Nice piece by Susan Gubar on how one’s perception of time, and what one counts, changes with cancer and other serious illness. Rings all too true with with me; I continue to set short-term, rather than longer-term, goals, given my situation, although am starting to stretch these slightly.
And she ends, as someone with a terminal illness and likely about a year left, with:
Sometimes the time left seems too long; too many catastrophes could injure those I love. Sometimes it seems too short; there are so many suspenseful stories unfolding around me, and I want to see how they will turn out. Those for whom time’s chariot is indeed winged often attest to a heightened appreciation of their fast-fading prospects. And then there is always the dream of borrowed time, that numinous period beyond the predicted end, like a stay of execution, which must be fraught with its own blessings and curses.
But during apocalyptic times, when natural forces obliterate the precious places of my origins, even the dream of borrowed time can sink under the rising waters, as I brood on the widespread suffering and struggling of others.