Wow! That just flowed out. Maybe I'll earn some unfriends with that. Anyway, I'm just sayin' that things are so damn good, in the cancer world, that I'm almost embarrassed to speak of it. Like speaking of it will bring the backswing of karma back at us. But "we're religious, not superstitious" the Rev. Karen Akin says , or maybe it wasn't her, but I give her credit.
So... The safest image to attach to your eye roll about how amaaaazing and awesuuuum our cancer life is this one:
I think he has a good enough web woven that few could REALLY hold a grudge. Eye roll me, not him.
Scans last week show continued stability and some more resolution of lung mets.
This isn't because we pray to God, this isn't because BEB did something right, this isn't because he's cut down on his red meat consumption ( see above). This is because he's a lucky responder. His body is responding to Avastin and Interferon. That simple.
Oprah says there is no luck- that instead, "luck" is the intersection between opportunity and preparation. I tend to agree with her EXCEPT in this case.
I think your chances with RCC are about the same as hitting black 26 on the roulette wheel- with your chip on the table.
Now, my dark and twisty brain, about a year ago, started thinking about the prospect of building a pool in my backyard with the proceeds from Dad's death.
Sick, huh?? First, I'll probably get $7.00 in quarters as my inheritance, because we are sooo totally noooot sooooo riiiiich, but don't mess up my daydream, k??
Then I decided that it could go two ways- I'd feel awesome about my inheritance purchase every time I dived? dove? in, or I'd feel terrible. Too much to think about.
Instead, I have a new plan. July 4, 2014. That's five years. We're closer to that day than we are to Diagnosis Day. Statistics lend that it would not be hasty to PREPARE my backyard for the OPPORTUNITY to throw dad a five-year pool party. On my own dime.
Wouldn't we feel LUCKY. Every single body's invited if we get so lucky.
Thanksgiving tradition yields that we gather round a piano and withstand an awkward group singing of 'We Gather Together.' Sisterbaby and I usually cut the unbearable tension by performing a modern interpretive dance while our rule-abiding brother stands nicely with his sheet music to complete what is right and just in the Eyes of Mom. Embarrassingly, I found myself humming said tune last night while I was prepping cornbread for dressing.
So as "we gather together to ask the lord's blessing", I'll ask for it, but I won't expect it, and I'll know I'm lucky if I get it.
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