Back home after a week during which I only stopped to think about cancer when I had to take my meds, or occasionally to notice how little I was thinking about cancer.
It's strange to be so healthy and so not healthy at the same time.
Monday I'll be back at the hospital - the patient who loves everyone, bearing Spanish candies, laughing in spite of the cancer that has taken up residence in her lungs, liver, and bones.
Yuck. I have to say that in this moment I'm feeling no patience for that person, and certainly no desire to be her. I'd much rather be on the streets of Madrid, walking for miles and eating and drinking and seeing stuff that's way more interesting than cancer.
But, of course, I am both of these. Healthy and not healthy. Thinking about cancer and not thinking about it. Whole and broken, as we all are.
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