Scar Tissue

It's not every day, every week or even every month, that I think about my cancer past.

It's intentional not to dwell on the what-ifs of what could have happened and focus on what-is. I am alive. That is the blessing.

But every now and again the tight lid I have on that chapter of my life opens just a little and leaves me undone.

It can be visiting a friend and seeing their orange dish washing detergent that bares a striking resemblence to the chemo IV.  Or noticing someone notice the scar on my left arm from my port.

Or days like today, when I feel someone has wasted my time.

I'm not easily offended. I am my father's child in that regard. he can even find a compliment when he is being insulted:)

But what gets under my skin every time is feeling like my time, my precious precious time, has been wasted.

In those moments I come to face to face with the reality of how much I cram into every day, every week of my life.

Of the reality that I live like there is no tomorrow, knowing there really could not be.

Of the reality that being faced with death has me gulping down life.

Damn scar tissue.