Part 5: Like my then 8-year-old said "Never stand on a swively chair"

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8.25.2022

Ever heard of a one-upper? Not like canine teeth, I'm talking about a person who is a one-upper. You tell them something, anything, and no matter what you say, they one-up you.

Broke your foot? The one-upper broke their leg... no both their legs. Had to have them surgically removed and sewn back on with dental floss. Then they had to climb a flight of stairs walking on their hands and balancing their dead uncle's ashes on the soles of their reattached feet.

Bought a new car? The one-upper bought a drivable houseboat with the mother-in-law attachment, like from The Jetsons cartoon.

Why do I suspect *I* would be the one in that mother-in-law seat?

<insert narrow-eyed glare here>

Now, you would think no one would try to one-up cancer. Right? I mean, first of all, it's cancer! Cancer is the word everyone tosses around for the worst thing that could possibly ever happen.

"Man, I'm so glad that guy quit."

"Yeah, he was like office cancer!"

There's even a bible verse denoting how horrible cancer is:

2 Timothy 2:17

and their talk will spread like cancer. Among them are Hymenaeus and Philetus (those jerks again).

Poets similize how ugly cancer is:

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.

Maya Angelou

There is no Maya Angelou quote that says "Bitterness is like night sweats."

So, again, you would think no one would try to one-up cancer. But, I'm gonna tell ya, you'd be wrong.

Obviously I'm not making my cancer a secret. There's nothing shameful or scandalous about being diagnosed with breast cancer. I have breasts. My breasts have cancer. The end.

Invariably, upon meeting, I am telling you about me, like pretty much, right away.

Why? Because.

Because maybe you went through something like this. Or your mom did. Or your grandmother. Maybe you weren't able to masticate the anxiety, confusion and trauma and instead it's eating you up. Or maybe you know something really cool and helpful that I should buy, like a mastectomy pillow and I want to know that! (editing to add that after reading this my SIL Stephanie sent me HER mastectomy pillow given to her by her daughter Jill. They're both pretty awesome! Thanks, family!)

Or maybe, maybe by normalizing breast cancer, we talk about breast cancer, all cancer, and maybe someone finds it early and they become a survivor rather than a statistic.

So it may happen, that I introduce myself this way:

"Hi, I'm Lisa. See these suckers? Yeah, they've got about a 5-week shelf life. They're coming off like a toddler's pull-up: fast, dirty, and everybody is naked when it's over.

(I'm like 94% sure that's how breast cancer surgery works)

The one-uppers of this world would have you believe that compared to hardships they've suffered, you're lucky you only have cancer! Ha! Fool! Cancer! Pffftttt!

Now I'm not talking about commiserators. You know them, too. They're the people that, upon feeling your pain, want you to know they also have felt pain, also have experienced a tragic, hurtful thing. They care. They show you that because they're aware of your pain, and because they, in turn, have their own, they get it.

They. Get. It.

I don't mind (no one would mind) hearing about something a commiserator went through, because it's never about making me feel worse, it's about them understanding, and giving that slight acknowledgement of comfort.

I truly appreciate a commiserator.

Everybody has been touched by the broad-stroked brush of cancer and we all want to share at some point. I think that is just about amazing.

Of course if I'm in that mother-in-law bubble seat, I won't hear a thing you nice people are saying to me. <severe eye-narrowing, grumble>

Oh, one more thing. I had my scans yesterday. They were easy and painless.

<unlike a mother-in-law>

AND NOW WE WAIT...