Friday, July 15, 2005
bits from my journal that I meant to blog:
last Friday, in the change room at the hospital, I was thinking about why I'm going back to work. I said to myself "it's about self-respect, isn't it?" then laughed out loud. I was half-naked, wearing a thin hospital wrap, and about to go out and lie on a steel plate to be scribbed all over on my flat, scarred chest by the young male nurses who operate the radiotherapy machines. what self-respect?
I cannot read/watch: stories about cancer, whatever the outcome
stories about children dying
stories (and they are very common) about a child with a dead parent. I just can't.
The Freemason's Hospital in East Melbourne, where I am now being treated, is not somewhere I would want to die. It's from the 1950s, mostly lacking in natural light, and, at least in the bits where I go, full of very old people in wheelchairs being treated for cancer. I know it's a tragedy for them, too, but like those young disabled people who are put into old folks' homes, I don't feel it's the right place for me. frankly, it's a depressing dive, fine though the medical treatment may be.
my country place, on the other hand, is 150 years old, with raw stone walls and rough timber floors. it's open to its surrounds through bubbly glass windows. Over the bed I have a mosquito net/drape that I like to think gives the room a romantic look. there, I could die. not that I want to. but it would be better.
last Friday, in the change room at the hospital, I was thinking about why I'm going back to work. I said to myself "it's about self-respect, isn't it?" then laughed out loud. I was half-naked, wearing a thin hospital wrap, and about to go out and lie on a steel plate to be scribbed all over on my flat, scarred chest by the young male nurses who operate the radiotherapy machines. what self-respect?
I cannot read/watch: stories about cancer, whatever the outcome
stories about children dying
stories (and they are very common) about a child with a dead parent. I just can't.
The Freemason's Hospital in East Melbourne, where I am now being treated, is not somewhere I would want to die. It's from the 1950s, mostly lacking in natural light, and, at least in the bits where I go, full of very old people in wheelchairs being treated for cancer. I know it's a tragedy for them, too, but like those young disabled people who are put into old folks' homes, I don't feel it's the right place for me. frankly, it's a depressing dive, fine though the medical treatment may be.
my country place, on the other hand, is 150 years old, with raw stone walls and rough timber floors. it's open to its surrounds through bubbly glass windows. Over the bed I have a mosquito net/drape that I like to think gives the room a romantic look. there, I could die. not that I want to. but it would be better.
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I hope so much that these thoughts remain idle "someday" thoughts. I'm pulling for you, you know.
And congratulations on your publications!!
And congratulations on your publications!!
I couldn't even read your blog while my sister was in treatment.
One of the things I love about your writing is that while I know I can't truly imagine what it's like to be in your shoes, or hers, you write about it in a way I can begin to understand. And as a helpless bystander that's what I want the most: I can't do anything for her, I can't even share the experience with her, but I can at least try to understand what it's like for her.
Anyway, in both this post and the last, I can very much relate to your reactions. Seems perfectly reasonable to conserve your emotional resources.
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One of the things I love about your writing is that while I know I can't truly imagine what it's like to be in your shoes, or hers, you write about it in a way I can begin to understand. And as a helpless bystander that's what I want the most: I can't do anything for her, I can't even share the experience with her, but I can at least try to understand what it's like for her.
Anyway, in both this post and the last, I can very much relate to your reactions. Seems perfectly reasonable to conserve your emotional resources.
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