The heart of the matter.

Today, I learned of a death. A woman. I didn't know her well. I mean, I'd never met her in person. We talked on the phone once or twice and I knew her husband because he's a bouncer at a bar I go to sometimes. I'd also heard about her through my doctors, though. Because she had a heart transplant 6 years ago. She had a really rough time after transplant. Her heart was fine...but everything else was wrong. Her gallbladder, getting infections, bone problems. But her heart was fine. I'm not sure how she died, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't related to her heart. It was fine. I am so tired of death. I am so tired of thinking about time, and of thinking about statistics, and of living in a state of perpetual utter panic and anxiety about all the things I need to do AND QUICKLY before I quit outrunning that fucking asshole and the finality brought with. I am tired of getting statistics in the mail. "By law we have to tell you your yearly survival rates". Second transplant...70% one year out. 60% after five years...but hey it's better than the national average!!! After five years it just gets fucking grim. And all these people dying around me...all these stories of people being fine for a while and then suddenly dying. All these things I want to do and need to do and my terrible decision making abilities and my relationship problems and anxiety and pain and crumbling bones and strained muscles and reading a story of a heart transplant patient who ran in an ironman competition or climbed a mountain and being so close to some people yet so fucking far away because how the fuck could anyone who wasn't dealing with it know how terrible and enlightening and frightening it is to live so close to death....these are the things my brain is filled to the brim with. I feel. Numb. I feel so tired and so numb. I feel tired of being confused. I feel confused at being tired. I don't know how to feel anymore. I lived, she died, they died, you will die instead. Does this mean I'm special? To who? To what? Why? Can I actually die? I've lived through more than an average person can claim. And it just keeps fucking coming. I just keep being disabled, no matter how I wish it different, no matter what I do or don't do, I'm still here, in this body, with these problems and thoughts and unanswered questions. I try to talk to people about it. I try. "Well we all die, you know" They say in a consolation attempt. "You just have to look at the bright side, it could be worse!" They retort. Well fuck you for all your help. People don't get it. And how could they? I don't expect them to. I'm sorry you died, Angie. I hope you were at peace with that. I might be developing cervical cancer, my bones are slipping around my spine, my fellow patients are dropping like flies around me and I'm dodging death like I'm in that fucking movie Final Destination, but hey... My heart is fine.