It's the little things...

Most days I don't think about my illness.

I feel great. I have energy. I feel no pain. Even my headaches have been mild to nonexistent.

I feel so good in fact, that I tend to forget I'm terminal. It's almost as though I am healthy.

Then out of nowhere something will pop up and shatter this illusionary world I inhabit.

For example, I will lean my arm on the counter for a minute too long, and a bruise will appear. No trauma necessary. All I have to do is lean to be reminded that my platelet count is low.

Today I have to get a flu shot due to my immune system being compromised. That's what my doctor tells me. Again, another reminder that regardless of how good I feel, I am not good at all.

The little things slowly chip away at my pleasant mood, and at times, my confidence.

I give myself these pep talks. I try to convince myself that I am in fact NOT dying OF this disease, but that I am living WITH this condition. I tell myself the glass is half full, and not mostly empty. I tell myself I can beat this because I'm feeling great, and I am asymptomatic.

But when a bruise appears out of seemingly nowhere, or when I have to swallow my principles and get a flu shot, or when I receive a phone call from the transplant center to confirm my appointment... it's hard to believe my own propaganda.

These tiny, unrelated pockets of circumstances chill me. They devastate me. They break down my emotional defenses and leave me clutching my Teddy bear like a scared 3 year old.

And then the moment passes, and I regain control and tell myself to live in THIS moment and not to worry about the next.

It works, too.

Until the next bruise, the next action that goes against my personality, or the next appointment.

Rinse and repeat.