So, Chemo #3, outta here. See ya. Movin' on.
Went to WalMart this morning after taking the kids to school. Thought I would sneak in and sneak out before all the weirdos, yahoos, and stupid people showed up. Oops. Too late.
Actually, I was doing pur-ritty darn well until I forgot to buy baking potatoes to go with the steak we are having for tonight's dinner. So, I loaded up the Suburban with my $250.00 worth of groceries and went right back inside. There she was. Standing in the produce section in front of the baking potatoes. She caught me totally unaware because she looked so, sooooooo... what's the word? Not stupid.
*Side-Note-Bonus: Normally, I love the produce section. It is the first place Big Daddy told me he loved me.*
Allow me to set the stage for you. I know how you all love it when I dress up for trips to Wallyworld, so here ya go...
Nike Running Shoes
Blackish-grey Under Armour Running Pants.
2009 Race for the Cure Tee-shirt...in which it is very easy to tell the affiliation because it says in big, bold type:
2009 RACE FOR THE CURE with a bazillion little, pink ribbons all over it, you know, signifying
BUUUUUUHHHHH-REAST CAAAAAAAAAAANCER.
You know? Komen? Like, Susan G. Komen? Anybody? Hello???
*Ugh* Deep Breath.
So, obvious tee-shirt, paired with, now wait for it...wait - for - it ...a KOMEN PINK HEADWRAP saddled under a BREAST CANCER BASEBALL CAP with yes, you guessed it, A BEDAZZLED PINK RIBBON ON IT!!!
None of that ensemble was a clue. None of it. All this woman in front of the baking potatoes sees is my hospital mask. Granted, it wasn't pink and it didn't have a pink on it, but c'mon!!! So, she stands kind of to the side so we don't breathe the same air when I catch her eye and she says...
"You wearin' that mask cuz you got that swine flu?"
Enter: The Old Me.
"No ma'am; I'm wearing this mask because I have cancer and the swine flu could kill me which would really throw a monkey wrench into collecting my life insurance money because if I die from the swine flu and not cancer, my family gets nothing."
"Oh!"
"That is fabulous...that she smokes pot, not that she has cancer. May I nudge in here to get some potatoes?"
Insincere smile.
*very sincere eyeroll*
Maybe it was the WalMart manager who ran in front of me so that he would not have to bother holding the door for a woman, or a woman who obviously has cancer, or a person in general because he is SOOOOO much more important than the rest of us peons.
Maybe it was the person working in the dairy department...oh wait. My bad. She didn't work in the dairy department, which is why she could not help me find where they are hiding the big bags of Colby-Jack shreds. This lady was "juz heppin' out".
Maybe it was the cashier who, about three years ago, told the cashier who was ringing me up to make sure and add the bottled water I had on the bottom of my shopping cart before I could tell the cashier myself so I accused her of accusing me of stealing...I remember stupid stuff...where was I? Oh. Maybe it was that cashier who told me Register 15 was open with no line, no waiting...Yes. Allow me to walk over to Register 15 with no line and no waiting BECAUSE IT IS THE TOBACCO AISLE!! LOOK AT MY SHIRT!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe it was the way I think someone is looking at me, even though they may not even see me at all. For example, wouldn't you think that someone born with a physical disability would go OUT of their way NOT to stare at someone with a disability? There is this young woman who is physically impaired. Her legs and arms both show signs of disability, although I don't know what, because that would require me to s-t-a-r-e in order to figure it out. Anyway, I always have on my mask because I simply cannot get sick (see above reference to insurance monies) and this chick literally stares me down. I am thinking one more time and we may very well have another visit from "The Old Me".
So. Maybe it was one of those people or maybe it wasn't. I wuuuuuuz in a great mood. I wuuuuuuz feeling good and wuuuuuuuz thinking I could go until about 1pm without a nap, even! Not sure who did what or why I even cared, but for this instance, this moment in the produce section, I was pissed. How can people be so stupid? So insensitive? So nosey? God, was I ever like that? I hope not. As a tribute to my upbringing, I know I have never intentionally insinuated myself into someone else's physical crisis. Emotional, mental, spiritual, well, yeah, but never physical. That's just rude.
