A month ago, I learned that I was sick. Not “break out the black clothes and white lilies” sick. More “your life is going to suck for a while, but you’ll get through it” sick. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I nodded, put on my big girl panties, and moved forward.
Many of my friends commented on my positive and upbeat attitude. I tell them the secret is simple:
It helps if you’re a little crazy.
In my head, I’m invincible. No disease or injury can do me serious harm. They can only slow me down for a little while. Part of me suspects that if I lost a limb, it would grow back in a couple of weeks. No, I’m not going to try it. I’m crazy, not stupid.
Being just a wee bit out of touch with reality keeps me moving forward. All those travel plans I had to cancel – including my trip to England and, most recently, a writer’s conference in Ohio that I very much wanted to attend – in my mind, they have simply been deferred.
I will admit to being a little scared, but mostly I’m just pissed off. I don’t smoke, do drugs, or engage in unprotected sex. In fact, aside from the occasional cocktail and bone deep laziness, I’m usually very healthy. I didn’t do anything wrong, and yet I feel like my body has betrayed me.
Still, I love my life and no disease is going to stop me from living it.
To my friends and family who have been so supportive, I love you all.
Don’t count me out just yet.