It’s the day before my surgery. Tomorrow, my chemo port will at last be removed. This morning, as I was once again lightly massaging the muscle around my port, trying to ease the discomfort there, I realized that this will be one of the last time I’ll have to do that.
The pain and discomfort and peculiarity of having a foreign object in my body is soon going to end. It’s a very good, very odd sort of realization. This is really coming to an end, this phase of my life.
It’s another synchronicity for me that this week I’ve unveiled another suppressed memory about my past. Another horror. My hope is that this last horrific memory will be the last of the hidden things, but I’ve no idea. There could be more. That’s been the pattern: just when I think there couldn’t possibly be more, there’s more.
I know I’m strong enough now. If there’s more, I’m ready. Any real life nightmare, I’m ready. There’s no shame in not having been ready, or in not having been stronger earlier than this. I just wasn’t. I am now.
The chamomile drawing is a detail of a drawing I made for my sister, as a get well card. She had surgery yesterday. I know that she’s home and recovering, but I don’t really know more than that. I hope to hear from her or maybe her husband soon.
As tomorrow is surgery for me, I’ve no idea if I’ll be up to writing anything here. But I hope so. So if all goes well there…
See you tomorrow,