Wednesday, January 02, 2013

silver saddles and sunday parades

I worked in a bar when I was in college. One of the many characters who frequented Brannigan's was fond of saying life ain't all silver saddles and Sunday parades. Boy, he wasn't whistlin' Dixie.

I was on my way into the shower this morning and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My head is bald. I have a scar on one breast and a port sticking up like a knob on the other one. My nipples point in two different directions...one southwesterly and the other more distinctly north. They are not symmetrical. I have a scar under my left arm and looks like the flap on an envelope. Oh, hello gnarly old body.

I can go days and days and not think about cancer but then I have this moment in the mirror and it's like getting walloped with an open can of fuck. I was suddenly tired of hats and scarves, tired of drugs, tired of appointments, tired of all of it. Nothing was funny. I wanted to go back to bed.

Then I had an appointment this afternoon for a health assessment with a program called Exercise is Medicine. On my way out the door, I thought this will be a brief assessment as life suckage has reached a record high this morning.

But what do you know, just when you think you can never be cynical enough, things take a turn for the better. The sun comes out. You start singing and dancing again. And here comes the parade!

I meant to only go one time but they were all so happy and encouraging that I signed up for two times a week for a month and now I'm trying to convince Regis to join me. They have Sirius radio, they laugh a lot and everybody else is toting oxygen tanks so we'll be able to beat them in foot races, for sure.


Dude, it is all silver saddles and Sunday parades!

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Open up a new can of whoop-ass every day!
Old neighbor and friend Deb

Teresa Saum said...

Great idea! A new can of whoop-ass every day...my new mantra!