It's funny how in the course of this year's health upheavals, the simple way in which I react to new things has be changed. In short, I take bad news with a silent acceptance, and I take good news with a grain of salt.
It seems sad to think that I now come to expect the bad, and disbelieve the good.
I used to think I was a cynical pessimist, but I've come to find out, I had no clue as to how cynical or pessimistic I could truly be.
Perhaps it's this sense of betrayal I carry with me now. This sense of being cheated somehow, by my body and by extension, my family has given me a bad case of the "once bitten, twice shys."
All I know is when I read the doctor's reports stating all looks "normal" in my CT scan, I can't help but ask myself, "how normal is normal, when my biopsy SHOWS the progressive, permanent damage to my organ?" Obviously the scan is wrong, or the doctor is blind. No way could I be holding ground and not getting sicker.
There has to be more.
I mean, I have no symptoms. Are you going to tell me I have no illness too?
Just because my test results come back as good news, it doesn't mean there isn't the spectre of bad just below the surface.
My body showed no signs of sickness all those months ago, and if it hadn't been for a coincidental finding during a test for an unrelated matter, I would never have been diagnosed. I can't help but to hold onto that fact. That is my proof that my body lies and cannot be trusted.
And when the trust has left, what else is there?
Nothing.
So now I find this lack of faith affecting the good along with the bad.
That's my emotional fall-out.
Debris indeed.
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