Self-talk

While waiting for the ultra-sound after my mammogram at Lakeview Hospital, this older lady came wobbling in, struggled with her key, finally gave up and put on the gown, then made the locker work. I had to wait so long, I decided to open my locker and get out my iPad. I couldn’t make the key work so she stood up to help me. (And I thought she was the demented one.)  She was waiting for a biopsy. As we talked, she said even if she has breast cancer, she doesn’t think she will do anything. “My husband had surgery and chemo and radiation. He suffered so terribly for a year then he died anyway.” “How long ago did he die?” “Eleven years ago from lung cancer.” “Lung cancer is different than breast cancer,” I comforted. “People suffer but live.”

I didn’t know at the time that I was talking to myself. She wasn’t diagnosed with cancer; I was.

I  wish it didn't happen to anyone, but if it has to happen, I'm glad it happened to me rather than those nearest and dearest to me.  I say this in all sincerity.  Better me than thee. 

I may yet come to regret wasting

$10,000 on stem cell injections in my knees;

about the price of . . .never mind.