* - The Moody Blues
Continuing on yesterday's theme a little bit (tomorrow, I will get around to filling you in on some medical details from last Thursday's appt. and some new information from MCV). I've told several people that for a cancer patient to have a good outcome, the impact on the medical professionals involved must be like landing a big account (if you are in sales, like myself). There must be a sense of accomplishment that they feel. For them, however, the stakes are much larger.
With that said, as I look back on my career, I realize that the most enjoyable and rewarding times have been when the stress level has been minimized. I feel like it's easier to perform well when the stress factor is low. As I've mentioned before, during my community theatre experience, the most successful directors have been those who did not transfer stress to the cast and crew. It's because they were talented and exuded the confidence that the show would open at a high quality.
That's where my outlook on the alien comes from. I have confidence in the caregivers that are working with me. They are skilled. They communicate with me in a way that is comfortable to me. We share humor back and forth. I recall one of the chemo nurses on the first day of chemo treatments picking on me about leaving the toilet seat up in the chemo room. She singled me out as I was the only male in the room at the time (I wasn't the guilty party, even though to this day she insists I was). She knew that was the way to break the ice with me and after that, I looked forward to going to chemo treatments.
None of us have any idea how many days are left for us. Some of us have events that make us stop and think about how we are going to chose to "live" those days. For some, the days come to an end much too soon. Even if we have been given a time line for when that final day might be, it doesn't excuse us from living the rest of those days. I have known people who have continued to "live" in spite of their diagnosis. They are my inspiration.
Once, during a visit with my oncologist, I told her that she never needed to worry about giving me a terminal diagnosis. I told her if we ever had that discussion, I would ask to be released from her care. As she looked puzzled, I explained that I would pack my things, tell the bank they now owned my house, get my passport and fly to Scotland. There, I would drink myself to death from overindulging in Scotch Whiskey (which I tasted once and thought it was the worst thing in the world). I explained to her that cancer will never be my cause of death. She was amused. That's why I like her.
We are here to live.
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