My Oncologist /Hematologist is such a positive doctor. Today he again told me I'm a walking miracle and that I should not worry about the future. He said to keep taking the medications, keep my appointments and move forward. He said if it happens again we'll deal with it. He explained what the doctors would do to try to save the leg and again impressed upon me the importance of taking meds every single, solitary day without fail. I assured him that I don't miss, ever! I understand the importance of it and understand what he went through to get my insurance to pay for it. I'm 100% compliant.
I was very encouraged after seeing him.
My Oncologist is a positive spirit whereas the Surgeon is very kind hearted yet a realist with a blunt side. It's obvious he cares, he was there for me during my whole hospitalization, day in, day out. But he's a realist and sometimes gives medical news with a very clinical tone, forgetting I have to live with that news. Anyway, they work great together and complement one another nicely. I'm happy to have them on my care team
In lighter news. I may need to give up Swiss coffee. Omg. A friend of mine gave me some Swiss coffee in the morning and the caffeine content was so high that I didn't sleep that night. Wow! The coffee was excellent but I was so wired it wasn't even funny. Switzerland, what did you do to that coffee?
It's still a bit difficult to reach out, but I did with a friend this evening. I told her what the surgeon's prognosis is. I decided to risk and tell her that for an hour or so each morning I struggle with the feeling that it was pointless to wake up. It takes a good self talk to get up and live.
In addition to talking to myself about living, I'm trying my best to complete a few dolls that my neighbor ordered. When I went to look for my patterns I discovered they had all been thrown away back when the whole hospitalization happened. I was rather upset to lose them but I have to remember that anything that was lost to the trash is replaceable. Today I ordered new patterns. Lord knows I couldn't afford it but I went ahead and did it so I can get back to making dolls and bag holders. I don't want to put off doll making any longer.
I was able to go to the Kingdom Hall tonight. Boy was it helpful to worship in person and to see everyone. It was really good.
Here is a picture of Joey taking over my favorite blanket. Lol. Joe is very different from my old kitty Mary Jane.
I have to remember not to measure him by other pets. I just need to let his light shine without conditions. He's a good boy. He doesn't eat my plants or destroy anything. He doesn't bother me when I sleep and he uses the box without exception. He's quiet, loving, friendly and eats whatever you put in front of him. He really is a good boy. I just adore him.
It's time to sip ginger wine and go to sleep next to my furry buddy. ❤️
The problem with being told I'm strong is that it seems to give onlookers permission to let me be, do little, and go on as usual. I hate being told I'm strong because of all the hidden messages with it.
My doctor and I had conversation where I was asked if I really wanted to know about the true nature of this illness. She said, is it better to know than not to know? She said that at least knowing, I can be prepared. She said I'm taking it well and that I'm a strong woman. I'm strong when I can be but when strength is gone I require what everyone else requires, a friend. But if people have the idea that I'm strong at all, I'll get left. People will forget me or maybe they'll push me to the background and go on with life as usual denying that I'm falling apart because it's easier for their pain. It feels so negative. Alone. Labeled strong for the self preservation of others.' Yeah this is bad but she can do it, she can take it.' I hate being called strong.
Today I was neither strong nor weak. I just managed through some severe fatigue and a few flashbacks from the hospitalization. My CNA was here when I was lying down and the flashbacks started. I turned over and dropped a few tears because the thought of doing that ever again is heavy. It took two or three minutes of silent tears and I was able to gather myself. I cry so quietly that unless you're right beside me you may not realize it at all. The CNA didn't know a thing which is exactly the way I wanted it.
As the doctor said, knowing means I can be prepared. I can, and so can the doctors. They know what to look for. They know the signs and how bad it can quickly get. (My heart is so heavy.) So yes, it's better to know what medications, what procedures, what surgeons and what hospital should be involved. We know who will speak for me if I can't speak for myself. Most of all we know this mixed up, emotional, half broken, headstrong woman wishes to live.