My son recently told me that I am beginning to abuse the cancer card. I’ll let you be the judge of that. So far I have discovered two perks that come with cancer:
1) People are nicer to you when you tell them you have cancer.
2) The caloric value of Twinkies and Ho-Ho’s seems less significant since the chances of actually dropping dead of a fat ass vs. cancer are significantly reduced.
Anyhoo – as most of you already know, I employ perk #1 as much as humanly possible.
Recently my daughter who was in a VERY foul mood told her brother that she hated him. She actually said those words:
“I hate you Shawn.”
In her defense she was tired and hungry and stressed and KNOWING this he decided to “poke the bear”. As I have said to him before. He is not “special needs” so he UNDERSTANDS the whole action/consequence scenario. Therefore, should he attempt to “poke the bear”,“wake the beast”, or knowingly jeopardize his well being with regards to his sister then I am not interested in helping him glue the pieces of his shattered psyche back together after she nails him. Which she does, trust me… my daughter is a scrapper and she does not take crap from anyone. Anyhoo – she was gritchy and he knew it and attempted to tease her anyway. When he wouldn’t cease and desist she brought out the big guns and told him she hated him.
The thing is, “Hate” is not a word we use in our house. I DETEST it. I don’t want any of you to think I’m getting high and mighty because I am the first to admit that I am a lousy Catholic and pitiful in my Patriotic duties. There are whole pieces of the U.S. constitution that I do not think apply to me and a couple of the Commandments that I think God possibly threw on the list just to have a round number. Seriously, avoiding murder I have down… the Lord’s name in vain thing is still what I like to consider a work in progress. However, I can feel proud of the fact that though I am lousy at some of those things I am GREAT about drawing the line at “Hate”. My children have been raised to know better. So Campbell dropped the “H” bomb and mommy pulled the car over and did the whole body swivel thing on the side of Tongass Avenue in the middle of a rain storm. After I delivered my best “WE DO NOT…….” spiel she responded in a very calm and matter of fact voice.
“That goes for you too Mom.”
“Oh My…. Little Girl, someone is feeling VERY, VERY brave.”
But I decided that there was no point in attempting to deal with the situation until she had slept, eaten, and mommy had called in reinforcements (little soldiers in the Sande household that I lovingly refer to as G&T’s).
Later when she had apologized to both of us and we were all cuddled together on the couch I told them in my most serious voice that we all needed to work on treating each other better and that Hate was never an acceptable word, and besides they HAD to be especially nice to me on account of the cancer.
To which my son responded: “Mom! You can’t keep using cancer forever you know. I think you’re beginning to abuse the cancer privilege.”
When did cancer stop becoming a curse and become a privilege? I have to admit that I understand where he gets the perception. After all, as I discovered this month, I have officially become the recipient of the trendiest, most well accessorized disease on the flippin’ planet. Unlike colon cancer, or stomach cancer, my cancer comes with designer brands and fancy pink ribbons. And my disease is the proud owner of not just a day, or a week, BUT an ENTIRE month which is dedicated towards a national campaign to help raise awareness. I wonder about the awareness thing though. I mean, the people who have it and their loved ones are already painfully aware of it and the people who don’t are probably sick of hearing about it. Honestly, all of it makes me squirm a bit and I can’t help but try to avert my eyes when faced with the pink displays and attempt to scan past the magazine titles that shriek: Breast Cancer: A National Epidemic. The disease that is killing women at an alarming rate.
Dear God. I think I would avoid that shit even if I didn’t have what seems to be the trendiest disease of all time. Well, at least there is that… I’m trendy. I can don the pink ribbons and pink sweaters and pink hats and feel like I’m with the “in” crowd. Finally. I’ve been waiting to be “in” since middle school. I am officially seated at the table with the cool kids. So there’s that I guess.
What about other people with chronic diseases? Do their diseases also get a day, a week, or even an entire month? Do they get a pretty ribbon? If you’ve read these chapters then you know that my mind retreats to warped realities when bored or stressed. So in one of my Vincent Van Gogh moments I decided to create an entire campaign in my head for less desirable diseases like Leprosy or STD’s… Is Crabs a disease or just an irritating condition? How about a Crabs Awareness Campaign? I found myself giggling over the prospect of orange ribbons and little crabbie pins with Swarovski crystals. A Ralph Lauren line dedicated to the Prevention of Crabs…. Instead of a Pink Pony they could have a jockey riding a crab or even better, a jockey riding a pony being chased by crabs. I know, I know….not funny.
I suppose I am abusing the cancer card a bit. I suppose my flip, joking response to this whole ordeal has been because I am still attempting to hide from the fact that I had cancer this year. If I take the smile off my face and put the laughter where it belongs then all that’s left is the sadness, and darkness and fear I feel when I realize that some of the ladies I sat next to in chemo won’t live to see Christmas and they don’t love their families any less than I love mine.
