Misery

I'm not an authority on pain. I don't have vast experience of suffering. So many people are experiencing misery beyond my ability to comprehend. I just woke and cannot sleep due to some flu like symptoms and felt the urge to write down my thoughts with my phone.  Even though my level of suffering pales compared to so many around me I feel like I stood at the edge of the bottomless pit of misery and looked into the blackness.  It's not just death. It's complete loss of hope along with the constant agony of pain and symptoms too numerous to mention.

My glimpse at true misery occurred recently as my condition passed an entire year of treatment. The constant bombardment of sickness for so many months feels like weights pulling me toward that pit.

To be clear, I am not in constant agony though I've tasted it. I haven't given up hope though at times I've wondered if that would be easier. I looked into the pit without falling in. I've had the deepest heartfelt sympathy for the poor souls who have fallen. They're all around me. 

It's impossible to be here for so many months without feeling their pain. For my part at the clinic, the least I can do is offer hope. I use humor to try to make them smile. I tell transplant patients that I'm doing incredibly well which gives them hope for a similar outcome.  I do my best to care and assist when needed. Some people just need to have their pain acknowledged by another person.  I'm not a saint for helping others at the clinic. It would be impossible for anyone in my condition to ignore them and I'm not alone.  Encouragement and kindness are shared from many fellow cancer patients. 

The dominant symbol of encouragement comes from the clinic itself. Every day, hundreds of us flock to the clinic, knowing the drugs will make us more sick. We flock even though they take away our immune system and cause added misery. We flock because with each awful pill or infusion or radiation comes a glimmer of hope. Even in cases where that glimmer is faint, it's everything for some. It's their only chance at climbing out of that pit. The faint glimmer becomes a bright beacon of hope. The hope is not just for survival but for the dream of just feeling normal again. 

I'll read this tomorrow and probably delete it. Writing on a phone while heavily medicated with a headache in middle of the night will probably embarrass a clear minded, daytime self. I need to sleep.