December 23, 2012

It sucks to worry when you don’t have anything to worry about.

One of the quotes I keep close at hand is: 

So why would anyone want to do that?

This was the week for a good ol’-fashion cancer meltdown.  I guess I was overdue – I haven’t had one in a long time.

Even before going on the Thanksgiving trip to the Eastern Sierras, I’d been preparing for an upcoming winter camping trip to Arizona.  Itineraries, campsite reservations, things to see and do – I was in full-on Info Junkie mode, gathering my data and putting the trip together.

Then I was hit with a case of monetary-induced paranoia:  why am I taking all this time off from work to go on this trip when I may need that vacation leave later, if I need to begin treatment?  What would I do if I’m off from work for an extended period of time, with no vacation or sick leave to cover it?  HOW WILL I PAY MY MORTGAGE?  I’ll end up living in a cardboard box under a bridge.

Yeh, I went from 0 to 60 in nothing flat.

So I did what any intelligent, rational person would do:  I backed out of the trip and cancelled my vacation.

Because of my house.

(See?  It's completely “intelligent” and “rational,” right?!?)

My house is an immense source of pride for me and a huge accomplishment.  I’ve never owned my own home, completely by myself, until I bought my cozy cottage two years ago.  (In fact, it was two years ago today that I moved in – Happy Home-i-versary!)  While it’s a gigantic achievement, it’s also a gigantic responsibility:  because it’s just me, there is no one else’s income to make the mortgage payment if I can’t.  I pride myself on always making my mortgage payments early, well before the due date.

But since the diagnosis in April, there’s a sense of financial vulnerability that periodically creeps in.  It’s not based on anything factual; it’s purely an irrational fear.

But sometimes it gets overwhelming to consider that one’s situation could become financially perilous because of illness.  I think of the millions of people who are falling off that boat right now, drowning under the debt of disease and powerless to do anything about it.

And that is fucking scary.

But, the good thing about an irrational fear is that someone else can usually talk you out of it.  And that someone was Susan, the acupuncturist.  When she asked this week about my upcoming trip and I told her I cancelled it and why, her response was, “Are you CRAZY?  This has been a bitch of a year for you; you need to do something to end it on a positive note, and that would be your vacation.  So DO IT!  Don’t let cancer tell you what to do!”

I had fallen into the trap of allowing this cancer thing to govern my life.  Recognizing this, I was summarily snapped back into reality, thank you very much.

And back on track with the trip.

So today I braved the masses of last-minute Christmas shoppers and headed out for a little retail therapy:  to buy Jake a cozy new camping bed.

 

"Are we camping yet?"

 

Wanderlust RULES!  (And cancer DOESN’T!)