Grounded, and how to cope

You never think much about death till you have to

I’m grounded due to health

None of what I’m about to write will surprise those who have known me a long time. The way I cope with things isn’t what a lot of people consider ideal. To cut a long story short, I’m an adult of child hood trauma. Some of you know, some of you don’t, but it was horrific, and I lived in denial about it a long time. The problem with trauma is it never quite goes away. You learn to live with it, but you are never exactly settled about situation or things that could end up triggering you. The way you learn to deal with trauma is to become de-sensitized to it.

Fast forward to now. I’ve been battling with cancer for a while now. It’s essentially been over the last 18 months. I’m not winning. Things are all over the shop.

For a travel monkey like me this is not good news, for a number of reasons:
- I’m grounded, and not allowed to go anywhere much.
- I’m completely and utterly broke.

Australia talks the good talk about having universal healthcare, but it doesn’t really. It has one of the highest out of pocket expenses of any country that says it provides health. The issue is, in hospital care for cancer is 100% convered. So there is no bullshit there, however less than 30% of the required services for cancer care are done as an ‘inpatient’.

Billions in out-of-pocket costs show urgent need for investment in preventive health: RACGP

So now we fight. Now we try and do the best we can. Cause even if I get in remission, it will be a long time before I can afford to go away again. And that at the moment is depressing me to hell.

I didn’t write this as a cry for help. It just an insight to what is currently going on in my life. I’m not after sympathy or support. I have those things already.

So here we go. This poem sticks in my mind lately. I had never heard it till I’d watched ‘Interstellar’.

‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Courtesy of Poets.org)

Adam Written by:

Adam is a middle aged idiot, who explores the world, and generally gets lost. When I'm not doing that I'm wrangling Splunk and Cyber Security for large enterprises.

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