If you have tried to come back and see my latest entry, only to find the meager two essays posted so far, I offer my apologies. In the last three weeks my life as been turned inside out an contorted more than any circus performer. I was just diagnosed with ovarian cancer.
All the little tummy aches and fatigue were more than too many junk food meals gone bad. They were all indicative of a more serious condition.
The interesting thing, is though my mind raced with all the changes to come . . . surgery, lack of work and income, my sobbing daughter in the corner of the room . . . my deepest grief was in thinking that all those writing projects and partial novels would never know the light of day.
This morbid thinking put me in a near comatose state as I went home and lay down for hours (not much energy to do anything else) to look up information on chemo, natural healing, raw food diet, etc. I was planning to research for my classes all the many books I need to peruse, but the mind can get shut down when anxiety rules.
I thought about words like "cancer", "death", and "debt", all the while knowing that I was a coward for many years because they were always brushed aside. I was too busy. Not to say that I never contemplated my mortality. God, family, writing, mortality, and the ever-waning thoughts about sex, were always a given. I just thought I had a few more decades to get serious.
I do not plan to be depressed. I have those damn novels to write. I have monsters to face in my closet, and many truths to learn about things that were only philosophical musings.
My characters who face death in my work will be wiser. They will have less bravado. I will not make them shrug off danger as though they were in a Saturday morning cartoon with capes flying. They will be linked to a woman who is learning how precious life is, and who must not forget that each day is a new story unfolding. . .
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