So here it is, last night I had my first WTF moment.
There were tears on my pillow.
Going to bed after a nicey afternoon and evening, the Schnauzer was curled up in her bed next to mine and it dawns on me… WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK AM I DOING?
I’m not *that* bad, I still work full time, live independently, manage my house and life and stuff reasonably well ~ or so I like to think, I get to the gym or Pilates a couple of times a week (BTW: I’m down 7.2kgs ~ that’s about 15lbs ~ yay me), travel, have the most amazing family, and friends around me (literally and figuratively), drive and yet I have the resolve to fly to the other side of the world, have chemo, lose my hair feel like crap, look like hell, stop work for 6 months, ask for help and people to interrupt their perfectly own stable lives before (and after I go), and leave everything behind for a couple of weeks… WTAF!!
Sometimes I think other people *deserve* the chance for treatment more than me, they have little people to consider, they’re possibly more disabled than me, or worse off than me. It’s like (but not) when something tragic happens to a pretty woman and the media go nutz and she’s front page news *gorgeous mum of 3….*, why is she more deserving of attention than a dumpy, SAHM in the ‘burbs.
That’s a stretch I know, and I don’t mean to put myself down or anything but my mind is going at a zillion miles an hour.
However, in the light of day the reality is that my number came up and last night was just a part of the roller coaster ride.
I’m claiming the prize.
I’m doing it for all the reasons I said above, because I want to keep working, travelling and having time with my friends and family, living independently and so much more.
Also, someone even had the audacity TO SUGGEST that in 12 months I’d be able to run. WTAF? I never ran before MS, what happens in Moscow that makes everyone want to start running once they’re back on track?