I think the greatest challenge in fighting cancer is getting out of bed in the morning. It is the pivotal moment of life. The bed is warm and with nights of little sleep, rest still seduces you to stay, but to no point. If I even stand, the war begins.
If I don’t stand and stay in bed, there will be no more sleep. If sleep came only in small pieces during a dark and peaceful night, it will not come at all with the sunlight streaming in through the windows and the noises of day seeping in from under the physical doors and through the air from the electronic windows out to the world.
It becomes an issue of purpose. We only get out of bed with an impetus; to get ready for work, to go to a career, to build something, to write something, or to change the world in incremental points.
Where there are no longer purposes, no careers, things to build that will only rot, things to write, that no one will read, what is the point? Why do we stand up?
At one juncture, there was an illusion that I could get up to fight this fire that burns within my bones. I can’t see the fire, but I feel the smoke. It is suffocating me. The smoke is everywhere, robbing me of feeling well and of the stamina I need to do anything. But how do I fight it? I keep hoping that I will awaken to a new day with less smoke, but it never happens. There seems to be no healing.
I fought hard for months, doing everything I could, exercise, diet, rest, and research, and it gained me nothing. The fat, Twinkies-eating, smokers and drinkers, who laid on their couches and did nothing, fared better than me. So, what’s the point anymore? How do you fight an illusive fire that you can’t see, that no buckets of water can find, a fire with a determined mind of its own? Is prayer the only thing left? If so, it is done just as well, if not better, from beneath the blankets and lying on one’s back and avoiding the war for another moment.
But there are dishes and clothes to wash, floors to sweep, dogs to pet, coffee to drink, vistas to perceive, and sunbeams to feel. But is that it? Did the writer of Ecclesiastes understand what we never do?
You can have long “to do” lists, and still no purpose. Adding to the list adds nothing to your life, except the regret of being further behind in chores. There are plenty of people willing to give you a purpose, to serve their needs, but it too does not help. Mike
J. Michael Jones 
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