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Remember when Joey on FRIENDS said “this is a moo point – a cow’s opinion”.  Priceless.

When would I have gotten “sick” and what would that have been?  I keep going back to that question.  Obviously I had a big ole tumor that had spread a bit so when was I going to feel sick?  And what would my symptoms have been?  In the long run it truly doesn’t matter and is more of a curiosity now.  But still I wonder.

And I wonder what the genesis was and how long the cancer was parked in there.  I am a regular visitor to my docs and keep a faithful schedule of exams and checkups for all my body parts – boobs, teeth, eyes, uterus, colon, etc., so…so…so…this sneaky little bastard hid from view for some period of time that is now and will be forever unknown.  I don’t like not knowing.  Makes me feel powerless.

So cancer will be my constant companion even if I make it to remission.  Because I have read enough to know that once it identifies a host, it is most reluctant to vacate the premises permanently.   Like an extra layer of belly fat or crow’s feet or skin tags, it is just a part of my life from this point forward.  But unlike those items, it more likely an aggressive participant in my death.

I am not depressed.  I am just thinking this through at least partly because I got the lab report today from second surgery.  3 of 16 axilary Imagenodes removed were positive for cancer.  That means 13 were not (paging: Glass Half Full).  Lucky 13.

I hope those lucky 13 are not a moot point.

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Since my diagnosis just a few days ago, I have carried on as usual.  I suspect most people in similar circumstances do the same.  I think my strategy has been the same strategy serial killers employ and that is compartmentalized thinking. 

This cancer has taken on the persona of the grim reaper.  For the most part, I have pushed him into a tiny  box, and pushed the box into a tiny corner of my tiny mind.  While I don’t make eye contact with the  scythe-wielding ghoul, I do keep an eye on the box because I feel like I can keep him in his box with hyper-vigilance.  

But occasionally, the chores of the day distract me and for a moment I forget that  death has begun sniffing around the corners of my life, circling in the water.  And in those moments, the hooded skeleton explodes out of his tiny box and looms large.

In those moments, the beast wins and I shudder, waiting until I am able to gather my wits and stare him back into his tiny box, in a tiny corner of my tiny, cowering mind. 

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