I’m mostly sleeping well, but early morning are my bad time, when my mind wanders to places and questions I wish it wouldn’t:
I’ve never had surgery, what will that be like? How about chemo? Will I have tonsillitis the whole time? Will radiation hurt and burn me? What if it spread? What if that twinge in my tummy is cancer? Why does my left boob feel achy? What if I need a masectomy? How will I cope? What about my kids? What if I die?
It’s not fair. I’ve suffered enough. The last few years have been full of illness and even death among my loved ones. Now is supposed to be my good time when all the crisis are resolved and I have a great new job. Why me, why now? It’s not fucking fair.
People all over the place have terminal cancer and worse illnesses. People in Israel are being stabbed, stoned, and killed. Syrian refugees are dying. Breast cancer is common and usually very treatable. Lots of women I know are survivors. Why am I such a drama queen?
Did I do this to myself? Because I used Splenda? Because I drank milk? Because I use mainstream non-organic fruit and vegetables and cleaners? Because I had too much pride in my body and karma is a bitch? Somehow, this must be my fault.
Then, a kid jumps in the bed, and I start my day.
P.s. I know it’s not my fault. I know it’s just bad luck. But those thoughts are still there.