Years ago, long and far away, my body was unpredictable. I’d have good days and bad days, often more bad than good, without any apparent rhyme or reason. It was chaos and I,being as I am, tried to find a pattern.
It took a long time. Finally, eventually, I figured it out…mostly. I realized that gluten was the biggest (but not only) contributor to the triggering of bad days. Going gluten-free didn’t solve everything, but it was something to hold on to and work with.
I still had bad days, but I could predict them and work around them.
And then…the pattern shifted. It became unpredictable again. Chaos was starting to take over. A butterfly beats its wings in Taiwan.
I won’t say cancer was the reason for change in the pattern. I don’t know. I will never know for sure.
But what I do know, is that the battle to stop the cancer, was another fly in the ointment. Another butterfly. Another change.
Through chemo, I stopped trying to find the pattern. There was no use, it seemed. And like all things, wonderful or terrible, it came to an end.
And though the experience of chemotherapy was chaotic, once it was over my body was supposed to at least start the process of getting back to “normal”.
I tried to find patterns again. It’s what I do. Patterns and logic and sense. Because the bad days are manageable when I know how long they last, and the possibility at least exists that I will, eventually, make my way back to “normal”.
When you are surrounded by seemingly infinite darkness, you stave off the madness by telling yourself the light will return.
But there was still none to be found. I tried and I tried and I tried and every time I think I found it… the algorithm, the reason… the sense...it slipped away again.
Bad days, good days. They blurred together. There seemed no logic, or exit, to the endless maze.
It is enough to make one go mad. The darkness encroached; no longer creeping, but rushing forward, removing the light.
And perhaps it is that madness acting now. Maybe my brain is so desperate that it is finding patterns, when truly there are none.
I think… I see the patterns emerging. Again. Finally. They are new patterns of course, but they are there. I can’t see the whole picture. I can’t see the finality of the pattern. But the light, wan and thin, is starting to emerge from the end of the tunnel.
I have a made a tear in the chaos. And I, like the butterfly out of a chrysalis, will continue breaking through.