Coming up on Monday, I have my CAT scan to see what’s going on inside me. It’s been one year since my last chemo treatment. I alternate between benign hope that there’s nothing in there that shouldn’t be and certainty that sooner or later it will be baaaaack.
When I think that it’s been a year and a half now since my diagnosis and the surgery, trying to work while going through radiation and chemo, getting so sick I couldn’t work anymore, trying to deal with numb feet and fingers, and finally forced into retiring early, I am still trying to comprehend and put it all in perspective. I don’t want to whine. I don’t want to be one of those “doom and gloom” people. But I’ve been through something, I’ve experienced profound changes in my life, have I learned anything? Anyone, anyone? Bueller?
I use humor because it’s a way of holding off the darkness that’s out there, waiting, hoping to pounce and tear me apart if I open a chink in my armor. It’s a tool in my arsenal. I use music too. One of my anthems, which I’ve mentioned in previous posts, is “Uprising” by Muse.
“They will not force us.
They will stop degrading us.
They will not control us.
We will be victorious!”
I put that on my walking mix while I’m on the treadmill, and imagine I’m stomping all those random, free-floating cancer cells in my abdomen (my oncologist’s words), like the foot squishing Mr. Bill. “Oh, nooooooo!”
The next song up on my list is not an anthem, it’s “Pump Up the Jam” by Technotronic. Remember “The Matrix: Reloaded” where everyone knows the machines are coming, so they have this massive party and everyone is dancing?
“Get your booty on the dance floor,
Make my day!”
In my best Dirty Harry voice, I chorus, “Yeah, make my day, you microscopic evil mofo’s! You feelin’ lucky?”
Get up on your dance floor and dance and shake your booty. Even if the machines are coming. Couldn’t hurt…might help. As that Hippocrates dude (in his best Keanu Reeves voice) said, “Do no harm."