To me this tale is pretty ugly, but also fascinating in a way that makes me want to tell it all to others because I doubt that many cancer survivors talk about the mind and body changes they go through, except maybe among themselves. Or they talk about losing their hair, or their hatred of chemotherapy or radiation treatments, keeping the pain, suffering, and mental aberrations to themselves.
I certainly had no idea what was wrong with me (like writing upside down and backwards, for instance, and thinking that was okay, but irritating). I lost three pairs of hard contact lenses in just a couple of weeks, but had never lost a single lens in the previous sixty years of wearing them. I began mixing up which ones went in which eye, or whether I was taking them out in the evening or putting them in in the morning. Stuff like that!
Until I was diagnosed with cancer; I just thought I was losing my sharp mind and body weight to old age. This went on for months until I consented to a CT scan that showed the cancer. By that time I had lost the balance in my body chemistry and was unable to think coherently and was even having hallucinations before I was hospitalized — and then it all got worse.
Some of the doctors and nurses were doubtful I would or could overcome my illness, but I refused to admit I was even ill — insisting that my hallucinations and my physical health were just fine and it was the medical people who were wrong. There were two, though — one doctor and one nurse — who let me play my games and stood behind me, and I think I owe them my life because they gave me hope.
I felt I was living in two worlds, and the hallucinatory one was the the “real” one. Coming out of that belief was the most difficult decision I have ever made, and I almost didn’t. Some of the medical people know the hell I went through just to admit the actual world I lived in was the actual one. To me the second world was preferable to this one until I finally figured out that I was being badly manipulated by extremely malevolent characters that were pretending to be fun, kind, and helpful to me. And these characters were actual living breathing human beings, some of them medical professionals, some of them patients with all kinds of horrid diseases, some of them administrative employees, and some just hospital visitors. Some of them were magical people who could create and walk through doors and even rooms and whole floors at the hospital. They had me convinced that they were living in a better world than I was. Until they didn’t.
Somehow I escaped from their world, and I clearly remember every insane minute of it. In my mind it was a Mad Max thriller, and I was sure the medical care I was receiving had nothing to do with the beginning of my recovery. Often, I wasn’t even aware of the meds, equipment, and the care and even my own presence or theirs. The doctors and nurses were just little children playing with various kinds of toys.
. . . and it all goes on from there to now, including the conscious details, which were worse than any nightmares I could ever wish upon any person, including myself. I still occasionally have remnants of the memories.
This moniker (Unaware) seems to fit the early days of my cancer — not knowing how long I had it before it was diagnosed., ignoring the possibility, ignoring my Oncologist’s phone calls, and denying it even as I was in the Emergency Room in the process of being examined and admitted. So one could say that I was at first unaware, and then “up in the night” for thinking so when all the evidence was against me. llolloll! 
But part of my refusal to give in to the very idea that I could have cancer probably went a very long way toward my eventual decision to never give in to the disease, no matter what! I will always believe that my resolute constitution about (much of it delusional early on) that helped considerably in my winning enough of the battles to win the war. I was fighting a rabid, mean, cruel, and vicious foe, so eventually I did everything the medical people told me to do and more.
And then there were the people like my daughter, you, Amy, and seemingly endless others, including my doctors and nurses, whose good karma and constant encouragement kept me resolute and charged up enough to move forward on the offensive every single day even though there were many days when I just wanted to lay down on the uninhabited desert sand somewhere and wait for death to come.
Thank you, for all the support and hope you gave me — especially considering your terrible life experience with the cancer-caused death of your own sister. You gave me the heart to keep on keepin’ on. Sending you love and gratitude for all that!
. . . But then there remains these dreams when I’m asleep, but I’m well enough now to know what they are, and that gives me comfort when I am awakened from them in a cold sweat.
Corrie Anne was the one who rescued me physically from my cancer stay during the first weeks of my intensive care in the hospital. She spent nearly a month helping me relocate and settle into an oddly different kind of lifestyle while I fought the cancer that was trying to consume me before I could consume it. I never could have made it through those days without her help, and for that I am uniquely indebted to her for the remainder of my days. She may not know it, but she is the most important person in my life and will no doubt remain on that pedestal for as long as we both remain alive.
Thanks to you, Any my dear, and all the others, for inspiring me to write this wild and crazy story to in turn inspire you to read, know, and understand what certain kinds of cancer can do to the human body and our mind, and, if it loses its war with you, you are proud and happy to remain alive, but you will never be the same individual who you once were.