Time Marches On

How very strange that, for all practical purposes, my life went on hiatus on May 20 and hasn't yet returned.

May 20 was the morning I woke up with excruciating pancreatic pain, and every day since has involved hospitals, doctors, surgeries, pain, pain medications, nausea, digestive problems, and/or depression. My surgeon says this is one of the worst cases of pancreatitis he's ever seen (especially in someone my age--47!), but I haven't lost hope completely, yet; I think he still has a few tricks up his sleeve.

In the meantime, all the things I love and that bring me joy have been taken away: working on arts and crafts, food, going out with friends and family, laughter.

I try not to complain too much--I was never very tolerant of people complaining about their health. You can bet that has changed. I was a "fixer"--don't feel well? Take an aspirin. Tired? Take a walk. Coming down with something? Take vitamins. I know now that some things can't just be "fixed" because you want them to be--otherwise, you can bet I would have been cured of all this mess months ago.

I've always believed that things happen for a reason, but I'm having a hard time seeing the reasoning here. Maybe it's too early to understand why, out of the blue, my body would attack me and hold me hostage. In the meantime, I spend my days swimming in dark grottoes in my own little world, looking for some clarity--or at the very least, some peace.