What the hell are you worried about anyway?

Shawn (who insists that if I had gotten to mentioning him in the last post about music, would've written that Neil Diamond's "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" reminds me of him. I guess this is true, but it wouldn't have been my first choice) sent me a link to a blog of a woman who has been fighting breast cancer--who went into remission and got married and bought a house and who now is having a recurrence of the cancer. It sort of puts into perspective the dumb shit that I obsess over every day--my appearance, my writing, my lack of savings--and makes me realize that I could be grappling with much, much more. And maybe will some day, but not today. She's doing all of this positive stuff like visualization and meditation and reading and holistic medicine and unholistic medicine--everything she can attempt to fight back. Don't you wonder how you would do in a similar situation? My fear is that I would give up immediately and become a morphine addict right away. I'd be given the diagnosis, and before the doctor could finish his/her sentence or discuss options, I would have my sleeve rolled up and be tapping for a vein.

I don't think I've ever had to face any serious adversity. I've never been a hostage or kidnapped or held at gunpoint or attacked or run over by a car; have never been seriously ill or hospitalized for anything. No broken bones, no overnight stays to determine a cause of pain, no stitches, crutches, or bandages. I had my wisdom teeth out and that wasn't fun, but it only took a couple of hours and I was under anesthesia the whole time. Oh, wait, I did have stitches once--in college, on my pinky finger because I cut it on a mirror. I have that scar and the one of the top of my left foot which I think was from either getting my foot stuck in the back wheel of a bicycle or falling on a piece of broken glass. I can't remember. Shoot, I just thought of a few others, but my point is that I haven't had anything really difficult or challenging happen to me, not like my cousin who was hit by a car when she was little and had to spend months in a wheelchair and learn to walk again. Not like my uncle whose son was killed in a fight. Our neighbor's dog died when I was 12. That's about it.

Comments

Liz said…
I was mugged at knifepoint. Does that count?

But I don't think it's the same as being faced with a long term illness, or being in a wheelchair. The scary is fleeting and eventually consigned to hazy, distant memory.
Anonymous said…
not sure about your lack of adversity...don?
Ben said…
somebody gets cancer and suddenly all of our minor pains and grievances are insignificant and irrelevant. i reject that.

who gave cancer patients a monopoly on grief?
Aimee said…
Okay, yes, good point. But I just mean that I should spend less time worrying about dumb shit and more time appreciating what I have. Or whatever. I know that's really hard to do.

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