In the end ...
There are moments when I stare at myself in the mirror for so long that the shapes of my face seem to jump off of my body and float before me. The triangle of my nose. The ovals of my eyes. They float and I stare and stare and stare until I'm lost in something that is not me but is me and is a part of me.
Then, there are moments like last night, when I'm curled up on the couch with my head against Mulder's chest and the dog is on the floor in front of us and everything, in an instant, fits together perfectly - the shapes and the colors and the pain and the joy - it all comes together and the larger vision isn't important because it's the smaller one that matters.
I love this dog. The dog has completed us in a way that I don't think Mulder and I really realized we were missing. She is fun and she is playful and yet she knows when to curl up on her bed and wait patiently for the humans of the house to get it together. When I am alone and scared, she is there with me. When I need to play, she drags me outside.
One more cancer treatment. One more chemo treatment and then we try this newer, more experimental way to go, this way that has worked for this other doctor.
Already, I am wondering how long I go before I give up on all treatments ... before I stop chasing a dream of an answer that has already been given to me. The chip saved my life and the chip again killed me. The tests that were run on me, tests that gave me cancer, that destroyed my body, they can't be turned around with dream treatments and hopeful prayer. There is no if, but when. The cancer will push into my brain. There is no surgical remedy for this. Perhaps coming to terms with it is my way of truly understanding that for the past ten years now, I have been merely cheating death. Out running it. Looking away when it comes for me.
I hate thinking like this. I hate it because I have so much to live for. But every day, my body hurts just a little bit more. Every day I lose more hair. Every day it's harder to get out of bed - even with Maggie's gentle pushing. Every day I have to face the fact that what was done to me is an experiment that continues. Every day young women are abducted. Children are tested on. Men have things shoved into their bodies. And I can't help but be suspicious of every "flu outbreak" out there.
I wish I could be optimistic, but Agent Drummy's wife is not expected to last the week.
Charlie has only been able to confirm some of my suspicions. He has tracked down files that pertain to questions we have. He has risked his career to ask questions people in his position should never ask. He risks his career in other ways too ... but that is a conversation for another time. But he has no fix. No magic. No third chip. No promise of another ten years of cheating death. There is no cigarette smoking man to lead him down a dark hall and offer him a hopeless choice.
Or is there?
The Syndicate lives. This much, I know. But what they are now doing, what the purpose is, is beyond my comprehension. Maybe I am no longer meant to know. Maybe God has decided that it is now someone else's battle to fight.
I wish I could believe that. I wish my dreams allowed for it. I wish I didn't have a lingering feeling that for as much as we have been through in the past year ... there is more on the horizon.
Then, there are moments like last night, when I'm curled up on the couch with my head against Mulder's chest and the dog is on the floor in front of us and everything, in an instant, fits together perfectly - the shapes and the colors and the pain and the joy - it all comes together and the larger vision isn't important because it's the smaller one that matters.
I love this dog. The dog has completed us in a way that I don't think Mulder and I really realized we were missing. She is fun and she is playful and yet she knows when to curl up on her bed and wait patiently for the humans of the house to get it together. When I am alone and scared, she is there with me. When I need to play, she drags me outside.
One more cancer treatment. One more chemo treatment and then we try this newer, more experimental way to go, this way that has worked for this other doctor.
Already, I am wondering how long I go before I give up on all treatments ... before I stop chasing a dream of an answer that has already been given to me. The chip saved my life and the chip again killed me. The tests that were run on me, tests that gave me cancer, that destroyed my body, they can't be turned around with dream treatments and hopeful prayer. There is no if, but when. The cancer will push into my brain. There is no surgical remedy for this. Perhaps coming to terms with it is my way of truly understanding that for the past ten years now, I have been merely cheating death. Out running it. Looking away when it comes for me.
I hate thinking like this. I hate it because I have so much to live for. But every day, my body hurts just a little bit more. Every day I lose more hair. Every day it's harder to get out of bed - even with Maggie's gentle pushing. Every day I have to face the fact that what was done to me is an experiment that continues. Every day young women are abducted. Children are tested on. Men have things shoved into their bodies. And I can't help but be suspicious of every "flu outbreak" out there.
I wish I could be optimistic, but Agent Drummy's wife is not expected to last the week.
Charlie has only been able to confirm some of my suspicions. He has tracked down files that pertain to questions we have. He has risked his career to ask questions people in his position should never ask. He risks his career in other ways too ... but that is a conversation for another time. But he has no fix. No magic. No third chip. No promise of another ten years of cheating death. There is no cigarette smoking man to lead him down a dark hall and offer him a hopeless choice.
Or is there?
The Syndicate lives. This much, I know. But what they are now doing, what the purpose is, is beyond my comprehension. Maybe I am no longer meant to know. Maybe God has decided that it is now someone else's battle to fight.
I wish I could believe that. I wish my dreams allowed for it. I wish I didn't have a lingering feeling that for as much as we have been through in the past year ... there is more on the horizon.