Okay, so I have been a-Googling. Not sure why, because I think I know all I need to about lung cancer. Not that I like to live by labels, but I’m having a hard time calling myself a survivor. So I’ve decided I’m in remission—which is really what it is. That huge pink campaign has given a lot of us hope, and maybe some breast cancers are cured, but not all cancers are equal opportunity invaders.
I don’t want to wander around with a 67%—“ooooh, that’s a good statistic”, said by Blunt Oncologist—survival rate after 5 years. No. There may be cures for some cancers. Maybe miracles have been granted. But to live in ignorance and denial is nonsense. I would rather know that there is a possibility of cancer returning—it’s better than a blindside. I’m okay with that. My brain accepts the reality better than campaigns taking advantage of my gullibility and vulnerabilities. Besides, I’m tired of obsessing over the what-ifs.
However, I am proud to say that I have survived enough bouts of depression that I like the word survivor. I’m hoping all that I have learned, and continue to learn–depression is something I have some control over–cancer, I do not. Maybe I’m fooling myself about depression, but I’m prepared for that skirmish too.
I started a little goal list yesterday. Ha! That’s nothing really new—I have goal lists all over the place. Anyway, the first thing I wrote was that it was going to be a good day. I accomplished those specific goals slightly after the time I allotted, but my sweat was worthy of a Popsicle reward.
My grandma made me a quilt when I was a young. That thing went everywhere with me. Girl Scout camp outs, overnights at friends (which I could rarely do because of the umbilical cord attached to my mom and dad). I believe the quilt has been back and forth from Washington State and Arizona a couple of times. However, I finally had to retire it in my early adult years. The poor thing started looking bad–it was disintegrating.
Kind of a fitting metaphor for my life–full of holes, clinging to the threads holding me together.
Google hasn’t given me much hope for one of my most treasured possessions. I have beautiful memories, and it was a good quilt during its day, but I must find something else to do with it. My thought was to take the good parts from my quilt, put it together with parts of my dad’s shirts, and my father in law’s shirts, and make a new quilt. sigh
My grandma hand sewed the top of the quilt to the batting. The crazy squares were sewn together by machine. I have been painstakingly taking apart my tattered quilt, and I’m finding very few, nearly viable, squares to use. I had to rethink my plan. Now, they will be hanging in a picture frame, no longer to be used as part of a quilt.
Unfortunately, it adds another project that will probably be left in the unfinished object pile. I’m fighting to quit doing that, and I will conquer it. One project at a time!
So, you’re probably thinking, April is feeling sorry for herself. But, I’m not even frustrated. I am sad about the quilt because once I took the back off, it was worse than I thought. But—it is what it is.
While my husband is waiting for me to complete just one more row, or finish reading this last article….. you get the picture, he watches the local “news”.
You know the example of a stand up comic telling their funny stories, and all that is heard is the sound of crickets? This happened during the news last night.
I wasn’t listening to the story, just the white noise of the reporter’s voice. Then–silence–except for the real sound of crickets. Quite a few seconds worth of cricket chatter, which in TV Land, is the gaffe of all gaffes. Well, I suppose there are wardrobe malfunctions, speaking while thinking the microphone is off, and many other awkward moments, but this one was too funny–in my opinion.
To me, the cricket thing was worth “listening” to the news last night. It made for a good chuckle before going to bed.
Hope you have a good day, I’m starting on my second daily goal list, and the first thing I wrote—today is going to be a good day. I’m hoping my dreadful scampering through the grocery store doesn’t ruin it.