CANCER: What doesn't kill you....

Friday night, while hanging with my awesome nephew Vinny, he made the following statement: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I replied: "Actually Vinny, it has been my experience that what doesn't kill you, doesn't kill you." And yes, I caught him off guard- which is a rare occurance with this bright, bright young man.

But I meant it. Perhaps I'm taking a dive into some potentially choppy water here, but bear with me. So hear me (read?) me when I say this: From this experience I don't want to be stronger. Truthfully, in the past two years I have handled the IRS, a divorce, single parenting, dating, putting my house on the market and now cancer- and my kid STILL made honor roll. Personally,  I think I have demonstrated to anyone paying close enough attention, that I am a pretty tough lady. Do I really need to be stonger? Nope, nope, NOPE.  Instead, I just want to be alive and have enough friggin' energy to get me back on track to God knows what.

I sincerely appreciate those of you who consider cancer patients heroes. Really. I do. I also appreciate those of you who call us fighters. Sure....But, here's the thing:  getting a cancer diagnosis is a lot like playing a really dysfunctional game of tag. Nobody in their right mind wants to be "it." And anyone with a soul wouldn't dare pass it on to someone else. So there you are- an unwitting participant in a game you didn't even choose. I mean, what ever happened to freakin' dodge ball? But being "it" does that make me a hero? Hell no! I would love to be able to rescue someone, leap from tall buildings in a single bound, run??? But that isn't what is going on here- at least not at my house.

And fighter? Well, the image is certainly a sweet one. Me rocking some pretty intimidating head gear and those shiny shorts in a boxing ring...Sure I can see it. But really- my opponent is silent and hits back in ways that no trainer can prepare me for. So instead, every fourteen days, I slap on some clothes along with some killer shoes, plaster on a smile and drag my ass into the "infusion" room where a seven drug cocktail drips into an artery in my heart. Where's the fight in that? I literally sit there and chat up the nurses and various Team Moy supporter for about three hours. Then I pop outta there and sit around alternating between sleeping and praying for my bowels to move- usually four days later. So really, I ain't fighting a damn thing.

Now look- if anyone reading this is a cancer patient and sees things differently, Lance Armstrong is your personal motivator- I say more power to ya! However, that philosophy just doesn't fit me.  Besides, I truly believe I could teach Lance a thing or two....

Instead what does fit is the following statement that just about everyone in the United States grew up with: "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, but how you play the game." Now that's a statement I would wear on a t-shirt....

I believe in dignity above all else and grace. Cancer is a shitty life partner- and trust me, I know from.....And I also know that there are plenty of "fighters" out there whose lives are claimed by this crappy disease. So I wanted to take some time to reflect on what other options exist out there in this cancer-mania universe for someone who didn't ask for this fight.