In my hand is a small titanium device. It facilitated the delivery of liquids directly into my heart; chemo drugs, pain killers, contrast solutions, basically anything the doctors wanted to shoot me up with. For 1 year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 2 days this device sat underneath my skin attached to the muscle below with three subcutaneous stitches. It saved my life. It reminded me of my cancer every single day. There were times I wanted to rip it out of my chest and others when I thanked the gods that the drugs kicked in immediately.
It was heavier than I expected yet nearly painless to have removed. The soreness in my chest has faded. There’s only an occasional sharpness in the skin when I stretch. I know it was a mere drop in the bucket when compared to my overall existence, but it felt like an entire lifetime unto itself. This was the last piece, I am now (in my own mind) completely cancer free. I’m living in a post cancer world.
It’s hard figuring out what that means, if you couldn’t already tell from my recent posts. Anger, bitterness, relief, and even light amnesia swirl inside me. Sometimes it feels like a dream, memories tinted with the haze of uncertainty. Then a vivid experience pops back into my head and I know it was no fucking joke. There is one thing that keeps tugging at the edges of my mind. I can no longer live the life I did before. It’s not an epiphany or a life changing schism just a quiet realization that things cannot continue the way they have been.
Where that takes me is still being determined. One thing I feel in my very bones is that I have to put words on paper. It can’t continue as a hobby in the periphery of my life. There must be a single minded focus applied to what is essentially a much neglected—but core—part of me. Also, I need to shift gears in my career. Information technology isn’t going anywhere, it’s just that the projects I gravitate toward are soul sucking endeavors which leave me drained. It’s time to take the foot off the accelerator and move over into the slower lane.
I’ll keep the fires burning here and I’m going to syphon some of my energy back into the fiction writing. Writer peeps beware, my pen muscles have atrophied, so I might hit you up to be a gym buddy. Inertia is a motherfucker, but I will break out of mine and collect the momentum like the sweet, sweet honey that it is.