Ergh. Still on decongestants and guaifensin. Still a bit coughy and a bit stuffy without them. I swear, if these last two weeks are anything like what I can expect from allergies I'll just save myself the trouble and the expense and cut my nose off now. I can always breathe through my mouth.
Still working out and still cursing it with every last breath, although this morning in spinning class I started telling myself that half my problem is mental -- I "convince" myself into thinking my body won't do something that it is actually able to do if I'd just let it. So instead of thinking, "Only seven more minutes of hell," I started repeating, "You CAN do it, let yourself." And finally, after a time.....I did. And I found that I was smiling halfway through.
Now if only I can find that mental place all the time.
I've been a little down lately. I learned about a month ago that a cousin of mine -- a woman that I've only actually met face-to-face once but who has been working side-by-side with me on our family genealogy for the last fifteen years -- has been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. She's in her mid-70's and she says she's accepted her fate and that she's had a good life with good family and friends. She and I corresponded regularly after she told me this until last week, when she abruptly stopped emailing. I started getting worried and tried to call but the phone number she gave me wasn't working. I sat and silently stewed until yesterday, when she emailed me again. She didn't tell me where she was, but it ended up that she didn't have to. She sent me a copy of an email she sent the company that hosts her family web site; she and I have been trying to get the reins of the site handed over to me but have had little success because her messages have went unanswered. In the email she mentioned her stint in the hospital and her urgency for resolution because she had little time left.
Funny. Even though I know that this is happening, seeing it hit me hard. I had asked her about a time frame and she told me less than a year. I think she was being generous. I think she has less time left than she wants me to know. She's such a wonderful lady, and I love her. I'm going to miss her when she's gone.
Death is such a specter to me. It terrifies me. I can't imagine my own death or dealing with its nearness with anything resembling the grace that my cousin is managing. I'd gladly become a vampire if I could. I've suffered panic attacks since my brush with death in a post-operative mishap (I was given demerol, which I'd used before but apparently it didn't mix well with my other anesthesia and I stopped breathing.) Now I simply don't handle anything related to side effects or possible problems well at all. "Going under" and using anesthesia petrifies me. I feel like such a wimp, since before that post-op reaction I wasn't scared of anything....
I can't escape death. It will get me. I know it. I hate it.
It's beyond my control.
Song: "The Night Is Still Young" by Billy Joel. Lyrics here:
http://www.billyjoel.com/music/12-gardens-live/careless-talk-0 ))
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