A few weeks ago The Wellness Community asked if I would speak at a local fundraising silent auction, dinner deal here in town. It's tonight. I simply cannot say no to these events since as many of you know who have subjected yourself to this blog over the last 3 1/2 years, I am a cancer survivor. The Wellness Community was immeasurably kind to me when I was quite frankly down for the count. I swear I cannot ever repay their respect and understanding when it comes to being a cancer survivor. It was the one and only place I had where people truly did know what it was like to be 31 years old and have cancer. They didn't pity me, they didn't treat me any differently than anyone else, and for a short time I got to be normal there...when nothing seemed normal.
So, I said yes to this speaking gig. It's at the swanky party pavilion owned by the big man around town who owns the NFL team. As you may have guessed, this is my first and perhaps last invite to the swanky party pavilion. And, the theme is Laughing Matters - Eat, drink and laugh away your blues away while supporting Central Indiana cancer survivors and their families. Rubber chicken dinner at 6:30 and silent auction at 8:00. All fine and good right?
Wrong. The Muffin Man has been working in Vegas all week and I've been single parenting the gals, volunteering at the school and making ten handbags to fill a custom order and make some yummy things for next week's craft show. Oh, and I've had to feed and exercise the dog, which is not usually my responsibility but the Muffin Man has dumped me temporarily to bet on Univ. of Pittsburgh at the Luxor and play 163 games of blackjack. Ok, fine he is also sort of paying the mortgage while supposedly working there too but still....I've been left busy this week. So busy in fact I have not prepared one little thing for my speaking gig. And, now it is 6 hours away and I'm slightly stressed. As in I might throw up. But watching 39 year old mid western housewives barfing isn't that entertaining for cancer patients and the wealthy folks who attend these things supporting fine upstanding nonprofits. So, I have to think of something else, barfing won't do.
I've done enough of these things here in town that I'm afraid my normal shtick could be oh, I don't know BORING to anyone who has attended these things before. The theme is Laughing Matters, so I'm contemplating digressing from my normal, I was a midwestern working gal living on the cul-de-sac and then I got cancer, yadda yadda yadda. Now everything came up roses for me and I got to keep my cushy life, fabulous husband and then as if that wasn't enough, God tossed in two of the most amazing little Chinese kids ever known to man...and said hey, keep 'em and raise 'em good. Instead I'm sitting here contemplating giving a whirl at the funny things about having cancer. Which, admittedly at the time weren't all that funny.
You know how time is? It passes and when you live to tell about it, sometimes it gets a little funnier. You know, I once left the hospital after a surgery to install a port-a-catheter hooked up to my central line to make administration of chemo "easier" with a huge needle sticking out from my chest. No, this was not a mistake on the part of the surgeon. He thought it would be better to do the surgery, and poke the catheter with a huge needle while I was still asleep so I wouldn't feel the pain the next day when they had to rig it up to give me my first chemo treatment. I walked around and slept with a gigantic needle sticking 4" out of my chest until they were able to easily hook it up to the chemo line the next day. It made navigating the car seat belt and quick trip to the grocery an interesting experience. They were nice enough to give me a generous band-aid but there is just something that seems ridiculously funny about walking around town with a 4" needle sticking out of your chest. I think if I had it all to do over again I would march myself to the downtown mall lay down in front of the Limited and scream, "I've been stabbed" and then watch the mall cops on Segways come rolling over.
Gah, I can't decide. Tell those funny but only 8 years later stories, or not. I might have to go throw up instead. Did I mention I have no idea what I'm going to wear? Of course you were expecting that one right? I'm going to ignore the situation a little longer by taking Livi into my bathroom, try on a few outfits and asking her to speak up when I've found an outfit that makes me look like a respectable cancer survivor who's butt looks very small in her outfit.