A 21-month attagirl from oncology.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Where in winter’s grip I could roam the neighbourhood with my chemo-cocoon in tact, outings this week have been much more social.
And chance meetings with acquaintances have introduced the challenge of responding to pitying looks and casual/earnest inquiries of “Oh, Andrea! How are you doing?”
What can I say?
I’m actually doing fabulously, all things considered. I’ve made it through the initial horror, the decisions, the surgeries, the injections, scans, x-rays, potions and two-thirds of the chemo. I’ve faced the loss of my occupation and income, insurance theft, my own mortality and a huge wallop of uncertainty — and I’ve stayed pretty sane.
But standing on a street corner in the sunshine, no response does this journey justice.
I’m thinking I’ll stick with, “Fine thank you, how are you?”