After two months in the hospital, a couple of months getting my bearings back in place, and a whole lot of drama in between.
Being diagnosed with a terminal illness unexpectedly changes one's outlook on things. I am told I will live a normal life once things are under control, but one never really knows where life will lead them.
After losing 65 pounds, not knowing whether or not my days were really numbered, and trying to get the help and support I needed to get through the first couple of months, it has taken its toll. I am feeling better day by day. My appetite has returned. I am starting to work out with stretch bands to regain my strength so I can start going back to the gym. I went from a size 36-38 to a size 32-34, and trying to decide if I need to buy new pants and shorts, because I will gain some of the weight back, but not quite sure how much. The meds have rendered me a total space cadet with major ADHD issues, running to the toilet, and at times, a major cranky grouch as side effects. So I still have good and bad days.
But it's day by day. Trying to be grateful for what I have, the time I have, the people who love me and support me, and what I have to offer the world. As time goes on, I'll share progress and obstacles.
The next post will be an anecdote about something really messed up but does make a sick and twisted humorous story.
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