I Am A Mess
OCTOBER 19, 2020
I wasn’t cut out for this and I am a mess
Every time I feel like I grab my center
I get re-centered
Every time I am centered
something knocks me right on my ass
I feel very scared
I did not get the best results on my pet-scan
My next steps are not very promising
And the MRI machine tried to swallow me today. It’s the fucking clothes. I tried to explain that I don’t do hospital wear. They do not care. So they give me gowns, with hundreds of strings, tie this across that and then put this one on backwards; you don’t have to do the snaps and then “sorry Mrs Henderson, we only have XL pants, but just tie the string, and make sure you don’t have any clothes underneath, or any metal and leave it all in the room, and here’s a giant ruler with a key fob that might be wet from my personalized sanitizing efforts, but hey, lock up all your stuff.” He went on, “my name is Francis, I will escort you to the MRI room, can I see your wrist band?” I’m wondering if he notices that my name is Flori Hendron and not Florence Henderson.
I wasn’t cut out for this and I am a mess
I somehow got tricked into thinking that may be my treatment was actually working, and that I would somehow be able to stick it out and stay alive for a while. Even as I say these words I am crying because the side effucks still haven’t resolved and it’s been four weeks since my last treatment. Especially my stomachaches. Weird upper stomach thing. Shortness of breath. And shortness of patience
I have advanced breast cancer. I have some kind of involvement in my central nervous system. My lungs are not too happy. Hard to say for certain what’s going on in my lungs. Inflammation from some kind of a bacterium? Or Inflammation from cancer? Or inflammation from months of dangerous air quality?
I want to finish my art. I want to get my website finished. I want to get my book finished. I want to live to see my grandniece or nephew. And maybe even my own grandchild.
Covid has made my life 1 million times worse. Maybe 1 billion times worse. And living on my street has become utter hell. This is the second time in less than a week that there’s a big protest on the corner and so my street is wall to wall cars and filled w people honking, people yelling, and all of it is very unnerving. I feel scared. I wish I had two huge German Shepherds in my front yard. Then I would feel safe.
I am exhausted all the time. I’m scared to be dead, but I wish I was dead. Don’t go. The old me stood in the mirror, looking back. I had to look away from her. I could see the disappointment in her eyes. Don’t go, she silently pleaded. I felt hinged between the worlds, the peace of being dead, but the sorrow for all I leave behind.
I am a mess.