed, my entire body feels saturated in a sticky, toxic nausea, with chemotherapy pumping through my 18-year-old veins. Like Michael Jackson's moonwalk, chemotherapy has this strange way of moving a person another step towards life and death at the same time.
Twenty three months ago, I was diagnosed with stage IV rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare pediatric muscle cancer affecting only 350 children a year. With odds like that, and with a 20 percent chance of survival, I can only deduce two possibilities about the universe: God's plan is evident in every little shifting of the breeze, or it's totally random. I don't see how there could be much middle ground.
I remember my first chemo round, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. The agony was stunning. I've long since learned to go ahead and cry. How could this have happened? Yet as with anything that happens, it happens, and then suddenly you find it has happened, and more things keep continuing to happen. Chemotherapy has instilled in me a visceral understanding that all bad things will pass in time ... but that all good things will too.
I set out on a 19-month course of treatment, chronicling the journey on an online blog. Little did I know that my little Web site intended to keep extended family and friends informed would find readers all across the country and even the world, including such countries as Japan, Australia, Germany, Brazil.
My journey became our journey, with treatment finishing last December. For a brief, hopeful month in January, it appeared to have been successful. My scans were clear. But, as is so common with cancer, there were still sub-detectable rogue cells lurking in distant corners of my body. Within weeks, they swarmed forth again and my body was infested once more.
A recurrence of my kind of cancer has been hitherto incurable, although I still cling to a slim ray of hope. But in all likelihood, I am in the last few months of my short life.
Unlike many cancer patients, I don't have much anger. The way I see it, we're not entitled to one breath of air. We did nothing to earn it, so whatever we get is bonus. I might be more than a little disappointed with the hand I've been dealt, but this is what it is. Thinking about what it could be is pointless. It ought to be different, that's for sure, but it ain't. A moment spent moping is a moment wasted.
I accept what is to come, but I cannot rid myself of a deep mourning for all those experiences -- college, marriage, children, grandchildren -- that will probably never be mine to celebrate. What solace I do find is in the knowledge that I have done everything I can to transmute this terribleness into something positive by showing as many people as I can how to endure it with a smile.
I don't believe you can ask for any more, but if I could ask for something, it would be to be able to go outside into the glorious spring air, feeling healthy and blissfully clueless as to how lucky I was for it, if only just for an hour.
Twenty three months ago, I was diagnosed with stage IV rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare pediatric muscle cancer affecting only 350 children a year. With odds like that, and with a 20 percent chance of survival, I can only deduce two possibilities about the universe: God's plan is evident in every little shifting of the breeze, or it's totally random. I don't see how there could be much middle ground.
I remember my first chemo round, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. The agony was stunning. I've long since learned to go ahead and cry. How could this have happened? Yet as with anything that happens, it happens, and then suddenly you find it has happened, and more things keep continuing to happen. Chemotherapy has instilled in me a visceral understanding that all bad things will pass in time ... but that all good things will too.
I set out on a 19-month course of treatment, chronicling the journey on an online blog. Little did I know that my little Web site intended to keep extended family and friends informed would find readers all across the country and even the world, including such countries as Japan, Australia, Germany, Brazil.
My journey became our journey, with treatment finishing last December. For a brief, hopeful month in January, it appeared to have been successful. My scans were clear. But, as is so common with cancer, there were still sub-detectable rogue cells lurking in distant corners of my body. Within weeks, they swarmed forth again and my body was infested once more.
A recurrence of my kind of cancer has been hitherto incurable, although I still cling to a slim ray of hope. But in all likelihood, I am in the last few months of my short life.
Unlike many cancer patients, I don't have much anger. The way I see it, we're not entitled to one breath of air. We did nothing to earn it, so whatever we get is bonus. I might be more than a little disappointed with the hand I've been dealt, but this is what it is. Thinking about what it could be is pointless. It ought to be different, that's for sure, but it ain't. A moment spent moping is a moment wasted.
I accept what is to come, but I cannot rid myself of a deep mourning for all those experiences -- college, marriage, children, grandchildren -- that will probably never be mine to celebrate. What solace I do find is in the knowledge that I have done everything I can to transmute this terribleness into something positive by showing as many people as I can how to endure it with a smile.
I don't believe you can ask for any more, but if I could ask for something, it would be to be able to go outside into the glorious spring air, feeling healthy and blissfully clueless as to how lucky I was for it, if only just for an hour.
Waking
In the spirit of the terminally ill patient, I have really pushed myself this morning to be as positive as humanly possible. I honestly woke up feeling like I imagine the day after chemotherapy is like. Lying in bed was absolutely excruciating, I felt like the definition of fucked up. Again, the type of feeling that makes me want to throw in the towel. However, I managed to pull myself through it and have a shower and grab a bite to eat. Now I am at least functional, but I'm tempted to return to the solace of the bed or couch and try to escape this reality i've been thrust into. This has been such a weird experience, total devastation out of left field. Regardless, I have promised myself I will do everything within my power to deliver me from this condition. This involves staying engaged in life regardless of how much of a burden it becomes. I feel less tied to the past, and ready to embrace this new chapter of my life. I just wish I didn't have to suffer so much, it doesn't seem fair. However, perhaps ordinary reason cannot account for my fate of suffering.
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