It seems inadequate

It all seems so inadequate somehow. I’ve done my surgery, I’ve done my chemo, and now I wait. I practice positive image visualization. I fast one day per week. I exorcise my demons and exercise my body. I drink decaffeinated coffee all day long. Somehow these things are supposed to help fight cancer, but they don’t, not really. Cancer – it comes. Cancer – it goes. Sometimes it stays. Nobody knows.

I read about the new, apparently massively more contagious virus mutation and I did what? Nothing. What can we do? I ordered an extra week’s worth of groceries. I felt a bit foolish doing it. Great, now I have two bottles of pear juice instead of one. An extra dozen eggs. An extra box of cereal. It felt privileged. Pointless. Paranoid.

I read about how hard the economic disruptions are for so many people. I try to spread a little bit of money around. I tip the people who bring my groceries. I give a little to local community causes. A little more to a friend in need. But to what end? Our country is crumbling and I am handing five extra bucks to my delivery driver. This solves nothing.

Suddenly there is cancer all around me. Not just in my cancer support groups, where I’d expect it. Suddenly it’s my family, my family’s friends, and my friend’s families. Where did all this cancer come from? I send hopefully-supportive emails. I cannot cure cancer.

Here we are, in our new year now. It feels a lot like our old year. Which was absolutely nothing like the entire other 50 years that lurk like a fading dream in my memory. I have been dreaming, lately, of magic beanstalks. I’m wondering if I should look up that old story and figure out what that’s about. But I do not like old stories; they are creepy and dark.

My beanstalk is bright and colorful and backlit by the sunlight. It grows strong and fast, with many vines looped together in friendship, providing easy footholds. I climb it rapidly and joyously, with boundless energy. I do not want to think about weird old stories of family tragedy and giant ogres.

I try to reach out more – cards, emails, texts, phone appointments, video appointments. I’m not very good at reaching out. But of all the inadequate things, it seems like the most useful at the moment. I reach out – for your sake, for my sake, for all of our sake. It’s not a lot, but probably what we can do right now.

Sorry I do not have any pictures for this post. I would paint my multi-colored magic beanstalk for you, but I don’t know how. I would take a screenshot of my mind.

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