I got a phone call from a helpful agency asking if I would like assistance in going back to work full time. I hung up before I gave in to the urge to make rude suggestions to a human being who has no idea why I am disabled and incapable of working normal employment.
And then the depression I keep at bay hit from the shadows.
I’m used to being busy. I have worked hard most of my life and earned my own income. Switching mental gears to accept the reality that my new normal includes days where I don’t accomplish anything particularly useful has been a challenge.
But, it’s stage four cancer slowly taking over my body and turning it into mush. At least it’s easy to explain my situation in short words: cancer, dying, not spending my last days of my working for someone else and losing my current medical insurance after what I went through to be covered.
To reassure those reading this, I plan on living as long as I possibly can. I don’t think about dying, I am focused on living. Statistically, 29 percent of those with my diagnosis make it past the five year mark. I plan on not only being in that 29 percent, but setting new records in survival longevity. I’m in the middle of year four.
Which brings me back to depression. It’s a real side effect of living with a terminal condition. I have found that there is a balance between taking one’s condition seriously and not paying attention to it. I must take my medication, follow best practices for health maintenance, and, at the same time, completely ignore that I have cancer.
Yes, you read that right. I have to ignore the disease so that I can get up in the morning, so that I can look forward to things, so that I can basically function without falling down the spiral of negativity.
I am fortunate that I can see a mental health professional. I am fortunate to have mental health medication that works. I am more fortunate that I have built a caring support network. Because without friends or purpose, the depression starts to win. And once the depression starts, the cancer is waiting for that easy moment to finish it. Sort of like playing Mortal Combat on a metaphysical level.
What has this to do with working?
Not currently “earning” my income, but having to rely on what I contributed towards SSDI during my working life, reminds me of how sick my body is. There is no mind over matter to make it all go away. I can get angry about it, complain to the universe, or take it out on some poor soul who had the misfortune of being on the other end of the line, but none of those actions are going to make anything better.
And so, I continue to write. Writing is something I can do despite everything. It eases the depression. It provides hope and keeps me focused on making a future from this fruit basket of challenge.
Thank you for being here. If you know someone who is going through serious illness and have a moment, check in with them. A hello means more than you can imagine.
MercyJ Writes 