I’d like to write anything positive. Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m currently in the dumps. And no matter what I do, I keep successfully getting back into it through very brief, positive moments. I’ve decided to face the onset of depression. It’s hard, I have no weapons. Or if I do, I don’t know about them. I refuse any tranquilizers. So far…..I tell myself I just have to give it a go, fight it, overcome it, manage it. Without chemo. Without addiction. Just accept it as a fact and part and parcel of life. No one ever said life was easy. It really isn’t.
I have been home on sick leave for over 2 months. And that’s just before my surgery. For an active person like me, it’s a punishment. Especially after my health has improved significantly and apart from general fatigue and a slight headache, I am currently bothered by basically nothing. Generally, I’m supposed to save myself until I exercise. 51 years old, I don’t know what that word means. Oh… rest…. lie….. sit…..watch TV….read….. do nothing…….omg, I have no idea how to do that…… When I’m stressed, I go exercise. I can’t do that, physical exertion is out of the question. Or with friends anywhere for culture. I can’t do that either, I don’t have such long walks. Or I go to the mountains, which I love. That’s not an option either, physical exertion combines there along with time that doesn’t fit into the allowed walks. Too bad. I’m desperately searching for any resource that will induce a more upbeat mood and make the wait more pleasant.
I’ve always loved to paint. I pick up acrylic paints, brushes, canvases from the e-shop and intuitively start painting. A painting of the Soul emerges. It’s very depressing. It captures the current state. So I try to paint a more cheerful motif, but I find it totally unbelievable, untrue and shallow, and the whole piece ends up in a trash can smashed to pieces with a hammer. Ok, that’s not the way.
I decide I’m going to pack all the things I need for the hospital. It’s time, I’ll get it all ready now. I’m looking for a way out of my sadness here too, and I think it would be nice to pack as many positive things as possible, surround myself with them in the hospital room, and have them in plain sight when I’m sad. I’m gonna buy some watermelon slippers. One shoe has watermelon pieces on it, the other has watermelon seeds, the left and right are different colors. Ha, I’m finding, a little mischievously, that this infantilism works easily. Fortified by my minor success, I continue shopping. I stuff my bag with slippers and underwear with motifs that a girl from primary school would be ashamed of. From first grade….. Chic underwear with donuts, avocado and flamingo stripes. Handkerchiefs with a big Happy sign. Nightgowns with a theme. Ugh. I’m looking at the bag I packed and thinking, well, nice girl, maybe they’ll send you to the psych ward after the procedure.
Bag’s packed, so what’s next? I’ll get my home ready for lager mode. I decide to shop and get everything in a way that puts as little burden on my family and loved ones as possible. So I’ll buy 10kg of dog kibble for my female dog purchased from the shelter, two large bales of toilet paper, two large bales of black tea, sugar, tissues, wipes, spare soap, toothpaste, disinfectant, washing powder, spare sheets and dish detergent.
I’m wondering what I can do to strengthen the recovery afterwards. I’ll have a big scar, a shaved head, and it’ll be a bit scarred inside. On recommendation, I’m buying a special shampoo completely free of chemicals, made of 13 herbs. Great, I’m getting it for the price of three regular ones, but this particular investment is necessary given the long healing head wound. I’m getting a hair growth product. I got it on recommendation, it’s supposed to work great. A side bonus is that it also promotes pubic hair growth. Damn, what the hell. I’m going off the pills when I grow a beard. Finally, I’m getting an organic brain-boosting product from a friend. I think he’s secretly worried about my mental fitness. I don’t blame him. I’m more worried than he is. Well, we’ll see, it can’t hurt. I’m looking online for brain exercises at the same time. I’m preparing a site that contains puzzles, riddles, tests, exercises to strengthen concentration, engage both hemispheres simultaneously, with instructions on how to exercise or better oxygenate the brain. Also links with topics from the field of psychology – how to face anxiety states, what to induce a better mood, etc. In short, all kinds of instructions for improving physical and mental fitness.
The hardest part of the whole situation is that the aneurysm doesn’t hurt. Objectively, it exists, you have it inside you, but it doesn’t manifest itself. It’s only when it does that it’s usually fatal. Fortunately, it didn’t happen to me and its removal is a preventive measure. Even though I perceive this fact rationally and know that there is no other option than to get the bitch out of my head, it is hard to accept it that way, as my current state of health is very good. I have come back from the June attack to a relatively functional normal after two months. The fatigue persists, but it is less. I tell myself that a few more weeks would be enough and it would be “good”. When you have a toothache, you voluntarily go to the dentist to have it pulled. You’re prepared for the pain and you undergo it because it makes you feel better. It is the same with any other health problem that bothers you. For me, the situation is different. I feel fine now. And I’m preparing myself for the fact that I’m going to be disgusted in a few days, it’s going to hurt like hell and the recovery is going to be very long….
Life is not an accident, but a choice. The most important thing is not what happens, but how we deal with it. Hal Urban
