I am definitely overthinking things.
I had originally said I don’t want to sit in the Green Room, I wanted to sit in the big sunny waiting room.
The thing is, then am I somehow ditching the other cancer patients going through EBR? There is a social scene in the waiting area. Of course everyone’s story is different. And it seems to me like the family members carry most of the emotional burden, rather than the other patients, which further supports my earlier thesis about the projection of “bravery” and all those other emotions that are supposed to go with cancer.
I am not certain if this actually happened, but I think a woman waiting for her father said something about them finding a cure for cancer soon, and I may have replied that I certainly hope so, but then something else will kill us all eventually. You know, because humans are not immortal. I was not trying to be morbid. I hope I didn’t actually say that but I at least thought it. Luckily, that was one of the 4:15 appointments, and I’m on 12:30 now. So maybe the other Green Room People need to be protected from me. Even if I do just sit there and put my hair in pigtails, mostly.
But of course who wouldn’t want a cure? Personally, I would settle for less medieval treatments to start.
Which leads to another existential question I am currently overthinking. My symptoms are now not symptoms of someone who has cancer but symptoms of someone who has been treated for cancer. Hypothyroidism because I don’t have a thyroid, a bit of a radiation burn (alas, it does not look like I’ve been in the sun). I have no immediate anxiety about the disease or my mortality. I know thyroid cancer is a chronic condition, not something that is cured, but I can live with that as it seems to be under control. For now, there is just some dread about EBR side effects, but that’s mostly still in the future tense and EBR certainly isn’t going to kill me. Does that make a difference? I have no idea. Maybe this is where that “good cancer” part comes in.
I do hate that phrase.
Not like a suntan. Too bad.
Weak fashion statement.
This story is still making me smile, Jon, even a few days later.
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