Today is a day I think of prancing, dancing and all that falls in between....
Las Vegas, Ireland, Okinawa, Prague...
My mind has wandered to places I've been, places I should be, places I will be.
With a pancreas not working but feeling kinda pretty I find myself feisty...
Ready to see things (Terracotta Soldiers, Great Wall of China, etc.), do things (like snowshoe, ski, hike, climb and run), eat things (you name it, lets try it) and be a part of the world like we are all meant to be.... I feel amazing.
For now.
I continue treatment, starting Monday, and it always rips me right down the center causing pain, instability and strife. But before that happens I want to remember how joyful, spritely and full of life I am.
I would sing the highest note of "Edelweiss" on the mountain top, prance to music with any beat to step to, climb the highest 8000 meter mountain, run the longest time (Billy Joel), cry with the strongest love and feel the most moments that a mind can allow. I am alive.
Though at this point, I only feel well enough to work almost 40 hours a week, but considering where I was 6 months ago, those almost 40 hours could be gold. The days I don't sleep 15 hours a day are worth laughing with. The nights not in stomach pain and rolling around with aching fullness, they are spent sleeping.
Sleeping. I sleep again. I wake again. And don't want to go to sleep again. I want to face the world. Not fearful but ready for life. Ready for whatever it throws. Ready to laugh.To be. To be me.
A me not defined by illness. A me not defined by sickness. Or pancreas. Or broken digestive tract or irresponsible gallbladder.
A me who is just me. Weird me. Me.
I like cheese. I skipped today. WE ALL SHOULD! I laughed. Kissed my man. Chased two puppies up and down the stairs until one puppy slammed the other puppy into the door frame and that puppy hurt himself (aka Indy).
I have a family. They expect me to survive. I expect to live as an alive person is allowed.
Treatment Monday, yes I am scared. But no treatment Monday, is so much more wrong. Sick and wrong...and very, very bad.
I write this not to get a response, I write this to say I am alive. My pancreas is not. But fuck it, I am. And, if treatment goes well, it will be too.
Whether it fucking wants to or not.
Wish me luck. I wish you luck. And love and life.
Cause we all deserve that.
-With all thats yours, ours and mine,
Nerissa (aka, the Compulsive Traveler)
