LIVE!

There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
~ Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

I’m not courageous by any means. I’m pigheaded not brave – or mebbe I'm just resigned.

A friend asked if I’d ever refused a recommended surgery or delayed one.

No. I’ve chosen non-invasive procedures over the old slice and dice when those seemed like workable solutions (sometimes they have been and sometimes not) but when Plotkin says it’s go-time, I go.

That’s not fearlessness, that’s just my profound wish to NOT become any more enfeebled (or dead) than I already am.

My cousin Carmel, tired from the uphill battle with her neurofibromatosis two-ed bod, counted exclusively on GOD, without able assists from medics, to cure her (FYI, just like the summertime blues, there ain't no cure for this shit). Ya know, I get it. I understand…’cept for the only god can heal me part. Battling yur  own trecherous bod's exhausting. Carm died at the age of 50. Her trés religious, god banging, evangelical husband had put her in a nursing home to molder away. When the tumors took her, he quickly turned around and married his girlfriend. This must be holy roller marital advice – Wife’s ill? Pray but carry a spar. 

My mother and father prayed too.They even attended a couple shyster-y faith healing events. (because why not and who knows) BUT they also regularly visited the docs at MGH. At least they did until my father wasn’t well enough to stay on top of things anymore. My mother made it to a respectable 84. Had they lived up here and been able to get informed care she probably would have lived even longer, not been blind/deaf OR in a wheelchair.

I learned from Carm and mia madre. I don’t delay check ups, MRIs, treatments, surgeries or any of that shit. This ain’t my idea of fun BUT it’s how I’m stayin’ alive.

Yesterday I woke and just felt off – way off and down. I was ultra weak and, added to that, I was in a big fat state of bummerosity. Why? Warum? Por fucking qué? Were the meningiomas in my back und Kopf calling to me? OR could it simply be a combination of issues effecting my emotional state which of course acts nastily on my physical being?

What coulda been preying on me bean?
         1) left over fear and tension from almost losing an eye – half my motherfucking vision?
         2) fear, tension and mega rage over the state of the country?
OR
         3) DING DONG it’s that time of year again. I passed the date when TAB died the first time (June 27th) and the medics brought him back to life. Thursday will be Death Anniversary II: the NOT coming back-ening.
Sometimes shit's not due to a single heinosity. Now that I understand what yesterday’s mega melancholia was about, I can get back to my usual demi-functionality. Ya know – gym, painting, errands and focused, on-the-clock cat cosseting. Also too, I have my next tumor tribe check up in November. If the gross tippiness doesn't lift with my mood, I'll waltz in for a visit mit dem medicos.

She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.
~ Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated