The Beginning

It might be nearly impossible for me to explain my reasons for starting this blog, but I'm certain you will understand as I post each day. One important reason is because I want others to know there is someone like me "out there." Maybe if one person who feels alone reads this post and understands there is someone out there like them, they will feel less alone -- and truthfully, maybe I will, too.

I definitely don't want this to be depressing, although I've had a somewhat depressing day. I promise there will be times when you read the blog that you will laugh, cry, scream, call in your spouse to read what I wrote (and they probably won't get it or care).

I am a survivor of childhood cancer. I was diagnosed in 1977. I honestly never thought I'd live to be able to say, "I was diagnosed over thirty years ago." Holy crap. Thirty years is a long time (sorry older folks), but it is. An important part of the very long story - which I am going to detail throughout this blog, is that part of my treatment when I was ten years old was to have my left leg amputated at the hip. I wear a prosthesis that weighs around 14 pounds. People ask why I wear it, and I say because it gives me my hands to work with. Also, because my parents were smart enough to help me get used to it - more later on that.

SOOOO, here I am, 35, and I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE! It truly is a miracle. Definitely something to rejoice. Why, why, why then, after all of these years, have I turned angry and afraid and desperate to be out of this body of mine? Truthfully, this blog is as much for me as for you, the reader. A journal of sorts. I was always going to write a book, but stuff keeps happening, so here is my story - in modern form.

It is late. I'm reading a good murder story by James Patterson, my eyes are heavy, but I want to read just a few more chapters. My goldendoodle is curled up at the end of my bed, keeping my feet warm, and I feel content. Tomorrow I will write more about the beginning of the discontent. The beginning of my story.