Cancer Diagnosis Response of Family

My 9 YO’s response to my cancer diagnosis was priceless. I DON’T WANT FISHSTICKS!
Not the cancer diagnosis response I expected but one I will always remember. I have been trying to make the rounds with my friends, telling them what’s going on. I know everyone wants to help and doesn’t know what to say. It is a lot of information to process, for me and for them. I’m just going on less than 48 hours with this information. I feel strong, but completely scatter-brained. I wonder briefly if I’m developing a brain tumor but think the better of indulging this thought.

Award for Best Cancer Diagnosis Response

Everyone has been incredibly supportive. As if someone is going to say, “Yeah, well I had a really shitty week, too. You can’t believe how busy work is!” I spoke to my friend, Darby, this morning who was appropriately horrified and then said that I was the third friend who gave her distressing medical news this week. I asked her what was going on with her other friends. She said that one of her friends was going in for a brain scan to see if she had brain cancer. That is so awful! That is so much worse! Her second friend was pregnant and a month away from delivery. The doctors identified that the baby doesn’t have one hand and may have a club foot. That is incredibly awful! In an effort to put perspective on the matter, I remarked that at least my medical news was the least awful of the three, as if that is a contest in which one wants to be a part. Darby, whose perspective is unique, responded, “No, I’d put yours as number two behind the brain tumor.”

cancer diagnosis response

I Feel Lucky

Seriously?! Someone out there thinks I’m worse off than a one-handed baby with a club foot?! All we could do was laugh with each other. Better to laugh than cry. BTW, I am NOT worse off than the one-handed, club-footed baby. Sweet, dear baby, and to say nothing of the friend with a potential brain tumor. That is awful. Darby apparently had an uncle with one hand (what are the odds?) who functions quite well and her mother died of breast cancer when Darby was 20. Proof that we are all destined to see things through our own experiences. Like fields of pink cows.