Remember it’s fun to swim and dance with glee, cause when you do it sets you free. Truth be told, if I may be so bold, being silly makes me smile. It gets rid of the waste by making my day taste sweet and tart as it warms my heart. It is especially great when its late and we feel old and cold. We can scrape off the stress as we are impressed by the marvelous melodies of our magnificent moments. So as you sit, sleep or stand wiggle your feet like you are listening to a band. Shift your hips from side to side like the electric slide. Laugh, love and live your life to the fullest. Use your clever mind and pull joy’s lever and surely you will have fun forever!
Every choice we make has a price, from the softest simplest decisions to actions of incredible magnitude. When it comes to cancer the prices are inflated, no matter what we do, we will feel a great amount of agony. Although we can’t escape the agony we can influence how much pain we are willing to pay to live. If you have never faced the big decisions of life and death, treatment or no treatment these concepts are truly impossible to understand. You might be able to fantasize about what you would or wouldn’t do, but that’s all they are, fantasies. I hope you never have to face the cold air of cancer to discover what you would actually do.
Lets dial it back a notch and imagine a simpler, easier place. Imagine laying on your comfortable bed, as you stretch and sprawl out you hear a soft pop. Now there is some slack in the fitted sheet beneath you because its has come loose from the corner. You lay there for a moment, you could get up and remake the bed and sure it might make the experience more comfortable, but you are going to lose the comfort you currently have. If it is a chilly morning you are guaranteed to experience the cold air outside your comfortable cocoon. In a lot of ways this is how cancer is. It sucks that the bed is slowly unraveling. However, if you try and fix it, you are guaranteed to lose something you currently have.
I love the warmth of my bed in the morning, feeling those soft clean linens around my body feels fantastic. Poking my foot into the cold air, then slowly sliding it under the warm blanket is such a magical sensation. This comparison reminds me of the first day I started coughing up blood. I was nestled in my bed, comfortably relaxing within my blanket burrito. The comfort slowly slipped away as I started coughing and hacking. Though I knew something bad was happening, I dreaded to see exactly what. My reluctance to reach into the cold air outside my cocoon has paralleled many terrifying moments of my cancer journey. There is peace not knowing. However there is horror in it too. Eventually a time comes when we are forced to face our misfortune and endure the cold air of our cancer.
When the time comes for you consider moving from your perfect pocket of warmth, ask yourself a few questions. What is the goal, what will you gain from this, what will it cost and will it be worth the sacrifice? In the journey of cancer we all have to a price to pay, that price isn’t in money, it is in pain. How much pain are you willing to pay to live?
When we get up to fix the sheets it comes with a fair amount of discomfort. We have to give some to get some. With cancer it is much harsher, you have to give a lot to maybe get a lot. It is a gamble, the bed you make might not be the one you want to sleep in. Whatever you decide it is your choice, no one else can or should make it for you. When everything is said and done, you suffer with the consequences of your action or inaction. Whichever decision you make it comes with a hefty price, and when it comes to cancer there are no small prices to pay.
The cold air can haunt your dreams
Years ago when I first wrote this it was after having a nightmare. My sleepy time tunes should have been terrific, instead they were terrifying. My night time slumber land was wracked with terrible feels and dream sights.
The dark dream was set in my home. A terrible rain roared above, like a waterfall thick droplets soaked my roof. There was so much water the house couldn’t keep up and so it began to pour into the attic and drip through the ceiling. The floor was covered in water and my basement was flooding. Everything was falling apart. No matter how much I worked to save my house it continued to fill.
I can remember distinctly feeling like no matter what I did, no matter what changes I made, the effects of the water would remain. There were moments in the dream when I was outside my house looking inside. I was both inside and outside at the same time. My outside-self watched as I fought the torrential downpour as it obliterated my home. As I watched I considered my options, I could let the rain do its thing and then reenter the home like nothing happened, or I could cut out the bad parts and treat the remaining wood with chemicals.
I was afraid of cutting it up and spraying it with chemicals, because I wasn’t sure if I could handle that stress. Could I walk away from the home? Maybe instead I could just do nothing and let nature take its course? I knew with this kind of damage there was no way I could permanently fix it. I didn’t want to leave my home, yet at the same time I didn’t want to continuously struggle to fix it. Its a daunting task, especially when its destined to be destroyed. My home would be uncomfortable to live in with the warped floors and wet ceilings, but that life would be better than to have it cut up and gutted.
Sometimes our dreams process our fears and thoughts.
Our dreams grant us the opportunity to explore our world in another way. Its a time when we can see our life with the insight of our sleepy time eye. This nightmare was a reflection of the cold air outside of my blanket. I had just completed chemotherapy, the harm it had done was horrible and I was afraid of enduring it again.
The symbols in the dream were obvious, even within the first few minutes of waking up I knew what they represented. The water was the cancer and my home was my body. The dream was a conversation with myself, a dialogue between the deepest depths of my inside zones and the outer layers of my personality. It was an internal conversation and contract with myself to never again endure the horror of chemotherapy.
Make the right decisions for you and only you
It all comes down to making the right decisions for you. We all have to decide how much we are willing to endure. At what point are you done dealing with the hell of hardship? Is there a point when you call it quits and when you reach that point, what will you do?
No matter what you decide, select your treatment with considerable thought. How you will feel afterwards. What are you giving up to live, how much life do you need to have the experiences you want, and who’s wants are you following?