It’s not every day, every week or even every month, that I think about my cancer past.

It’s intentional not to dwell on the what-ifs of what could have happened and focus on what-is. I am alive. That is the blessing.

But every now and again the tight lid I have on that chapter of my life opens just a little and leaves me undone.

It can be visiting a friend and seeing their orange dish washing detergent that bares a striking resemblence to the chemo IV.  Or noticing someone notice the scar on my left arm from my port.

Or days like today, when I feel someone has wasted my time.

I’m not easily offended. I am my father’s child in that regard. he can even find a compliment when he is being insulted:)

But what gets under my skin every time is feeling like my time, my precious precious time, has been wasted.

In those moments I come to face to face with the reality of how much I cram into every day, every week of my life.

Of the reality that I live like there is no tomorrow, knowing there really could not be.

Of the reality that being faced with death has me gulping down life.

Damn scar tissue.

This site is protected by Comment SPAM Wiper.