An anniversary, of sorts,

Today marks three years since my first (of THREE) Transurethral Resection of my Bladder, TURB for short.

And the diagnosis of T1 G3 Cancer.

I awoke in the middle of that night, in a hospital room, with the T.V. going, (tubes going into my arms and bladder; plastic bags hanging from a couple of poles) and watched the travesty/tragedy unfold in New York.

Of course, I was stunned, unbelieving, and upset, even in my post surgical groggy state. Watching the second plane hit the towers, and unable to go back to sleep; I insisted on getting up in my wheelchair, and going OUT of the hospital to smoke.

The nurses refused to help me. I had to threaten to 'unhook' everything myself! (Which I would have done!). I even had to threaten to sign out AMA (Against Medical Advice).

I had lived through one more cancer surgery. My country was under attack. Even today, I don't see where the terrible 'sin' of being a 'smoker', and needing a ciggie, fits into all this BIG stuff.

As it turns out, I did not even have to leave the hospital building, or sign myself out. The nurses wheeled me out onto the 'outside' concrete stairwell, and there I stayed through 3 ciggies. Hiding from the world, feeling the night, shivering in the cool air, trying to emotionally absorb all that was happeing, exalting in being alive, and adding my cigarette butts to the multitude already littering the concrete 'floor' of the little porch area.

Eventually, I went back to bed, got some meds, some juice; I was able to sleep for a few hours.

Even though this was my FOURTH cancer diagnosis (all unrelated) in as many decades; this one really hit me hard.

I am surprised, that three years later, I still HAVE my bladder, let alone my life. And though not in remission, so far, it seems to be responding to treatment.

And, of course NOW I know the cause of all the cancers (and it aint' smoking folks!), but Hereditary Hemochromatosis!

This 'slice of life' gives credence to the adage: don't sweat the little things.

EXCEPT that since I still have a life; I value every second of it, and I want to LIVE it, not be hung up in illness because of bureaucratic red tape! Which makes it all sooo much more frustrating!

No, I haven't gotten insurance approval for repairs/replacement of my wheelchair yet. Nor have I been able to resume medical treatments with my various specialists. And yes, physically, I get a little worse, a little less functional by the day.