Sometime later this month, it will be three years since the end of chemo and, roughly, 1.25 years of borrowed time. Or maybe that’s reclaimed time.
And no, it never gets old. I thought maybe by now, I’d feel bored sometimes, or restless, or dissatisfied. But every day is still a party. It isn’t always the best party ever; sometimes we run out of the really good hors d’oeuvres. Sometimes we run out of ice for the drinks, or clean glasses, or anything other than tap water. But that’s how you know you’re alive—things get messy, cold things get warm, hot things get cold, and you run out of everything except the Marmite-flavoured potato chips.
If you’re lucky, though, you’ve got at least one friend who likes Marmite-flavoured chips and is willing to keep you company until the supply train comes in.
While I never really believed I was going to shuffle off this mortal coil by December 2016, I still can’t help marvelling that I’m well into my second year past the old deadline. Sometimes, I want to run outside, holler, beat my chest, and yell, NO, NOT TODAY, EITHER, NYAH, NYAH, NYAH!
My neighbours probably don’t know how thrilled they should be that instead, I’ve chosen simply to tweet a jeer at Mortality daily. And write the occasional blog post.