Most of my blog posts get titled after completion. Only rarely do I start with the caption and build an essay out of it. This morning the two words above best express what’s going on in my little world. In truth, I could stop there. It probably isn’t necessary to write anything more, but I’m going to anyway. Don’t expect too much from the text that follows, since my creativity feels dulled, and my energy is flagging.

The past eight days have been among the most trying of my adult life. First came the abdominal pain, internal hemorrhage, and hospitalization. My confinement taught me a lot about modern inpatient care, little of which was comforting. After discharge I tried for three days to get by without analgesics until the pain became so overwhelming that thought nearly evaporated, leaving nothing but raw suffering. So on the advice of my doctor I finally gave in and started taking a Percocet twice a day. This enabled me to start functioning again, but now I’m stuck on narcotics (exactly what I was trying to avoid). Since getting off them the last time was such an ordeal, I’m very worried about this necessity for pain relief.

A close friend of mine visited me the day after I returned home. He confronted me with some very upsetting opinions about our interactions on a day when I felt highly vulnerable. This makes me feel wounded and sad.

I’m worried about dying. Looking around I see how my life, as humble as it is, has so much precious beauty. It contains far more of value than I ordinarily acknowledge. For all my years of suicidal thinking, I don’t want this show to end right now.

A cousin of mine and I have been carrying on an email conversation that has expanded my understanding of our families and my own past. This feels quite useful to my growth, but it adds to my sense that everything that seemed solid in my life is dissolving.

The doctors still have no idea what went wrong inside me. Although they tell me not to worry about malignancy, my own medical training tells me that it remains distinctly possible. I realize that many people battle cancer, and that many survive. I’ll fight the good fight if necessary. But at this point there isn’t any disease to battle, only uncertainty.

The weather here was gloomy until yesterday: chilly, damp, and gray. Before this week the winter climate had little effect on my mood, but now I’m feeling oppressed by it.

The discomfort continues, even with the pills. In addition to pain I feel fatigue, malaise and nausea.

In short, there is a great deal going right now, I’m a bit overwhelmed. It feels like living does when it gets challenging. I am feeling life.

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