Lucy had told me the day she came over for the first time that there would come a day when I could no longer hide having cancer, or at the very least, not bother trying to hide it. Meaning, the headwraps and the little pink ribbons. Now Lucy went from pink being her favorite color to not liking it much at all. She was given all sorts of pink ribbon gifts and keepsakes and she kept very few of them. She hated them. She hated what they represented to her and to her family. She hated cancer for invading her life and took it so personally that anything associated with breast cancer was taboo. Suited her family fine...they never cared for pink like she did, anyway. In fact, Lucy used to wear a breast cancer pink baseball cap to the high school to pick her daughter up from band every day while she went through chemo and such. One day, running late as she often does, Lucy was not ready to get to where she was supposed to be, donned on that ole pink cap and headed for the door. The look on her daughter's face spoke volumes.
"No." her daughter said. "Anything but that no matter how terrible you look...please, Mom."
Enough said.
Enough not said.
Lucy took off the hat and threw it in the garbage. She was never really sure why she kept it to begin with but she knew why she was throwing it away...
I love pink. It was my Mom's favorite color (Daddy's was yellow). I hold onto every, little, minute thing or shred or idea from them...everything, as if I have to convince myself they were ever real...even holding onto the color pink. I used to automatically equate pink with my Mom...now I just "think pink", I guess. And so it is with cancer. You think about it, try to understand it, and gain knowledge about how to beat it. The battle is real and it goes far beyond a little pink ribbon and memories of a young girl with her Mom and Dad. You figure out how you have to handle cancer, ribbons, and pink for yourself and move forward. I love pink and I love seeing little pink ribbons because it means there is more awareness today than ever before and hopefully, we are closing in on a cure for those who follow behind me.
Anyway, I gathered up our baking potatoes, left the produce section and checked out for the second time. I was stewing, for sure...not because I was really mad but because I have obviously crossed over into the "Now Everyone Knows" stage of cancer...ironically, I have also crossed over into "I do not care enough to bother looking better than this right 'chere" stage.
So, I left, again, then went to Kroger because I have the memory of an artichoke and forgot two things but absolutely refused to go back into WalMart. Guess what? At Kroger...they know I have cancer, too.
Whatever.
Came home and tried to tippy-toe around because Big Daddy was probably asleep. Oh wait!! No, he was not asleep! He was wide awake and on the phone...
"Yes, I need to reserve a room for tomorrow. My wife has cancer and our kids are in a competition and I need a room where she can rest......... You do? Great. I'll take it. Also, would you mind to ask your staff to be as vigilant as possible with the cleaning and sanitizing? My wife's immune system is incredibly taxed because of the chemo and I just can't have her get sick.............. You will? Thank you so much. I really appreciate your time and trouble."
And there it is. Great mood - bad mood - grouchy mood - thankful mood - infringed upon mood - God, I am so in love with him mood...
Some days I wear pink. Some days I don't but not because I hate it...sometimes I just don't. Sometimes you will see me out and about and I will look like you need to take me home...but I am fine. I just look like that when I do not care and sometimes, I. Just. Do. Not. Care. Other times, you may see me out and tell me wonderful things like I heard last night... "You look amazing!" "You look like you feel great!" "You look so beautiful and I love your hair!" Or my absolute favorite from my As-Of-Last-Night-New-BFF, "You look like a model! Like you just stepped off a page in a magazine!" Those days, you will see Big Daddy, too, or at least the kids, because it takes a great deal of effort to not look like you have cancer when you do. I look halfway decent for "other" people, mainly my family, because looking like a cancer patient creates a fear in those who do not know I am going to win. The effort to look "okay" is worth the strength it takes.
You know, it takes a lot more effort to not be joyous for this season of my life where blessings flow like water from a stream, stupid people make me not only feel smarter but also keep my jagged sarcasm fine-tuned, and pink is the color of the day...and it was my Mom's favorite.
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