I weighed myself today- 130. Down from 145. I am officially skinny. I think I was this weight at age 14.
I got high last night (family-deal with it) in an attempt to feel better and remember what hungry felt like. Leave it to me to end up scarfing down tangerines all night and obsessively googling "hemipelvectomies" for hours on end, scaring myself shitless.
I am slowly realizing the severity of my situation. It takes time to research, for everything to settle in. Hopefully things will go exactly as planned- I'll never need surgery, the cancer will go away with radiation, and I'll be in remission/cured forever. Realistically, though, one must confront the possibility of not-so-favorable outcomes. One must confront death. I had a dream a couple of nights ago in which I did just that.
You see, I've had a conversation with death. At a Denny's, no less, which I can only assume signifies purgatory or hell or some other horrid sterile place. We sat at a booth and had a cup of coffee. I had a sense death was a man, but with no discernible body. Just fuzzy blackness. I never looked directly at him, just stared at the speckled beige tabletop.
We worked it out. We've reached an understanding. I'm not going to die anytime soon. I was conscious that it was a dream, but still terrified in the beginning, as if thinking about it would usher death in. It was like a nervous first date, I slowly becoming more comfortable as the conversation progressed. In the end, I was left with a feeling. Just a feeling, indescribable, but I will try to anyway:
the only thing that matters is to be happy by making others happy, to love by being loved, rather than being controlled by desire.
I'm not sure if I even subscribe to this (isn't desire so much fun?), but this was my overwhelming feeling upon waking up.