Happy Days
I observed a strange behaviour in myself but it’s one I suspect that’s not all that uncommon if the truth be known. I went to the Doctor and despite the condition that warranted my visit you would have thought I had ‘A’ Reserve tickets at Covent Garden.
I looked a million dollars. Why do we do that? And why is it that after twenty-odd months of sickness hell when I can finally drag myself out the front door and into my Doctor’s surgery that the moment I get there the illness appears to desert me and makes me out to be a liar because for some unfathomable reason all the symptoms disappear! I hate that don’t you? I do!
It was hard to convince the Doctor that up until I walked into his surgery I was feeling as sick as dog and yet, here I was. Looking for all the world like a million bucks when what I really felt inside was total crap. It’s true isn’t it?
The trouble with me lately is that I don’t LOOK sick. Infact I look really well. But here’s the thing, sickness can be so deceptive. I had cancer and these days I spent my life trying to not let it define my life and who I am. It’s been hard work but I’m in remission.
It’s hard because, many of my lovely friends (try as they might) unwittingly made it difficult for me to step outside of making it define who I am. It’s just hard for them. It’s hard for me too. There’s the deafening silences as they struggle to look me in the eye when we talk together and the awkward dont-know-how-to-help-me-up fumblings that make me wince because I feel perfectly capable of standing on my own feet.
But we bumble along. Them trying to come to grips with how it makes them feel and me at great pains to make them feel better, comfortable in my presence. Mostly, it’s really hard for them and I feel sorry for them because I want to ease their pain.
Is life unfair? It just feels that way sometimes but it’s not something I hold against anyone. It’s life, it’s mine and as imperfect as it is it’s how it is so I suck it up and move forward. Trust me, it’s easier that way, for everyone.
