off course and astray

by Hilla Duka


The road forward

I realise it's been so long since I've written, one could easily assume I've stopped. However, that's not the case, it's just that I haven't been in sync with myself. So many things have happened lately, I've felt a bit as if I've lost my bearing, and forgot where I was, and what I was fighting for.

 

So first and foremost, just to update you who might still look in from time to time - the cancer is not growing, at least as far as the doctors can tell. I'm now twelve months in remission, and so very, very thankful for it. Especially since I've recently come to realise that judging from the blood tests when I was first diagnosed, it was entirely possible that I wouldn't be strong enough to cope with even one chemo treatment, let alone ten consecutive one's. But I did, and I'm still here, and very grateful for it. I still take things day by day, I still focus more on family than anything else, but I've lost my centre, and I need to fight to get back to that calm, centered place where I felt in touch and in tune.

 

The last few weeks have been mad, I've had surgery on my hand, so underneath a massive bandage there's a scar running across my palm and up on my wrist. Or at least there will be, once the stitches are removed. Then after a short recess for Christmas and New Year's, we're doing the same thing on the other hand. Carpal tunnel syndrome, one of many little reminders of the chemo that has been left in my body... Still, no point in complaining, and I'm happy to have it treated.

 

And since misery loves company, my middle son Jacob was taken (well, I took him, not as in abducted by aliens) to the emergency room in the middle of the night for appendicitis. It was gut wrenching to see him in pain, to see his eyelids flutter to a close and be ushered from the room. After a torturous 90 minutes he was in recovery, and I sat by his side as he slowly came out of it. It was only 36 hours between going in and coming back home - one appendix shorter. But both he and I are mending well, even though we sometimes forget to be careful enough with our stitched up selves.

 

I had to return to that, as I was proof reading for embarrassing typos: Being careful with our stitched up selves. How many of us are? We're all broken in some way, be it visible or not. In our thirties, how many of us can honestly say otherwise? And honestly, how often do we take care of ourselves? In fact, we go so far as to take pride in NOT taking care of ourselves! What a crazy thought... And then we wonder why people hit the wall, get depressed, divorced, whatnot. How can it be that it's so, so hard, to just take care of "our stitched up selves"?

 

Well, I suddenly seem to have a million things to write down and let you know of, but I'll leave it there tonight, and know that I will put together another post soon.


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