I was apologizing to someone I work with this week about the flip manner in which I joke about the cancer and he responded that it was okay… that he was glad I could find humor during the fight. I told him that I was still just so entrenched in denial that I hadn’t gotten to the point where I could be angry yet. I told him in some ways that I was afraid that if I started crying I may never stop, not just for my sadness, for the sacrifices my children and husband, my best friend, my family has made, but for all of the other women out there. For those diagnosed, for those about to be diagnosed, for those who didn’t survive or won’t survive and what all of that must feel like for their children, for their families….I told him I’m afraid if I stop making jokes and allow myself to feel all of it that I’ll start crying and never stop or that I’ll get so mad that I’ll stay that way and never laugh again. He told me that he understood that and if I could hang on to the laughter that I should because his wife died of breast cancer 7 years ago and it wasn’t because they didn’t try hard enough to save her or because they didn’t do everything right… they did… but she died anyway and he said he was still angry, every single day.
I have to tell you… I was not prepared to hear that story. Like all the magazines and talks shows I have been editing this month… I have also bypassed those individuals who could perhaps present a different reality than I am prepared to deal with. So this one snuck by me and before I could divert the bomb it hit me in the face and I felt the air get sucked out of my body.
But as I turned the conversation over in my head that evening and felt the beginnings of real fear I decided to stop turning it, to put it away and to just focus on what I could handle. Today in Anchorage I watched the sun rise above the most beautiful mountains, I watched the cityscape from way up high and enjoyed the view that reminded me of past spectacular memories, I saw leaves dancing in the street, I held my nephew and I made funny faces and he smiled, I bought a skinny tall mocha just like I used to do when I was healthy and though I am not at a place yet where it tastes good, at least the smell doesn’t turn my stomach any more and I could just enjoy the warmth of it in my fingers and the thought that from the outside standing on the street in the middle of this beautiful city wearing Betsey and holding my coffee I look like me.
And…I have news! Progress of sorts… Some amazing little helper bee in Anchorage has created a blog site for me. I don’t know what that means yet but I know this blessed soul has spent time away from her own chitlin’s to create a home for my ramblings in cyber-space. I have a vague understanding that I can now post these chapters there instead of e mailing them out as I had no intention of pestering those of you who have had enough of these and me…and yet there are those of you who still want more…….so the solution as near as I can tell anyway is: http://www.loggingcampgirl.blogspot.com/ . And there we will be, my chapters, past, present, and future…in our own little cyber forest filled with dresses, and glitter, and beautiful shoes, and laughing children and cake with pink flowers, and dollies with new clothes and red balloons and rubber boots, surrounded by these beautiful souls…dancing… to the most incredible music. Yep…come and find me there… if you’d like…. http://www.loggingcampgirl.blogspot.com/.
Love to all of you
1) People are nicer to you when you tell them you have cancer.
2) The caloric value of Twinkies and Ho-Ho’s seems less significant since the chances of actually dropping dead of a fat ass vs. cancer are significantly reduced.
Anyhoo – as most of you already know, I employ perk #1 as much as humanly possible.
Recently my daughter who was in a VERY foul mood told her brother that she hated him. She actually said those words:
“I hate you Shawn.”
In her defense she was tired and hungry and stressed and KNOWING this he decided to “poke the bear”. As I have said to him before. He is not “special needs” so he UNDERSTANDS the whole action/consequence scenario. Therefore, should he attempt to “poke the bear”,“wake the beast”, or knowingly jeopardize his well being with regards to his sister then I am not interested in helping him glue the pieces of his shattered psyche back together after she nails him. Which she does, trust me… my daughter is a scrapper and she does not take crap from anyone. Anyhoo – she was gritchy and he knew it and attempted to tease her anyway. When he wouldn’t cease and desist she brought out the big guns and told him she hated him.
The thing is, “Hate” is not a word we use in our house. I DETEST it. I don’t want any of you to think I’m getting high and mighty because I am the first to admit that I am a lousy Catholic and pitiful in my Patriotic duties. There are whole pieces of the U.S. constitution that I do not think apply to me and a couple of the Commandments that I think God possibly threw on the list just to have a round number. Seriously, avoiding murder I have down… the Lord’s name in vain thing is still what I like to consider a work in progress. However, I can feel proud of the fact that though I am lousy at some of those things I am GREAT about drawing the line at “Hate”. My children have been raised to know better. So Campbell dropped the “H” bomb and mommy pulled the car over and did the whole body swivel thing on the side of Tongass Avenue in the middle of a rain storm. After I delivered my best “WE DO NOT…….” spiel she responded in a very calm and matter of fact voice.
“That goes for you too Mom.”
“Oh My…. Little Girl, someone is feeling VERY, VERY brave.”
But I decided that there was no point in attempting to deal with the situation until she had slept, eaten, and mommy had called in reinforcements (little soldiers in the Sande household that I lovingly refer to as G&T’s).
Later when she had apologized to both of us and we were all cuddled together on the couch I told them in my most serious voice that we all needed to work on treating each other better and that Hate was never an acceptable word, and besides they HAD to be especially nice to me on account of the cancer.
To which my son responded: “Mom! You can’t keep using cancer forever you know. I think you’re beginning to abuse the cancer privilege.”
