She stands upon Southampton Dock

First off, the surgery went very well. The doctor was able to remove my gallbladder with a laparascope, and I was out in two days. I'm actually back in my own home right now. My belly is a little sore, with seven little incisions about, but other than that I'm physically fine.

Now, onto the truth telling portion of our show.

I'm sad. Many of you who see me on a regular basis don't know this. Many of you who talk to me a lot do not know this. Since this whole ordeal has started there have only been three people who have seen the actual physical manifestations of my grief, and two of them were family. I'm not saying that I've been sad the whole time, but right now that is simply the truth.

It's a truth that is very difficult to admit. Part of me feels that if I let people know that I'm sad, I'm letting them down. Everyone does their best to be supportive and optimistic about the whole situation, and I don't want them to think their efforts are not doing me any good. Honestly, they are. I love all of you and I greatly appreciate all that you have done for me. But tonight, and for the last few weeks, I've been sad. I'm sad that I have cancer, that I still have cancer, that I need to go back to chemo. I'm sad because I miss my mother. I'm sad because in spite of my normally strong outlook on the big picture, there is still a part of me that knows this shit is going to kill me. I'm sad because this is the toughest thing I have ever had to do in my life.

For those of you who will see me after reading this, we will not speak of it. We will joke about the cancer. We will be sarcastic and witty. We will discuss politics, and television, and food, and video games. But we wont talk about my sadness. I know that all of you, in the privacy of your own worlds away from me, feel your sadness for me. You may share that sadness with others, but not with me. You think that if I see you are sad for me that I will in turn become more sad. For the most part this is fine, this is after all, me. When my mother was dying from cancer, I was the biggest joker of them all with her, and she needed that, as do I. My mother had her sad moments, but she kept them from most people. She kept them to share with my sister and my father and me, and even then I suspect she kept many from us. In fact, now I'm sure of it. This is how our relationships are, you and me. We have been friends for years. We always joke about life. We call each other names and make fun of each others proclivities. When there is serious work to be done, we do it, and we do it well. This is the way it has always been and this is the way we will deal with the cancer. It is good. It is me.

I'm not depressed, at least I don't believe I am. I'm not ready to throw in the towel (how I hate using such a trite euphemism). I'm not crying myself to sleep. But this is probably the longest stretch that I have been really sad since the whole thing started. Part of it is because I'm feeling beat down, that I've tried so hard for so long and it's still not done. I'm not sad 24 hours a day either. I've had many moments of happiness in the last few weeks. I've been out, I've seen friends, I've had fun. I'm looking forward to my vacation in a couple of weeks. (though, there is an odd mental struggle I'm having as well. Do I really need a vacation since I've not really been working for a few weeks now?) But still, I am sad. My mind is dull and listless. My body is lazy. My soul is pulling me down by my shoulders.

For those of you who have been following this blog, you know that it is at this point, before I close, that I would turn it all over and tell you that I'm fine. That sharing this with you has been the catharsis I needed and just getting the words out there has helped. That I'm going to be fine. I'm not going to do that tonight. I'm sad.