Saturday, January 9, 2016

I am bursting with words the way a woman's bladder feels 17 minutes after completing a urine test.


People keep cancering. The guy who owns a sausage joint on Roosevelt Road. Terri Hemmert. I used to listen to her gush like a school girl about Paul McCartney on WXRT when I drove to massage in LaGrange at too early o'clock on Sunday mornings. (She gushed so much I had to turn the radio off.) She has not revealed her brand of cancer but I'm all like, oh yeah, it's colon for sure. Why I think that? Because she doesn't wanna tell. 

At my current massage place, they write out this notebook of horrendous "Ann would like to someday visit Paris." bios for people to read while they're waiting and the person that wrote mine said, You want me to put 'cancer survivor' on there? And I was like....uhhh no. (I am on there as certified to perform a massage on a person with cancer. I figure if that is a thing for someone, they can figure it out.) 

And then at Improv, a previous conversation with somebody who knew I had had SOMETHING surgical happening but she thought it was related to my foot(?) led to this: 

She leads off the Improv evening with her character saying to somebody else: I have the results from your test, you're cancer free! 

And I'm thinkin', uhhh that feels a little bit awful. 

But this:

Is something I really want. I'm getting ahead of myself.

First something bad. 
This week, somebody walked up to me and socked me in the solar creativity plexus. I did not see it coming. I never do.

This happens to me (and every creative) every so often. You sell a piece of work-you begin to breathe just a little bit easier because life begins anew and.....POW. 

They change their mind. 

I will tell you what. I did not handle it well.

It took me two days to burn it off. That's a very long time for the people who had to witness me losing my marbliciousness and for that I am sorry because after I started breathing again-about 48 hours later? I thought, ya know what? Expletive deleted-U

And way later I thought, huh. I must be giving off the appearance that I have the strength to accept crappy treatment and that can only mean I must be getting better and better. 

In the words of P when we are trying to walk Grantley on unshoveled sidewalks: Thanks for shoveling, asshole. 

The fantastic thing.

When I was recovering, I was digging like crazy for any kind of information. I found some really good interviews at I mean like, people telling how they had to carry towels with them after this surgery. (No, I never did and yes, of course, I am grateful.)

Another thing I found was that livestrong partners with the YMCA for survivors and caregivers and they have a program FER FREE to get you up and moving again. I sent an e. There's one starting in January. 

We went and found that there are people in Berwyn(this program comes out of the PAV YMCA)who run the Chicago Marathon in order to raise money so this program can happen. 

Honestly? After all this? The idea that there would be people running 26.2 on my behalf? I was so honored, I felt like I swallowed a butterfly. 


Still some medical schmedical stuff ahead. Changing doctors. Taking tests. But better. Way better. 

Thanks for asking. 

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