I realized yesterday that about my favorite version of myself is the fun, flirty, fast-moving me who comes out to play in conland. I was on, more or less, that way the first couple of days of this convention. And this is only the second time since the summer of 2009 that I've been able to be this person I really like most to be. Cancer stress, cancer treatment and chemo fatigue have either kept me away from these events altogether, or had me attending on a much more limited basis. The only real exception, oddly enough, was Norwescon of last year. Even that was tainted by just having received the then-new cancer diagnosis.
And, well, here's the new round of tests coming in eight days from now. I am terrified I'm going to lose another year of my life to this disease and its treatments. Lose more of what I've struggled to gain, just as cancer has cost me writing time, parenting time, an entire major life relationship, teaching gigs, speaking appearances, many of the things I love most in my life. It even steals my waking hours.
This disease is a fucking thief.
I let myself get overworked and overtired yesterday, and it all caught up with me. In turn, stealing my evening from me. Just like I'm so mortally afraid it's about to steal another year of my life and those things I love most from me.
So the main arc of my Norwescon experience ended with a miserable whimper instead of the usual Saturday night crescendo of partying and frenetic socialization. I've got a panel today, then we're heading home, where I can go back to my quiet everyday life, and spend this next week wondering if I'll be trapped there for another year. Cancer, or at least the stress of it, certainly stole what should have been the peak experiences of this weekend.