Chronic Leukocytosis and the Quandary of Self-Ruination

So it was another tough week. I managed to put in fifty hours at work only to still desperately NOT keep up with my work while spending six extra business hours running around satisfying medical requests for my bodily fluids and such.

It was my first visit to a cancer center and I guess I expected patients as miserable as myself but was surprised as they all chatted with each other and went merrily around with their bald heads, caps, and wigs. I'd always known that potentially terminal patients tend to draw from a strength that most of us, incorrectly, do not believe is inside ourselves.

I've been in bad situations where a bizarre well of bravery spewed open leaving me to handle the storm admirably well only to crash afterwards into a sopping blubbering mess.

I do not even have a cancer diagnosis but when I went downstairs for my labs I began to cry uncontrollably as I waited for more blood to be sucked from my body. My thought was: "Are these people really optimistic or have they reached the point where they realize that they may have an opportunity to escape this misery?" Which would / do I want? Right now I'm too tired to care.