When did cancer stop becoming a curse and become a privilege? I have to admit that I understand where he gets the perception. After all, as I discovered this month, I have officially become the recipient of the trendiest, most well accessorized disease on the flippin’ planet. Unlike colon cancer, or stomach cancer, my cancer comes with designer brands and fancy pink ribbons. And my disease is the proud owner of not just a day, or a week, BUT an ENTIRE month which is dedicated towards a national campaign to help raise awareness. I wonder about the awareness thing though. I mean, the people who have it and their loved ones are already painfully aware of it and the people who don’t are probably sick of hearing about it. Honestly, all of it makes me squirm a bit and I can’t help but try to avert my eyes when faced with the pink displays and attempt to scan past the magazine titles that shriek: Breast Cancer: A National Epidemic. The disease that is killing women at an alarming rate.
Dear God. I think I would avoid that shit even if I didn’t have what seems to be the trendiest disease of all time. Well, at least there is that… I’m trendy. I can don the pink ribbons and pink sweaters and pink hats and feel like I’m with the “in” crowd. Finally. I’ve been waiting to be “in” since middle school. I am officially seated at the table with the cool kids. So there’s that I guess.
What about other people with chronic diseases? Do their diseases also get a day, a week, or even an entire month? Do they get a pretty ribbon? If you’ve read these chapters then you know that my mind retreats to warped realities when bored or stressed. So in one of my Vincent Van Gogh moments I decided to create an entire campaign in my head for less desirable diseases like Leprosy or STD’s… Is Crabs a disease or just an irritating condition? How about a Crabs Awareness Campaign? I found myself giggling over the prospect of orange ribbons and little crabbie pins with Swarovski crystals. A Ralph Lauren line dedicated to the Prevention of Crabs…. Instead of a Pink Pony they could have a jockey riding a crab or even better, a jockey riding a pony being chased by crabs. I know, I know….not funny.
I suppose I am abusing the cancer card a bit. I suppose my flip, joking response to this whole ordeal has been because I am still attempting to hide from the fact that I had cancer this year. If I take the smile off my face and put the laughter where it belongs then all that’s left is the sadness, and darkness and fear I feel when I realize that some of the ladies I sat next to in chemo won’t live to see Christmas and they don’t love their families any less than I love mine.
I was apologizing to someone I work with this week about the flip manner in which I joke about the cancer and he responded that it was okay… that he was glad I could find humor during the fight. I told him that I was still just so entrenched in denial that I hadn’t gotten to the point where I could be angry yet. I told him in some ways that I was afraid that if I started crying I may never stop, not just for my sadness, for the sacrifices my children and husband, my best friend, my family has made, but for all of the other women out there. For those diagnosed, for those about to be diagnosed, for those who didn’t survive or won’t survive and what all of that must feel like for their children, for their families….I told him I’m afraid if I stop making jokes and allow myself to feel all of it that I’ll start crying and never stop or that I’ll get so mad that I’ll stay that way and never laugh again. He told me that he understood that and if I could hang on to the laughter that I should because his wife died of breast cancer 7 years ago and it wasn’t because they didn’t try hard enough to save her or because they didn’t do everything right… they did… but she died anyway and he said he was still angry, every single day.
I have to tell you… I was not prepared to hear that story. Like all the magazines and talks shows I have been editing this month… I have also bypassed those individuals who could perhaps present a different reality than I am prepared to deal with. So this one snuck by me and before I could divert the bomb it hit me in the face and I felt the air get sucked out of my body.
But as I turned the conversation over in my head that evening and felt the beginnings of real fear I decided to stop turning it, to put it away and to just focus on what I could handle. Today in Anchorage I watched the sun rise above the most beautiful mountains, I watched the cityscape from way up high and enjoyed the view that reminded me of past spectacular memories, I saw leaves dancing in the street, I held my nephew and I made funny faces and he smiled, I bought a skinny tall mocha just like I used to do when I was healthy and though I am not at a place yet where it tastes good, at least the smell doesn’t turn my stomach any more and I could just enjoy the warmth of it in my fingers and the thought that from the outside standing on the street in the middle of this beautiful city wearing Betsey and holding my coffee I look like me.
And…I have news! Progress of sorts… Some amazing little helper bee in Anchorage has created a blog site for me. I don’t know what that means yet but I know this blessed soul has spent time away from her own chitlin’s to create a home for my ramblings in cyber-space. I have a vague understanding that I can now post these chapters there instead of e mailing them out as I had no intention of pestering those of you who have had enough of these and me…and yet there are those of you who still want more…….so the solution as near as I can tell anyway is: http://www.loggingcampgirl.blogspot.com/ . And there we will be, my chapters, past, present, and future…in our own little cyber forest filled with dresses, and glitter, and beautiful shoes, and laughing children and cake with pink flowers, and dollies with new clothes and red balloons and rubber boots, surrounded by these beautiful souls…dancing… to the most incredible music. Yep…come and find me there… if you’d like…. http://www.loggingcampgirl.blogspot.com/.
Love to all of you
