Scarce resources.

It used to be that time was my biggest scarcity. When I was first diagnosed, I focused so much on time, time, not enough time. Time to live, time to mother, time to work, time to experience. But I see that time comes and goes like waves on a shore, as it always has before and always will, and I'm still here. Time, it seems, has not forsaken me yet. And I am grateful.

There is a new scarce resource now. I woke up this morning feeling... nothing. My energy is gone. All the strength I had to move, speak, think. Gone. Even my reserves - my "generator," as I called it - is gone. A thief in the night, it crept up on me slowly. And suddenly. It's the worst kind of hangover, complete with memory loss and exhaustion and disorientation. 

And worst of all: regret. Regret that maybe I pushed myself too much the day before. Regret that perhaps I took it for granted for too long. And now it's time to pay the piper, but the price is too high.

The thing is, I know why my energy has become such a commodity. It's needed elsewhere, for more important reasons, and I understand that. I can even feel it, this intense war between mutinous cancer cells trying to kill me and poisonous chemo trying to kill the cancer. But, then, there's a second battle also raging, one where the cancer and chemo band together against my own body. And there's only so much a person can take.

They say that when people come upon conflict, they react in one of two ways: fight or flight. In this way, I have no other choice but to fight. My very survival depends on it, after all. And so persevering without energy for the next two months or so is not the end the of the world. Certainly not for me. It just means that my smile may not be as wide or my laugh may not be as loud or my wit may not be as sharp. The important thing to remember is that I'm still here. Just depleted a little.

I wake up each morning, thankful to be given yet another day to live, the gift of time. Every inhale and exhale is precious, a reminder of survival.