Eight Years and Counting

It is patch day today, and like every other patch day, I remove the old patch, take a shower in water as hot as I can stand it, shampoo my hair, scrub off the glue from the old patch and step out of the shower.  Then I try not to look in the mirror over the sink that faces the shower.  I wrap myself in a towel, dry off and put the new patch on before rubbing lotion all over me.  Trying not to look in the mirror.  Then I put on the things that I sleep in, even though it’s only 2 in the afternoon.  I do this while trying not to look into that damn mirror.  The one that is over the sink, facing the shower.  The one that is, I swear, a reflection of some other me; perhaps the one that died in a concentration camp in its previous incarnation.

Yes, with age, everyone’s body changes. This feels like it’s a bit over the top.  I think back to 2005, just eight years ago, when I had breast cancer and had a mastectomy of my right breast.  Just before the surgery, I went to a healing retreat in NM.  I was able to fly there.  I was able to participate in the event, even though I was in pain.  I had the surgery and came out of it with flying colors.  My NF has advanced much since then.  I don’t even want to think about life eight years from now.  While I am far from the only one facing life changing events (my sister has lost two friends to ovarian cancer, other friends are facing health challenges and I am very worried about my dad’s health and the distance we are from one another).  So I get that I am not the only one with problems.

But I do have pity potty parties on occasion.  Then I get this in my inbox.  Puts things in perspective.  I have a roof over my head, food in my belly (well, no way to get it out again, but you know) access to the medicine I need and people who love me.  I am blessed.   Please click on this and watch it.