I read today of a famous and respected Australian media personality, Mike Willisee, who is battling throat cancer, the same cancer that I am fighting.
It upset me because the report was full of how they are trying hard to retain his 'golden' voice, his strength in the fight and his dogged determination.
Most of which will be of course bull->-bleeped-<-. He will be in pain, frightened, sleepless and worried. He will be facing his radio and chemo feeling sick, unable to swallow and too tired to think.
I feel for him in a very personal way. Nothing I have ever fought was as hard as fighting my cancer – nothing – and I have had some fearsome things to fight.
If I believed in gods I would pray for him; I'll send him my love instead.
But on reading the news reports and watching the TV clips I started to feel sorry not for him but for me. Where were the media and the public love when I had my fight? Where was the medical team designing a treatment to preserve my voice? Where was the new wonder drug to help me?
Where was the public sorrow? The gnashing of teeth and the sack-cloth and ashes?
Self-pity is such a wonderful bath to wallow in.
Where does 'Why me?' come from. Why do I feel that I am something special when in reality I am nothing; I'm just a nanosecond blip on eternity.
So I read posts of sadness and despair. I read posts of joy and success. I read of small triumphs and lovely happenings.
I smile and somehow I don't feel so sad anymore.
Feeling sorry for myself is such a waste and bathing in self-pity isn't as much fun as showering in the sunlight.
How was your day Honey?
