Mornings, Vitamins and Unfiltered Camels...

I wake up every morning terrified. I sit here alone and ponder over the obvious even though I'm not sure what the obvious even is. My belief system has been shaken. Not in my belief in God so much, but in my belief in what to eat or what vitamins and supplements to take. Frankly, I'm afraid to take anything because maybe the little cancerous blood suckers will get stronger from the vitamins. I'm now afraid of healthy food and unhealthy food. I'm afraid of my house. I'm afraid of the air I breathe and chemicals I can't taste on my veggies. I thought I was doing everything right, and short of some crackers and wine, I was quite sure of my understanding and obsession of good nutrition.

I guess in life we just want answers, and this time there may not be one. Is it like Christmas? Have I been naughty? I thought I had been really nice, and this is one lump of coal short of hell - but cancer doesn't particularly care so much about "nice."

So, I stare at my fridge and don't know what to eat. Does cancer like fish oil? Will it give the dreadly cells more sustenance to destroy my body? Does it like vitamin D? Now I'm afraid to be in the sun and afraid not be in the sun. Frankly this ice box trepidation sucks. Yes. I said "ice box." I also watched Lassie, Dobie Gillis and the Beav. Hey Lassie, is Sally in the well?

Before my dad died of cancer, he said he was gonna smoke any time he wanted and enjoy his life. I used to bury his unfiltered Camels in the back yard with a garden shovel. I can hear it now "Nim, did you bury my cigarettes again"? Yup.

He called me "Nimrod." Two years ago I looked that word up and it meant "slow-witted person." It made me laugh because my son Judd has always given nicknames to all of us too and (although he never met my dad) calls me "Nut." I'm beginnjng to see a pattern to my nicknames. He refers to his daughter Gwen as "Gwenola," Bruce is "Z," Rachel is "Gerkie" - and so on and so on. These names have no real meaning, but I definitely see a correlation between Nim and Nut. In high school, my yearbook refers to me as "Silly Sally." I have also always been a little "off" on following rules. I do the Ten Commandments but could always talk my way out of a garden hose with my tap dance and my soft shoe. I seem to be able to manipulate everything except speeding tickets, and if i get any more of those, I will be going to driving school by the Fall - maybe the bald head and the ashen-looking face will give me the sympathy vote for the state police. I'm trying to see the glass half full of chemo-drip.

I remember thinking that at one time in my life, I would never (ever) find friends who could be as silly but as serious a person as I am. I am beyond sensitive and people don't get me sometimes. They aren't sure where the silly begins and the serious ends. It is an ultimate mystery why Bruce fits into my life. We have nothing at all in common. He is not silly. He remembers to put the trash out on Wednesday. it wouldn't occur to me - ever. He changes oil in the car - I would ignore that blinking red light until the car exploded. He leaves early from parties because of inclement weather. I stay at the party and sleep on couches until the weather breaks. He pays bills - I get charged for forgetting to pay bills. The list goes on and on, but Bruce is both mommy and daddy to me and thinks of the details - I'm the one who decorates the details. He makes the dinners and I put the A in ambiance, light candles, break out the pretty china, pipe in the jazz and wrap perfect packages. Bruce doesn't put bows on things. I AM the bow. With Bruce, it takes nothing to make him happy but a nice spatula, but with Sally it takes a freaking village. He knows this, and so my husband has become my village. Lucky me.

Along with the medical marijuana, I am wondering whether a smoking habit (I've avoided for life) would be tempting at this point. Would it have changed any of this? I would certainly be putting a filter on my Camels. I have no idea how daddy ever smoked those. I'm sure glad he enjoyed them until the end and even though i won't be smoking, I won't be nearly as obsessed with cancer-causing things. I am sure that most of this advice is written by the LADIES HOME JOURNAL because doctors and the FDA seem to think we can eat just about anything. No more worries for me like exhaust fumes, talking on cell phones, eating bacon or charred meat, doing saccharin, worries over hair-color chemicals, chemicals in manicures, tanning at the beach or any other carcinogens. I may spend the rest of my life doing whatever the hell I want.

Hey Ben! Hey Jerry! Let's get it on. I have two more days of waiting for results, and I may book a trip in September to Cancun for my outrageous sunburn and my radioactive airplane ride. I'll be drinking diet Margaritas laced with bad Mexican water. I am free.

Re-sluts on Friday morning. Heart pounding, bated breath and throat-choking stress is putting it mildly.

Jesus and drugs rock the big one.

(this was reposted from February 2011)