by tripp
It’s a solid piece, one that had everyone buzzing at the start of the week. It’s taken me all week to get to it. By the end, I was skimming, trying to keep from nodding.
Here’s my deal these days: I’m lucky. Every time I go to the doctor, she tells me this. More than once. And it’s not in a ‘count your blessings’ kind of way. It’s not said as a warning or even some underhanded threat. She means it. All the little things that could go wrong with having a j-pouch aren’t things I deal with.
But those are all physical. And I can trace a clear and obvious path in my head since being sick. We all know we will die one day. Poof. But the realizations that came with watching my own body betray me, with realizing I am powerless when it comes to staying alive, were more than powerful.
I could write a book on my feelings and thoughts about the feelings; my frustration at life, opportunities, health, experience. But I wanted to say I related. It’s different, obviously. It always is. But it’s a tough and terrifying road.
At the end, whenever it comes, it’s not the road you’ve planned. It’s the road you’ve left behind. Spend every single day doing the things you want to be remembered for. It’s the only thing any of us have in the end.
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I can’t help but recall your lunches that consisted solely of greasy breadsticks from Papa Johns, for–what?–an entire summer?
ray :: feb 05 2010 :: 1:05 am
They weren’t greasy!
tripp :: feb 06 2010 :: 7:09 am
Dude, when something leaves a clear/oily spot on the paper/cardboard it came in, it’s greasy.
ray :: feb 07 2010 :: 2:24 am