Mourning My Limitations

I know my limitations. I have learned that lesson. I learned how to say “No” so I can save my energy and my sanity. What I still struggle with is how much I hate it.

I WANT to do things. I HATE that I cannot attend that meeting, commit to that protest, go to that event. I am struggling against both regular aging and cancer-induced aging. There is so much I want to do, and I cannot do it, at least not to a fully invested ability. Half of a Curmudgeon is really no Curmudgeon at all.

OK I cannot blame this ALL on cancer. Some of it is my gig-economy lifestyle. If I don’t accept a gig, I don’t get paid, and I NEED to get paid. The cancer part comes in where I get tired all too quickly. I know my limits—I get up between 5:30-6:00 AM and I don’t have a brain at 7:00 PM. If there is a meeting I want to attend via Internet, I have to take a nap or adjust my manic daily activities—I morphed into a morning person and get most of my shit done early in the day. But it is not always the case. I ration out my time, my attention. I will attend a meeting in a few days and I have CHOSEN to do this. I have adjusted my schedule and will sacrifice a few things to attend this meeting—a meeting in which I hope to propose solutions to make my political active life a bit easier. But while it may seem like a smooth rearranging on my part—what lies behind that is all the angst I had in making choices, in figuring out my plan. It might not seem like a big deal to some readers, but to me, cutting 2 days of work is 2 days lost income. Travelling 80 miles out of my way (40 miles 2 times) on a 14 year old SUV approaching the 200,000 mark (while making an awful noise), that is trying on my nerves. I cannot afford to just up and get a new car, though I seriously need to do that.

Like I said, I hate my limitations. Not all of them are cancer-related, at least not directly. I mean, some of my financial woes is because I wiped out my savings buying insurance before the ACA kicked in. I had to buy insurance because I could no longer handle working in my 80-hour work week job after treatment. It all really does come back to the cancer, see?

There a million things I want to do, a million issues I’d like to comment on. But I am tired. So tired. I am limited

Author: Cancer Curmudgeon

Oct 2010 diagnosed with Stage 3, HER2+ Breast Cancer. Completed treatment Jan 2012. Waaaaaay over pink. Applying punk rock sensibility to how I do cancer.

5 thoughts on “Mourning My Limitations”

  1. I get it. We are twice cursed. Once with the disease and the second with the costs associated with it, not only monetary, but loss of work. Loss of friends. Loss of activity. I look at to commercials and print ads and see seniors playing golf and running and dancing and laughing. Where do I fit in? Certainly not there. I’m glad I read.


  2. You hit the nail on the head. I am also so very tired, way too tired for my age. There is so much I still want to do but it takes so much planning to even do a small part of it. Cancer robbed my youth, my fertility, and has aged my body at least 20 years. It really isn’t fair is it?


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