Fuck it hurt so much to read his entries, to read what I had gone through but someone else going through it. To read about the cath in his arm, to read about what AML is, to read about all the things I've gone through this past year.
On the 29th it'll be the "anniversary" of my diagnosis. This year has gone by so fucking fast and yet I feel like I've accomplished nothing. I've watched friends die. That's what this does to you.
But it also makes you more aware, and everything is in technicolor once you realize that you aren't going to die. Sometimes I still feel like shit because I lived and Angie didn't. Because Kaz is up at OHSU fighting for her life and here I go to the ER for a measley 101 temp due to my "delicate condition" (I make it sound like I'm pregnant).
I had a teddy bear that I slept with every night while in the hospital and I clutched it like a mofo. I find now that if I sleep with that bear (shut up I still snuggle bears at night) I get hospital juju, like it reminds me too much of being in that bed all alone with the nightlight on hooked up to my "monster" (what we called my IV pole) and wondering if I would live.
I realize that maybe this is the most I've ever written about my emotional side of it. Of course I wrote a ton about what was physically happening to keep the masses informed and whatnot. *shrugs* It happens.
I'm addicted to movie epics.