Well, it's been two weeks to the day since I had my bowel resection surgery. Recovery seems to be going well. The main thing that I've really come to embrace as of late is just how big of a pile of bullshit cancer is.
I'm sitting at home after having spent the last few days in the hospital following my bowel resection surgery. I think sleeping in my own bed last night was the best sleep I've ever had. While I was in the hospital, mostly disconnected from the outside world and high on hydromorphone, the reality of my situation really set in: this is just the beginning—or, at least, it could be.
It feels like a weighted blanket, rooted in some unnamable space between body and mind, applying a firm pressure as it whispers that you don’t belong. Those whispers grows louder—immune to logic and rationalization—the interloper insisting evermore loudly that you’re a fraud. That you’re in the wrong place. That you should feel bad. That you are, in fact, the interloper in your own life.