Twitter is an odd universe. Every time I tweet and call some politician a tool I know that the National Archives has a record of it. Which is why I don’t use my real name on the interwebs (well, most of the time). Odd things trend all the time. And because I’m now middle-aged and out of the pop culture loop I usually have no idea what this stuff is. So today is, apparently, #NationalFearDay.
Well, hell, most of us here can trend that on any given day. When you have cancer–particularly Stage IV disease–every day is Fear Day. It’s just most of the time you can block it out and get on with your life. And then it hits you. I was in my surgeon’s office today and looked around at all the women. And I mean all; it was much too busy for all of those women in a breast surgeon’s office. I wondered who was what stage. If anyone already had their surgery. One woman was as bald as a billiard and I can assume she’d been looking fear in the eye for awhile now. No one looks like they’re afraid. That’s how we bitches roll. We don’t let you see it.
But sometimes you get good news. And even for those with metastatic disease there can always be good news. Like today I found out the Death Star shrunk. It got smaller! Unlike my ass, my tumor lost .5 of its 4cm self. This tumor, the one that shed cells into my bloodstream when the lymphs weren’t looking, sentenced me to die from breast cancer at some point in my life. I provide the estrogen, and look at the thanks I get. So there is a lot of satisfaction in knowing that with the help of TFK, this ungrateful sloth is starving to death.
Sure, it will have the last laugh, but I’m going to have plenty in the meantime. And with my blog I get to expose it for the selfish load that it is. Freeloader. Parasite. Barnacle. Moocher. Sycophant. Loathsome beast. Thou villainous rude-growing miscreant.
Celebrate your victories. Even with breast cancer, it’s the little things.