Even though my prognosis is overwhelmingly positive, I still have occasional strong urges to act as if I have a terminal diagnosis. This mostly seems to manifest with food. For example, today, I had a six-inch meatball sandwich from Subway, with jalapeos, which is a food I've loved for twenty years. It's ridiculous food, and very far from healthy, but sometimes, the heart wants what the heart wants, especially when one has received a reminder of one's mortality. Injera will likely be on the menu sometime soon, even if I tend to eat it so fast it makes my stomach hurt. And possibly even McDonald's cheeseburgers, which I prefer served cold.
Don't judge me; I have cancer.