What's the gift return policy on this thing?

I have an admission to make. I feel like a bit of a traitor in saying this, but here goes:

Cancer was not a gift.

I don't get it. Maybe I missed the enlightenment gravy train. Maybe I'd already realized that corporate jobs suck the life out of you and that love and friendship are more important than money and that you should try to laugh at least once a day. I knew all that long before cancer. I also knew that there is a beautiful balance in life between joy and pain, grief and laughter. That all things have their place in this complex and stunning universe. So what am I missing? I don't see cancer as a gift because I've known all these things for years. Am I missing a key ingredient? Do I need a teaspoon of existential baking powder to make it all come together?

It makes me feel like some sort of curmudgeon. Like I'm too pessimistic to see the rightful glory of cancer. But perhaps it's just that I'd already learned the life lessons that others often get from cancer.

Still, I'd like *some* sort of gift from cancer. It could've at least sent a fruit cake.

I've figured out the best tax secret! Ever!

I just finished doing my taxes and I wanted to let you in on a little secret.

Shhh. Come close.

Closer...

Closer.......

Ready?

If your medical expenses are greater than your income, you don't have to pay any taxes!

Who knew? All these years I've been trying to be a productive member of society when I should have been developing an annual medical catastrophe! Whew! It's so nice to be free of those capitalist shackles.

I'm gonna go on permavacation!

Does anyone know where I can find the nearest leper colony? Is Molokai still a colony? Seems like a nice place to visit this time of year.


(p.s. I mean no offense to my leper audience. Without lepers, we would never have had Che Guevara. And without Che, my dad wouldn't have had a flag to put in his study.)

Movin' on up

We are now the proud owners of an SUV. I think that makes us d.i.n.k.s. Except that we're middle class. Can you be a d.i.n.k. if your double income is less than one average corporate salary?

Also - I fixed my cat's chronic poopin' and barfin' with some voodoo magic I've learned. But more on that later...

Hello, my name is....

Ned. As in N.E.D. As in, my scans and blood were all healthy and good to go.

Take that, cancer!

It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

Tomorrow I see my onco to find out the results from my latest rounds of scans and blood tests.

One hour later and five blocks away is a free screening of Sicko. (I never did get make it to this when it was in the theaters. I thought in the midst of trying to wrangle with my own medical drama, it might send me over the edge.)

This irony is not lost on me. The big question is... if the cancer is back, does that mean I should or should not go sit through Sicko? What is the universe trying to tell me?

When Worlds Collide

I wheeled my cart to the register, placed a rubber baby buggy bumper between my crap and the crap of the lady in front of me. I caught her just as she was getting her change, two customers in front of me was my gastroenterologist.

She looked frazzled and tired. My first instinct was to call out her name and say hello. Tell her thanks again for saving my butt.

But I didn't. At first I told myself that it was because she looked so tired and I didn't want to bug her. Now I think it's because in order to make sense of this all, I can't have my cancer world and my food shopping world collide. The mundane task of buying milk, limes and great northern beans wouldn't play nicely with the world of laxatives and ass-cameras.

Gone Daddy Gone

That's it! I couldn't take it anymore.

I've cut my hair. All of the frazzled, dry, thinned out craptastic chemo hair is gone. My full, luscious, ringlet-curls have returned.

I look a little like a 20's flapper. But with an extra 40 lbs of chemo-steroid weight on my cute kewpie doll figure. (Sigh. That's my next project.)

In any event, it feels good to leave one more vestige of cancer behind.

I have my 9 month post-chemo CT scan tomorrow. Let's all say it together, "Fuck Cancer."