Because F$ck You, That’s Why

That’s my version of a unifying theory – it answers every question. Why aren’t you smiling? How come you haven’t had a date in so long? Why are you chasing that three-cheese lasagna with three pints of Ben & Jerry’s and a bottle of wine? Because fuck you, that’s why.

I’m a little angry this week (in case my dropping f-bombs didn’t quite clue you in to that already). Not on the outside – as far as I know I haven’t freaked out on anyone quite yet. I answer people’s questions as honestly and politely as possible. But inside my head the answer is, because fuck you.

My mom has cancer again. Same breast as the first time she had it in 1995, two lumps this time. It won’t kill her, and as far as we know she won’t even have to do chemo or radiation, but she is getting a mastectomy in a little over a week. And I’m angry about that.

I’m angry because it isn’t fair – she’s done the cancer thing once already; she should be done. Our family has done the cancer thing more than once already; WE should be done. I’m angry because she nursed me through my mastectomy, and therefore knows what’s ahead, and is rightfully nervous. I’m angry because I’m still scared of a recurrence in my own body, and sitting with her in the same goddamned room in the same goddamned office where I made my own decisions about surgery has sent all of my emotions into a tailspin. And I’m angry because…well because fuck you, that’s why. Fuck you, cancer.

I’m grateful that I’m here, and can give back by sitting in that room with her. I can listen as she begins to grieve the inevitable loss of her breast. I made an immediate appointment with my oncologist because it’d been over a year since I’d seen him, and that made Mom scared for my sake. To appease her, I drove up to the place I hate more than any other place in the world. I sat in the waiting room that I hate more than any other waiting room in the world. I smiled and nodded as Dr. M expressed for the umpteenth time that he really thinks I should consider removing my ovaries. Dr. M smiled and nodded as I expressed for the umpteenth time that it’s not gonna happen.

Because fuck you, that’s why.

Admittedly, sitting in a breast surgeon’s office and then seeing my oncologist in the same week probably wasn’t good emotional planning on my part. The crying fits I’ve allowed myself to have in the car, coupled with a few trips to Potbelly’s and a fair amount of chocolate, are doing their job. And I’m okay. Really, I am. Just angry.

I’ve got some fun projects on the way. I’m about halfway done with my first novel, called The Pointy Hat Brigade. It’s in the genre I like to call ‘witch lit’, which is basically ‘chick lit’ with witches. And I’ve finally outlined and started writing Matriarch – the series my angry feminist self can’t wait to dig in to. It’s much, much darker than Pointy Hat, darker even than I knew it would be before I began, and I’m pretty dang excited about it. I’m also combining all three of the Magic Without Spells books – Choose the Life You Want, Create the Life You Want, and Release It – into one book that will be available in print. And I’ve gotten good enough at Photoshop to make my own cover for it, which rocks.

So life is good. It really is.

I mean, it’s spring, it’s gorgeous outside. Except that when I got my diagnosis, it was spring too. It was spring when I had to make some of the same decisions and preparations Mom is making now, so to witness her journey while the air smells the same, the sun looks the same…it’s intense. Actually, sometimes it’s intense and sometimes I’m completely apathetic about it. It depends on the day, or the time, or what I ate, or whether I’m in a weird mood after writing for a while. Sometimes people ask me if I’m okay being this close to her journey, and I look at them sideways, puzzled that anyone would think I wouldn’t be. Then something entirely mundane and ordinary sets me off and I don’t even know why.

Actually that’s not true. Because fuck you, that’s why.

Love and light, folks.