How appropriate that today is the third anniversary of my
cancer diagnosis: May 8, 2009, and I’ve spent it in the Emergency Room and now
as an inpatient at Hartford Hospital – the hospital at which that diagnosis was
discovered. This is certainly not where I thought I would be three years later.
It’s frustrating. It’s defeating. It’s confusing. It’s angering. It’s
exhausting. I’m doing my best to focus on the fact that I am still here, that I
am still living my life despite what this persistent disease has tried (and
failed) to take from me, but it’s hard to keep that focus. This year, more than
past anniversaries I admit that I’m angry and resentful. The fact that I’m in
the hospital on this day is just insult to injury.
Just last night I said to Craig that I am never going back
to stay in a hospital and that he’d have to drug me up significantly to get me
there and my mom was comforting me by saying that even though I was feeling so
awful, at least I was able to heal in my own home. Well, to all of our surprise,
here I am, and I won’t be released until they figure out what’s going on with
me. It’s funny how a fever of 103 degrees, writhing chills and a morning full
of vomiting quickly changed my tune on the Emergency Department visit. I nearly
collapsed at its doors desperate for help to make me feel better. I also came
uncomfortably close to vomiting on the triage nurse.
