Shakespeare and My Voices

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.

William Shakespeare in MacBeth

   Tomorrow is Chemo Round Five and while I don't have plans for this to be "the last syllable of recorded time" for me personally, it is nonetheless a day I do not eagerly anticipate.  When one has hard circumstances looming, one gets a little philosophical in the hours leading up to the hard thing.  I guess without wanting to I am doing just that.  I have rather appreciated these last few days when my body is feeling good, when I eat and drink because I have hunger and thirst, and when I don't have the overwhelming need to sleep.  But the "petty pace from day to day" is something that I can also relate to.
   People ask me, "What do you do with all that time?" Well, it depends.  If I am throwing up, not much else.  If I am sleeping, not much else.  If my stomach is moving around and goes from my throat to the base of my hips in 2.45 seconds, not much else.  When I am feeling good, I walk, I read, I write, I play Ruzzle, I do the laundry, I clean the refrigerator, I pray, I text, I clean up around the house.  Soon there will be a day when I won't have the need to justify what it is I do with my time.  This is a personal justification, mind you; you see, when I feel good, I also feel guilty that I am at home feeling good.  Guilt is that voice (borne out of some doctrinal standard in the church somewhere, I think, that was meant for good but can cripple us at times) that says that you are in the wrong and you should be in the right.  Specifically for me it says, "What are you doing at home when you should be at school or at least living life?"  When all is well, guilt can motivate us back toward the narrow road we should all be walking on, but cancer also has these warnings: "Always wash your hands!"  "Don't hug people!" "Do everything you can to avoid getting a virus from someone!" "Don't touch your face!"  "Even a virus in your condition could be catastrophic!"  The Cancer Voice and the Guilt Voice seem to be competing in my brain for my attention and therefore my action (or non-action).  Ultimately I need to just set both aside and get healthy.  I know that.  But the voices are there.  I guess I need to read a little more Shakespeare and recognize this truth: Those voices are "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."  Who would have thought that Shakespeare could be an antidote for the voices inside my head?

   OK, Tem is home.  Time to go play Cribbage. Thanks for listening to my voice(s).