Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Grim Reaper of all Tumors

In which our Heroine takes a walk in the Fog and contemplates Mortality

The fog had rolled in on our street, and Jon, ever the romantic, suggested a walk outside just now, pointing out that a little work-out, such as it is, would be good for me.  I’m not very athletic at the best of times, so I feel comfortable with a short walk being my work-out.  Take that, Jillian.  And you too, Richard Simmons.  Etc…  I don’t really know any other health-nut/work-out-until-you-die gurus. 
There’s something about the fog that makes one reflect the serious things of life.  Perhaps it’s the way your glasses fog up so easily that you can’t actually see out of them.  My kind of brain cancer is the kind that doesn’t spread throughout the body much, but will often come back in the brain, but if it does will be much worse than before.  I am already at the 3rd out of 4 stages, so that only leaves the last and worst: called a glioblastoma.   I know I will beat this one, and go on to live a long and a good life: check.  But I feel like something horrible is going to stalk me my whole life afterward.  Jack the Ripper on a foggy street in Independence Park.  Terrifying, is it not?  Clearly, the struggle is not over when the chemo and the radiation end.   Well, one more lesson in leaving it up to God and getting on with things that I can control, I suppose…

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