If I had ever planned on ‘celebrating’ a real-life Festivus, this year is it.
Consider my upcoming schedule:
- Surgery on October 31st (Happy Halloween).
- 25 radiation treatments starting about a month later (Happy Thanksgiving).
- An undetermined number of chemotherapy cycles beginning a month or so after that (Merry Christmas).
Un/fortunately, we are going to deviate from Festivus traditions. I imagine I will be seeing quite a few metal poles, but they will be adorned with IV bags, pumps, and other medical devices. These items do not count as tinsel. I will not be using them for celebratory purposes, per se.
I’m hoping like hell that I can manage something like a real Thanksgiving meal rather than a Festivus Dinner. I might be too tired from the surgery to cook, in which case I’ll be leaning hard on loved and dear ones to order pizza. Before I start to experience nausea I want to have one luxurious, decadent, all-in dinner. No meatloaf on lettuce. No jello salad or ‘Murican Regrettable Food of any kind.
I am not the least bit interested in the Airing of Grievances. It’s perfectly obvious that this year has sucked, even before I got diagnosed. Nobody has to say that Trump is still President – of the fifty states, the Virgin Islands, and yes, Puerto Rico too. Before I start down the grim road of treatment, I need to get my head right. No more dwelling on my bad luck, no more peering down into a grave I might not need.
As for Feats of Strength, the very fact that I can keep my head together well enough to plan – or joke – about any part of this experience should speak for itself. I’m still in the hurry-up-and-wait part of this nightmare, of knowing I have this cancer but not yet able to do anything about it. It might look as if I’m sitting still – as I perch on the end of different exam tables while doctors poke and prod, give me forms to sign, and read off lists of maybes. In reality I’m already throwing down, no holiday-related excuse required.
The thing is, I’m already a sort of miracle: According to the oncologist, there was a 1 in 100 chance I’d develop this cancer. However, if I have to go through this, Boston is one of the best places on the planet to get treatment. My hospital and my doctors are exceptional. Thus far, my health insurance company is cooperating. All these separate facts are true even if they are juxtaposed. That’s miraculous, too.
medicinal sausage 