Phew. I’m here. That sounds a lot less impressive than it actually is. But, I’m here and I’m feeling…good…
I haven’t uttered those words…”I feel good…” in a very long time. But I’m happily saying it now. My good and you’re good may be vastly different but that really doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, as adults we are the only ones that are responsible for ourselves in such a way.
But let me go back. First of all, I can’t imagine what my dad has been through in the last several months. I cannot imagine watching my own child deteriorate for no apparent reason. It must have been so agonizing. Don’t get me wrong, it was my physical pain and agony but there is nothing worse in the world than to watch your own child suffer.
And I was sick. Boy, was I sick. It was frustrating and it didn’t make any sense. No matter what we tried, I wasn’t getting better. In fact, I was getting notably sick. I kept thinking back to the six years of remission I had and wondered where they had gone. Ever since coming out of remission, it had been a struggle to stay out of the “red,” so to speak. I was always hanging halfway off the edge, trying not to fall into the next worse thing. And eventually, I would fall. Again and again I fell.
There were hospital stays, blood transfusions, iron transfusions, medications, treatments…everything…you name it.
Eventually, my hair even fell out.