terrifying ride down the Boise River; without a raft. An adventure that I never wish to experience again. Oddly enough, this adventure seemed to only terrify me; which has led me to many hours of pondering.
Has life just become a series of Instagram photos and Facebook posts, creating a lack of actual connection to other people, or have I created such a strong persona of "I am so strong, that I do not EVER need help?"
I know that I should not compare what I would have done, or how I would have reacted to others' reaction and actions, but I just cannot stop internalizing the entire scene. I mean come on...there is an old lady being washed away down the river, and people just kept floating by....no attempts to help, no words of hope or "help is on the way", NOTHING; no wonder people drown. What if it had been a small child or a teenager? The pure lack of urgency was astounding; I wonder what went through people's mind.
I don't know what I expected, but I guess I was holding out hope for rescue! lol
A gal that I met through my blog probably said it best;
" It's positively surreal how nobody realized how bad this was. In the end, you rescued yourself, really, both by grabbing onto the tube handle and later by hitching a car ride. It struck me how it parallels the whole CML shmear - we all end up having to be our own best researchers and advocates and, also, that we live in a state halfway between OK and not OK all the time. We have a great medication that makes it probable we won't be obliterated on the rocks, and we can still stand up, but nobody really gets how banged up and depleted we are from the struggle. It's not that they don't care, they just think we're handling it fine."
Thank you, Kathy, for your wise words of wisdom. I know that there is truth in these words, as being a wife, mother, and grandmother, I do tend to wear my "I am fine, everything is fine" mask most of the time, but after this brush with a terrifying adventure, I realize that maybe I am not always fine, and maybe I do need a life-line thrown my way, every now and again.
As a person living with a chronic cancer, I understand that I must always be aware of lurking dangers, and always be ready to fight; there is a fine line between being a burden, and knowing when to admit defeat.
I suppose that it takes being drug down a river, out of control, for me to throw up my hands and say, "Jesus Take the Wheel!"
Can being TOO strong be a detriment?
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