Live while you can

I’m sick of writing about, you know what. It feels depressing and self-indulgent and, guess what? I’m going to write about it again – albeit with a more positive spin.

This thing plays with your mind, which is probably not overly surprising. You have enough information to be dangerous but not enough to be comfortable. You clutch at straws and jump at shadows, all while nothing has changed. In the end, there’s no point worrying about it until you know what it is, and then you deal with that.

I still don’t know and won’t for a few days. Probably for no good reason, I’m more hopeful than I was before. All the mental permutations I’ve churned through have thrown up a few little factoids to hang onto (that’s the clutching at straws phase).

If I’ve got Cancer, then it’s nose cancer. I don’t fit the profile of someone suffering from that – I don’t smoke, I’ve not inhaled anything I shouldn’t have, and I don’t work in an environment conducive to these toxins. That’s fair enough, but then how many times have you heard stories of the lung cancer victim who ‘never smoked in their life? It’s something, but it’s not game, set, and match.

I’ve actually felt a bit better since coming back from the hospital. While I was there, they suctioned out some of the gunk in my nose, and it seems to have made a difference. I wake up each morning – pardon the detail – with snot dried in my nostril, which I can then blow out and clear. This is in contrast to the oozy stuff that was clogging me up before. I’m sneezing a little too, which is new.

I figure the suctioning cleared out the airways and allowed the mucus to flow again instead of jamming up. That eases the pressure and the severity of the pain. Whether it means anything more than that, I don’t know.

I’m still sleeping a lot, and that’s probably because of the painkillers in me. They probably have a half-life of I don’t know and take a while to clear out of your system. There’s still some pain towards the evening, and I still take painkillers, but not as many.

Bed is my favourite place, anyway. Sleep is the sanctuary that removes me from pain and foggy head, and desperate speculations. I pretty well wind down by 10pm every night and often earlier. I make sure I’m well medicated before I close my eyes, or else I’ll wake in the night with pain. With luck, I sleep a good 10 hours and even then will stay abed for an hour or two longer in a semi-state of consciousness.

I remember that feeling from when I was a teenager – the delicious sense of half-awake/half-asleep. I lay in that state, the flannelette sheets soft and warm around me and Rigby snuggling close into my side. He loves it as much as I do, and his care and affection for me through this has been important.

Today, I got my hair cut, which reinforces an otherwise tenuous sense of normality. I’ve signed the papers for my new home and just have to pack. I’ve cleared things with work – they don’t expect me until whenever, but there are meetings I’ll attend this afternoon, just as I did yesterday. And, if I don’t decline too much, I might go for a drink tonight.

Next week is another story, but I feel I have a thread on this now, and an idea of it may be a bit more informed than the docs – certainly, a more intimate idea of it.

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