I'm Not Home Yet

I discarded my prosthesis Monday night and moved my wigs off of my dresser. I don't know why its taken so extended, nor do I know why there are still things I lack the capacity to check out and could not venture to dispose of.

I have some tote packs in my pad that I've utilized as a part of the 3 years I've shuttled here and there and then here again amidst here and M.D. Anderson. They're filled with protection structures, bills, magazines, confuse books...the stuff that gathers while you hold up. Holding up is a craft in which I've ended up being generally versed.

I could not make myself endure it. I attempt from time to time, but that chemo queasiness profits similar to an apparition to remind me of how grave its been.

I in addition move a little record book with me that incorporates, right around different things, some pages itemizing the physical responses I had to chemotherapy. I allowed partake in an academic work that needed I keep track. I could not tear these pages out.

I remind myself that I've been through a ton. I disposed of the prosthesis, I moved my wigs. It's a voyage of conciliation. I'm not home yet.