And so it goes...

I know I have no reason to apologize for not posting, but I guess I'm doing it anyway. Time is a fast moving train, and some things are more important than blogging. I have written about my friend Michelle on my family blog which you are welcome to read, but please don't leave any foot prints. I need to say more about her, but she's reading WordsonWater. The odds on her survival are about 50/50 as far as I can tell, but I've never put much faith in statistics. Anyway....

It was a Michelle day on Friday, no time to blog, no time to clean, no time to pack for my weekend trip, just Michelle. The topic of the day was the big "C"; the cancer that's lodged in her lymph nodes but seems to be responding to massive doses of chemo. We didn't want to talk about cancer at all. Jason and I just wanted to give her an escape from the gilded cage of her parent's house for a day. The hostess at the busy fan area restaurant told us it would be a 25 minute wait for a table. We stood there like sheep for a few minutes, and then I turned to Michelle and said, "Why don't you go tell them you have cancer and you just can't stand here in line and wait?" General hilarity followed. I suggested she could take off her lovely new wig and show them her naked scalp by way of proof. We spent the rest of our wait speculating on how she could work this diagnosis to her advantage. "That's a really beautiful necklace you have on. Can I have it? I have cancer you know." Or maybe, "I have cancer. I've come to NYC just to see this sold out Broadway show. Can you get me tickets?" She really didn't quite have the nerve to walk up to the hostess, and besides she could never have done it with a straight face with we two morons snickering in the background.

She was still hungry after lunch which means the effect of her week ago chemo is finally being washed out of her body. We headed across the street to the organic grocery where she gets some chicken salad and loads it up with Texas Pete. Back in the car she thinks she might have gotten a bit carried away with the hot sauce. We've got a great running gag now, so she rolls down the car window at the light and yells, "Does anyone have a mint or something? My mouth's on fire and I have CANCER." The conversation becomes sillier as she and Jason go through a complete improvisational Salad Fingers routine about her illness, giving their shared sense of twisted humor full play.

We I kept her busy all day, shopping, chatting, laughing a lot. She tells us the horrors between jokes, in dismissive tones like the brave girl she has become. The hospital was a nightmare for her, then the wait over Christmas for her biopsy. She is not a good patient, something I admire in anyone. People who survive take as much control of their situation as is possible. She let off the "f" bomb (her Mother's words) to the skittish nurse trying to take blood. "After that they sent for the gay guy" she tells us sardonically. "They figured that I lived in San Francisco and had tattoos, plus the mouth, so they sent for their gay guy." She showed me the PICC line entry point by her collarbone, the route for administering the poison that's suppose to save her. She volunteers that it doesn't hurt, but would probably leave a scar. She makes it very clear that this is life altering, but that she will survive, and I try to believe her. She talks about the future she plans with her boyfriend. He emailed her from Prague this week where he is doing an ad campaign for Coke-Cola. He told her he's getting an engagement ring while he's there. " It would be nicer," she quips, "if he had asked in person, and if he had asked before I had, you know, the cancer."

My son is like a brother to her, although I know there was a time when he wished it could be more. They shared a house for a year before she left for the west coast, but the relationship stayed strictly platonic. My son shrugs his shoulders and says, "That's the story of my life". He watched her protectively through several destructive relationships perhaps hoping to be the one she turned to. He tells her she's beautiful bald. We go upstairs and let her try on my blond wig. Of course it looks great on her, and since it looks lousy on me, I insist she take it to wear for fun. Jason tells her she looks really hot as a blond too. They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the basement talking and drinking several of my best bottles of red wine. The doctor told her to practice moderation, so she's going for the good stuff. She gave up smoking when she started chemo, and she knows she will never be able to drink like she once did. When I check on them later they are talking about the Ramones, Michelle's all time favorite band. I'm not sure she needed to know that Joey died of Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, but Jason is making a point that Michelle understands. Joey Ramone never let go of the booze, the ciggs, or any of the rock and roll life style.

That night in the car on the way back to her parent's, she tells me again she wants to go home, and I know she's not talking about her Mom and Dad's lovely house. Her father is frantic for her safety and hovers outside the bathroom door asking about her digestive processes. Her Dad comes in at night to listen for her breathing like he did when she was a baby. She would rather pretend that this is a mere hiccup in her life's plans, and the death watch he is doing is leaving her shaken. The truth is this is not a disease that can be cured, only lived with. Right now things look hopeful. The swelling is down in her lymph nodes, her blood work came back great, and the doctor says can go back to San Francisco in a few weeks and get the remaining 8 chemo treatments locally, resting between sessions in her own apartment. Beyond that the doctors will not promise, but what I know about this disease is that she has acquired a stalker that will follow her from city to city for the rest of her life. "I can't do like I did," Michelle says, "I’m going to take care of myself from now on, and I’m not going to die." She looks so young, so thin and vulnerable, I want to cry, but I have given her a day of laughter and I won't take it back with self indulgent tears. She has an uphill struggle before her, and no matter how much she bargains, or how much we joke, the world is not going to let her move to the head of the line.