A week ago Monday, my oncologist said my healing process remains in slo-mo because I endured so many months of chemo at my age, followed by two life-saving surgeries, one day apart. Though none of his reasoning is new to me, accepting the reality of my age as 77 had not been fully digested based in the fact that others had always been flabbergasted upon learning how many birthdays I’d actually enjoyed. In fact, the ease with which I’d revealed my age had been directly related to the degree of surprise that had always registered on the face of every new person I’d met. Then chemo and serious surgeries saw the best of my physical energies sink to my knees—(literally, one day, upon leaving my bed). And my short, salt and peppered look looks pretty washed out when compared with the sleek brunette, shoulder length style that had been mine throughout my adult life. In short, from my point of view, very little about me feels or resembles—myself ...
Hmmm! Now that I think of it, reflection suggests that once my mom, at the age of 82, had completely recovered from her emergency bowel resection, followed six weeks later by a quintuple by-pass, she’d fully regained her health and her spirit’s youthful vibrancy—and with time, so will I!
Thanx for listening, over these last few days, while a string of insight-driven, intuitive thoughts had need to tunnel its way out of the depths of my brain, offering today’s conflicted state of mind a much needed pep talk, which served to lift dark clouds of emotional confusion that had threatened to depress my spirit’s connection to patience until—just now! Lately, the fact that I need to sweep away mental conflict in order to lift my level of patience another notch proves to be a daily task.
🙋🏻♀️Annie
PS BTW, have I mentioned that my mom enjoyed 100 birthays?
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