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Tinker Tailor Soldier Seeker

I saw my chiro yesterday, who’s really more like a
know-it-all of everything, so I trust him with his opinion and my care. So when
I asked him if he thought I should have my final round of chemo, he poked a few
areas of my body, and said that it’s showing that I’m making cells alright, but
that I’m not killing off the old ones effectively, so that, Yes, he thinks I
should have the final round.
I just emailed him to ask how a final round of chemo actually helps
in that regard, because won’t that simply tax my system further, and create an
even weaker “killing” system?
I don’t know. I just know that this is so hard. That I’m so
tired, and I feel so beat up, and beyond what I feel capable of withstanding to
spend a week in a hospital and a month watching blood counts do things, and
hope, just hope beyond fucking hope that this all does anything at all.
You know, I still have a 40% chance of living according to
their statistics. It’ll be 40% until the 5 year mark when my chances get higher.
So, it’s not like I feel out of the woods, or safe. And when I’m not feeling
safe, why do I want to put myself in a situation (hospital) that makes me feel
even more out of touch with myself and my life, my serenity, my safety.
I don’t know yet. I’m not making any decisions today. I have
to hear back from my oncologist about an admission date, because the eye doctor
I saw yesterday is still concerned that I’m not ready for chemo while the eye infection is still not “resolved.”
Can’t I just figure it out from the inside? Find the
solution, and heal myself? Can’t I just read Caroline Myss, and Anne Lamott, and
this book on healing trauma, and see my depth hypnosis lady, and, as I did this
week, contact a therapist who deals in somatic therapy specifically around
sexual trauma? Can’t I just be a seeker, not a patient? Stop being the good
soldier?
I am not a good
soldier anymore. I’m the, “Don’t worry about me guys, just leave me here,” soldier right now. I’ve fought. Hard. For years. I’ve done every goddamned thing that I know how
to do, and yet, I’m still scared, and crying, and human, and worried, and
tired.
Can’t I just go to improv class? And call back my friend to sing with her band? And use the keyboard that the temple leant me? And say
yes when people invite me out? And use this next month to not be in chemo
land, but to be in recovering land, so that I can return to work a bit more
than a walking corpse? (a melodramatic, but effective, visual)
Can’t I stop now?
Stop these ways of “healing,” these toxic, nuclear, vicious
ways that are used because one study said so?
I sat in meditation this morning, all good soldier
brain-chatter, and then finally tried to get quiet and listen to what my
“insides” had to say about going for the fifth round, and I just started to cry.
I don’t know what to do. (I just got a call from the doctor,
and we’re delaying the chemo at least til I see her on Tuesday to look at the
eye – so there’s a stay of execution.)
I don’t like thinking, Oh, I need to ask someone to do my
laundry so I have enough underwear for the hospital, or think that I have to
update the lifeline calendar so I have people to bring me meals so I feel less
like I’m eating prison-food in isolation.
I know how to do these rounds; even with the hiccup of the
eye infection, I know how to do them. If nothing goes wonky. But it takes so
much, guys. It really does. I don’t know how to re-up, or willingly accept
this. I don’t know how to agree to this, and I know the impact “energetically”
that has on the process. If I’m on board, and think of the chemo as helping me
rather than hurting me, if I think of it as medicine that will help me get
well, I know that has a better impact than thinking this is poisoning me. I
believe the effect is different. But I can’t switch that thought right now.
Right now, I’m in digging in my heels mode.
Thankfully, I don’t have to do anything today, except get
dressed, eat something, and go with my friend to an art gallery of her friend’s
work, then to my depth hypnotherapy, and then have a phone interview with the
new potential specialized therapist.
That’s a lot for one day. But it beats peeing into measuring
container with an IV line plugged into your chest. 

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One thought on “Tinker Tailor Soldier Seeker

  1. Ohhh Molly!!!! Know that you are never alone– you have friends all over the country (at least! maybe the world- I dunno!) thinking about you, myself included. I can't wait to finally make it back out to the Bay Area for a visit too! xoxo

    Like

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