There’s nothing like thinking you have Ovarian Cancer, being operated on by one of Toronto’s top Gyno-Surgeons and then having the surgeon be shocked when she discovers an X-Files like tumor jammed in your pelvis. Houston we have a problem. I like to imagine that my surgeon swore out loud when she saw the mass: “oh for fuck’s sake, what fresh hell is this?!”

It turned out that Ovarian Cancer was just a pipe dream. Instead, I was diagnosed with a rare terminal cancer that no one had ever heard of and no one could pronounce: Peritoneal Mesothelioma. WTF? Of course I googled it. I read that I would be dead ASAP and I also read that asbestos causes Mesothelioma. I didn’t doubt that I’d been exposed to asbestos. As a child in the 1970’s I was sure all my schools were filled to the brim with the toxic powder, but to get cancer from it? It all felt very Erin Brockovich. Maybe I would write a screenplay. I would cast Keri Russell to play me, not because we look alike, but because she was amazing in “The Waitress” and I was a huge fan of “Felicity.” The film would win Keri her first Oscar and in her acceptance speech she would thank me for my bravery and spunk. Of course I would be long dead, but since I plan of becoming a ghost when I die, I would celebrate the win with my fellow ghost friends. Ain’t no party like a ghost party.