First of all, I would like to thank eyeonspain for approving my new blog and giving me the opportunity to share my experience with this disease — although I know that my case is not as serious as others I know — with other patients who read my blog or their loved ones. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of them.
Yesterday, around 8 in the morning, I went to the kitchen and, looking out the window, I saw that it was a beautiful day, with clear skies, unlike the weekend, when it rained a lot. That made me very happy.
At 10 a.m., I had to go to the hospital for my second day (of the second cycle, I only have four more to go) of chemotherapy treatment. I was more cheerful than other times, but I also had a better morning than the day before, when I was very tired.
Then, what I saw through the window made me think a little. I could see almost the entire port. At first glance, I could see many cars, parked, seemingly lifeless; but the truth is that their owners would have many stories to tell, different or similar (illnesses, financial problems, etc.). That static image contrasted with the hustle and bustle of the port (cars, lorries, passenger ships, cargo ships, containers being handled by the dockers...). In short, many people, with their problems, but they have to go on living, with varying degrees of difficulty. But it is very important not to lose hope — although one day I thought that unfortunately there are people who have not lost it, but rather do not have it in the first place--.
Port of Algeciras
To conclude, I would like to emphasise the importance of maintaining a positive attitude, as far as possible, when faced with an illness, whether it is the one I have or any other, because at first I was very afraid, due to the uncertainty of the initial diagnoses, as I mentioned in my first post, but also because outsiders tend to dramatise things more... once you are in the process, it is easier to normalise it, to de-dramatise it — at least that is what is happening to me — because the ward I go to is pleasant, the nurses are wonderful, and that compensates for the pain — not much — that I have had some days after each session.
I think it's a matter of preparing your mind for a new stage, a new experience, one that we didn't seek out but that we have to accept and learn to live with in the best way possible.
Let me tell you a story of personal triumph that I heard when I was living in Madrid in the 1980s. One summer day, I was playing football on a grass field near my house, and I knew, from one of my sisters, that a friend of hers, who was a Marine, was doing rehabilitation exercises there. During a parachute jump, his parachute failed to open; miraculously, he did not die, but he was paralysed from the waist down. So, I saw him sitting on the side of the field and went over to say hello — I didn't know him personally — and I was impressed to see him alone, doing leg exercises, sweating under the 40-degree sun, but with great determination, accepting his new, limited life. He taught me a lesson in humility, sacrifice, and even gratitude for being alive. And I, who had healthy legs, could play football, swim in the pool and walk home, felt it was unfair that this boy had such a hard life and I worried about things of little importance. That's why I liked to go up to him and talk to him for a while, even if it was only for a few minutes. And that day I learned a great lesson about the capacity for personal improvement.