Don't They Have Vicodin In Purgatory?

Several friends have been having fun with my head, loaning me head pieces . . . everything from Mother Theresa to the Muppets and Munchkins.  As I get a little more comfortable with this blog, I will share a few of the other photos.  My sincere thanks go to Rob, Bob, Doug, Ken, and Tom for giving me a few hearty laughs.

And so I sit in my Paul McCartney hair and contemplate my productivity.  It bugs me.  (Yes, the wig AND the productivity.)  It is very difficult for me to feel as though I am not a contributing member of society, even temporarily with cancer.

I grew up in an extremely hard working family.  Chores, jobs, volunteering, and success. Anything less was lazy.  A voice deep inside my head continues to shout, "Cancer schmanser. Get off your ass and be productive."

My father died about a year and a half ago because he refused to listen to doctors who told him he couldn't walk.  He got out of bed, fell and broke his hip, and died about ten days later.  I'm sure he would not have a single regret that he tried to get up "and get busy."  He knew no other way.

And what about the pain?  Well my grandmother, my father's mother, always said that God gives us pain so that we can suffer for the souls in Purgatory.  Now what part of that statement makes even a remote amount of sense?  Even the Catholic church has said there may not be a Purgatory.  They're keeping Limbo, but the Purgatory "waiting room" has been closed until further notice.  Babies who die without a blessing can now proceed directly to heaven . . . no wait . . . they still go to Limbo.

For the most part, I have found great solace in knowing I can rest in bed as doctors instruct me, and still be productive in other ways.  Writing brings me so much comfort.  I believe the key is a personal balance in recognizing what is necessary for my healing, and what is eating bonbons while watching enough Food Network to get a culinary degree.

And then I start to feel physically good again for a few days and I stress that I should be spending my time helping others.  That's what we do . . . we humans, we Irish Catholics, we twelve steppers.  And I believe that with every ounce of my being.  It is only through helping others that we find our own true happiness.

So I return once again to thanking all of you readers for giving me the opportunity to feel balanced, productive, of-service, and creative.  The only thing that would make it even better would be if they had internet access in Purgatory.