In Which I Am Pissed At Cancer

I'm almost done with treatment. In my self-centered mind, that means everyone, everywhere, for all time, should be done with cancer. Or at least, I should be done with cancer. The thing about having loved ones, though, is that no matter my health, I am always at risk. And add family history to that, and...well, cancer is around.

My fabulous cousin was just diagnosed with cancer. Rather, she was not diagnosed. They know she has cancer, but it's presenting weird, so they don't know what type yet. It's weird to pray that someone has lymphoma, but that's the best option right now. Rather, asthma is the best option, but it looks like cancer of some type is the diagnosis.

Less personal but still sucky is that a bus driver was also diagnosed with breast cancer this week. I mean, I heard about it this week. It's been a swell week.

So, I'm soliciting prayers. They work. If you're not already praying for my cousin and the Weber School District bus driver, would you? Your prayers have gotten me through my cancer treatment, teaching during chemotherapy, and (hopefully) to health. If such be with us, what can be against us?

I only have one more question.

Is it sacrilegious to pray to kick cancer's ass?

Synecdoche

I love the Olympics. I'll watch stuff I'd never watch any other time. Heck, I'll even watch curling. The Olympics were on when I was nursing all three of my kids, so this is my first Olympics in recent history that I don't have a newborn. I'm sitting here right now with just grownups as I watch the very boring (except once every four years) slope-style snowboarding.

Also, I'm an English nerd. So, I can't help but think of synecdoche when I think of the Olympics. This is a figure of speech where the whole is substituted for the part, like "The US won a gold medal in skiing" rather than "Bode Miller won a gold medal in skiing." What can I say, I'm a nerd. Shut up. That's why you love me.

Weird, Post-Chemo Hair

This morning, as I was getting ready, I noticed a gray hair sticking straight up out of the middle of my head. Sigh. So I did what would have been unimaginable six months ago: I plucked it. Then I discovered it was not actually a gray hair. It was gray on the top, yes, but on the side closest to my head it was as dark as my hair at 16 (and 35, for the most part). A double-colored hair, and all without dye!

The deal is, when my hair started growing back in after chemo it was lighter, grayer, and softer. Now it's my real hair back. Wavy but not curly, dark, thick, coarse(r). However, I still have that chemo hair on top. If you look closely, it's almost like I have roots. Weird. Chemo does weird things to you.

Okay, I've Joined Your Stupid Club

When I was first diagnosed, another woman told me SHE was diagnosed in October, which is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Everything she saw was pink. Pink pink pink. She hated it passionately. She told me her attitude was, "I don't want to join your stupid club!" I totally get that. But now, I feel I've accepted it. I have (had?) breast cancer. Therefore, I'm ready to Benefit Others With My Experience.

Last time I had an appointment, some of the nurses asked me if I would call another woman with a very similar diagnosis who was freaking out. I guess that means freaking out more than most women who get this scary news? She's 55, so MUCH older than me but still fairly young. We had a nice conversation and I got to be on the adviser rather than the advisee end of cancer for once.

Additionally, the nurse from the radiation clinic called me and asked me to be in some sort of promotional video for the center. Because I'm so bubbly! And exciting! And young and cute, I'm sure. Mom said she wasn't too sure about it, since it's not HER cancer center. But when I explained this is just the start of my acting career, she got over it. I would also like to officially offer my services to Huntsman Cancer Institute if they want to offer me my second contract opportunity to become a famous post-cancer spokesperson.

I guess I've joined the club.