Recently, I heard several people say that some cancer patients don’t die from their cancer, but from a secondary illness or disease. Well, I’m doing pretty good these days since my current chemotherapy drug, aka, ‘chemo #3’, is successfully bringing down my tumor marker, the CA-125.
But today in the bank, shortly after they opened, one of their ‘customers’ was wearing a mask and demanding money from the tellers. I suspect that when the tellers weren’t giving him the money fast enough, that's when he needed to say, “4! … 3! … 2! …”
He got the money and left, all while I sat fifteen feet away from him in the bank manager’s office, all while I was wondering who to call on my cell phone, all while I was questioning if I should get under the two office chairs, all while I was planning how I would get behind the manager’s desk, and all while I was wondering if I was doing to be killed by a bullet!
Tonight I rejoice that I’m here to write this blog.
That is pretty scary stuff ...
ReplyDeleteGAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteYou know I had a similar situation that was nothing at all like that. I'd been so preoccupied with cancer, and was it going to come back, and what was the result of that next blood test going to be, etc. I was helping my husband up on the roof. "Hey can you get me such and such from the back of the car?" he asked, and I swung down on the ladder, which began to collapse beneath me. My shoes went flying right off my feet as I dangled by one arm from the roof. My husband grabbed me by the seat of my pants and jerked me to safety as my stepson stood below with his arms outstretched, and his eyes about bugging out of his head.
It happened so quickly that I did not even have time to shriek, let alone be afraid. But I sat there on that roof in shock and thought, 'Dang. I've been worried about cancer. It never crossed my mind that I could fall off a roof, or get run over by a bus, or any number of life ending things.' At that point, I sort of stopped worrying about cancer so much.
Glad you're okay. Gotta say, I would have probably wet myself.
Now that society recognizes PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) I had no problem getting immediate time with a therapist, that is, after the police interviews. It was the first step to begin the process of ridding myself of the trauma. Today I had my second session, and boy-oh-boy, there is work to be done to free myself of the fright that is still deep in my muscles. Thanks Daria and Debby for your support and understanding.
ReplyDeleteTalk about scary.
ReplyDeleteRenee xoxo
May it NevEr, eVer happen to you.
ReplyDelete