It’s about the process babies

I’ve dealt with the mental/emotional upheaval associated with losing my body, my hair, my stamina. I had yet to experience physical pain. But worry no moreeee! Da pain is heahhhhh!

Sweet mother Mary does this shit hurt. I’m sore like you read about. Bruised from the top of my collar bone all the way to the top of my thigh. Just one big ole bruise with a few drains stuck in the middle of my ribs. 

Laying on the hospital bed, watching a sea of blue scrubs flitter in and out of my room I hear one of the nurses whisper to the other, “He’s here.”

I glance up at the clock. 7:41 am. Surgery was supposed to start at 7:30.

“He’s late,” I reply.

“Haha don’t tell him that,” one nurse nervously mutters.

In walks my plastic surgeon wearing one size too tight scrubs and his favorite thinly lined beard. 

“You’re late,” I say slyly with a wink as I eyeball both nurses. 

The surgeon responds with a tight lipped smile and a nod.

“Ok, so here’s the plan. You’ll see Dr. Hughes, have that cancer taken out and then you’ll see me straight after.” 

He interrupts his anticipated plan with a side story, “ha you know, I was at the beach this summer and I saw a lovely lady swimming,” cue my skeptical and where is this shit going side eye. “She looked great, actually so great that I almost let my son drown because I was too busy admiring” insert dry gag with an ExCuSe ME head tilt face. He concludes with a big goofy grin, “and guess what? She was one of my patients.” 

Not knowing if his yarn was meant to induce a level of comfort, disgust or applaud I say, “oh cool, good for you.” 

The surgery did not go as smooth as his seaside sighting and reconstruction did not occur. The good news is I’m cancer free. I’ll say that louder for the folks in the back I AM CANCER FREE. But because I’m of “an athletic build” aka small bewbs to begin with, there wasn’t enough tissue to place the expanders. Reconstruction will occur in a month or so.

Get angry? Get upset? Get sad? Nah.

Baby ain’t gat time for that. 

A.)   My white ass has a good 4 months before anyone sees it

B.)   This lesson is about learning and if I have learned nothing it’s waiters get good tips

C.)   I’M CANCER FREE

We’re expected to ascertain the idea of “feeling alive”as the goal.  Collectively we’re supposed to instinctively appreciate “being alive.” But how? 

The multitude of life’s ups and downs get a bad rep. When did being comfortable become the only thing to be? What if celebrating the bad times turns life into living? In order to feel alive you must accept the process of life. 

If your day pushes your time from one end to the other with a glimmer of satisfaction in the middle, are you living? If your name is Sally and you sell seashells by the seashore, drinking booze from start to sunset, is that living?  If you can’t and won’t try thinking from another person’s perspective is your life full to satisfaction? 

Life doesn’t hand you lemons so you could throw them at one another. Make some mother fucking lemonade, carry on and enjoy every step of the way while you’re at it.