The shot went well, fabulously well, Dr Germany said something along the lines of, "We're on a winning team" in reference to my protocol. Man that's a fantastic thing to hear. I don't know why I get to live this - I don't even have a good word for it - blessed life, but I am grateful for every second. And along with living a life that is true to me, and my evolving views, I will also continue my mission to help other tumor patients achieve health, and longevity.
The thought has crossed my mind that now I'm stable, I could say screw it and just go live my life (while obviously continuing my treatments). I could stop blogging. I could unconnect from social media and just garden, or find a career that could withstand my seizures, and time off to travel for treatments. I could turn my back on the brain tumor world and focus on anything, or everything, else. I could just spend my time in an unrelated field, or focus on other endeavors, but the truth is that I feel the need to pay it forward. I am driven, compelled, to help others who are just starting their journey, or perhaps are dealing with a relapse/recurrence. I could not turn my back on family, and that's who you all are. You are my brain tumor family, and I will not abandon you. It would be easier, probably, and less emotional, less stressful, but who would I be if I didn't help those in need? It's not the kind of person I want to be. We all have choices every moment of every day about who we are and how we're going to live our lives. I have somehow navigated my way through this crazy diagnosis, and although I'm not guaranteed tumor stability for life, with this path that I'm on, it's working for now and I know I can help others. I've done it and will happily continue. It's actually even selfish sometimes because it makes me feel good when I talk to another brain tumor diagnosees and help them figure out their own plan, because everyone is different. Each brain tumor patient can blaze their own path; they can take little bits here, and little bits there, from other patients who have been successful. When I see, or hear in their voice, the determination to live, it fuels me. When I share what I know, or connect them with others who can also give valuable information, I feel intrinsically good. Is there such a thing as altruism? I really don't know.
So, even though I worry about you guys, all my tumor friends, crying for you at times, I wouldn't change a thing about the responsibility to help. I know this is a choice. I see pieces of myself in you, I know your struggles, I know your fears. Know that I'm here, and I will help you in any way I can.
The bandaid peaking out reminds me of today's life giving treatment |
The thought has crossed my mind that now I'm stable, I could say screw it and just go live my life (while obviously continuing my treatments). I could stop blogging. I could unconnect from social media and just garden, or find a career that could withstand my seizures, and time off to travel for treatments. I could turn my back on the brain tumor world and focus on anything, or everything, else. I could just spend my time in an unrelated field, or focus on other endeavors, but the truth is that I feel the need to pay it forward. I am driven, compelled, to help others who are just starting their journey, or perhaps are dealing with a relapse/recurrence. I could not turn my back on family, and that's who you all are. You are my brain tumor family, and I will not abandon you. It would be easier, probably, and less emotional, less stressful, but who would I be if I didn't help those in need? It's not the kind of person I want to be. We all have choices every moment of every day about who we are and how we're going to live our lives. I have somehow navigated my way through this crazy diagnosis, and although I'm not guaranteed tumor stability for life, with this path that I'm on, it's working for now and I know I can help others. I've done it and will happily continue. It's actually even selfish sometimes because it makes me feel good when I talk to another brain tumor diagnosees and help them figure out their own plan, because everyone is different. Each brain tumor patient can blaze their own path; they can take little bits here, and little bits there, from other patients who have been successful. When I see, or hear in their voice, the determination to live, it fuels me. When I share what I know, or connect them with others who can also give valuable information, I feel intrinsically good. Is there such a thing as altruism? I really don't know.
So, even though I worry about you guys, all my tumor friends, crying for you at times, I wouldn't change a thing about the responsibility to help. I know this is a choice. I see pieces of myself in you, I know your struggles, I know your fears. Know that I'm here, and I will help you in any way I can.