Anxiety is poverty's co-pilot.

Hi Everyone,

It’s a subscription fire sale today for my prescription renewals coming up on Tuesday.

Anxiety is poverty's co-pilot. It won't leave you alone either in sleep or waking. Don't let anyone tell you differently because peace of mind is for folks with money. Calm is an impossible state to achieve when you spend your life trying to keep on top of your bills. It's why the entitled keep much of humanity on the edge and make sure we never earn enough to feel that- we are safe. I certainly don't feel safe, and I can't remember the last time I did feel secure for more than a month, a day or an hour.

The anxiety is worse now because, in ten days, I must go to Toronto for a cancer follow-up CT scan. It is something that I have undergone each year and sometimes more, since I was diagnosed with rectal cancer in January 2020.

This year, I find myself envious of those who can afford to only worry that their lives may be shortened because of more cancer being found- without the added angst of wondering how to pay each month's rent.

I have more anger than anxiety about this next scan. It’s an overnight trip because hospitals are overburdened, and CT scans are in such demand that appointments are booked on a 24-hour clock. Mine is scheduled for the supper hour. But trains stop running out of Toronto's Union Station for cities east of the Big Smoke at the same time, my innards will be checked for cancer growth.

There is so much that must be arranged with finite resources. It's why I had no sympathy for news that my King- twice over because I am a dual citizen of Canada and the UK- has some “form” of cancer. Whatever form Charles's has it doesn't come with the greatest impediment to cancer recovery- sufficient resources to survive the treatments and the time after.

The Big C blew the trajectory of my life, so, off-course, in 2020 I am still trying to find my bearings to a safe harbour which I am pessimistic about locating. But since Covid, almost everyone's lives have been thrown off balance. So, I know I am not alone thrashing about in these choppy waters on the New Normal Sea.

None of us are the same person we were in 2019. All of us suffered during these four last years, physically, mentally and financially because governments launched the lifeboats for themselves and the 1%..

During Covid 19's first lockdown; I had to travel to Toronto for radiation therapy scheduled  before my surgery. The city was hushed by Covid. There were no cars in the downtown core, and few pedestrians save for the homeless, who were out on the streets like feral animals after Armageddon. The cancer centre where I had my radiation treatment was shut to everyone but patients and staff. When I waited to be called for my turn for radiation, I had to sit two seats apart from every other person. Everyone was terrified by the cancer they had in their body killing them and this new threat-plague. 

So far, I survived it all. But luck is fickle, and time is something on loan to us. I know mortality is swift to collect on its debts, especially since my last CT scan in August confirmed my lungs are diseased from fibrosis.

 What I have experienced in bad health makes me wary of what the future has in store for me. It is not my death that concerns me so much as the dying before it. That's the hard part if you have few resources and the wheels begin to come down on your existence.

It's why- I cringe when anyone calls my yearly CT scan- “just routine.” It isn’t for me or anyone that requires them. Nothing is routine about your health or healthcare once death brushes against you like a drunk man pushing his way through a crowded pub whilst holding two beers. My appointment for a CT scan triggers memories of helplessness, pain, fear, anger, loneliness and confusion. It makes me relive 2020 with the foreboding knowledge that should cancer return, or my lungs grow worse, I neither have the finances nor the emotional resources left to thumb-wrestle it with similar strength as before. It's all been used up by the cost of living crisis.

Thanks for reading and supporting my substack. Your support keeps me housed and also allows me to preserve the legacy of Harry Leslie Smith. Your subscriptions are so important to my personal survival because like so many others who struggle to keep afloat, my survival is a precarious daily undertaking. The fight to keep going was made worse- thanks to getting cancer along with lung disease and other co- morbidities which makes life more difficult to combat in these cost of living crisis times. So if you can join with a paid subscription which is just 3.50 a month or a yearly subscription or a gift subscription. I promise the content is good, relevant and thoughtful. Take Care, John

PS subscriptions are discounted today for my prescription renewals on Tuesday.