Don’t Stepford Wife Me



You know that expression that God only gives you as much as he thinks you can handle? Well, I think it’s a ridiculous expression.  But on the off chance that it’s true, then God must think I am one hardcore broad.  Because in addition to dealing with Mesothelioma, (special thanks to Asbestos for giving me this lovely cancer), I also have a Brain Aneurysm to deal with.  Fuckety Fuck Fuck.

On days when I am feeling “oh the glass is so very beautifully half full!” I feel extremely lucky that my brain aneurysm was found.  Most people don’t even know they have one and then one day they’re walking to the 7-Eleven and – pouf! – they die on the spot.  But my brain aneurysm was discovered while I was being treated for Peritoneal Mesothelioma.  I forget exactly why they were scanning my head – that whole time in the hospital is a bit of a blur – but they basically stumbled upon it.  When my Oncologist told me I was like “ok, whatever!” because I had more pressing issues at the time.  But now I’m worried.

On May 18th I  go back to the hospital – cue the scary music – to get my aneurysm “coiled.”  Basically the surgeon packs the aneurysm with platinum coils which prevents it from bursting.  Luckily they don’t have to open up my head lobotomy style – thank you Jesus!  Instead they weave a small catheter from my groin all the way up to my brain.  Is it just me, or does that seem like something that you would see on The X-Files?  I have decided to think of the platinum in my brain as an alternative engagement ring from my partner.  Instead of wearing platinum on my finger I am wearing it in my brain.

Intellectually I understand what the operation involves and I trust my amazing Neurologist.  But I also have an irrational fear that I will wake up from this operation a changed woman, that I will be turned into some weird Stepford Wife. I will go from a tchotke, sparkle loving collector, to a Plain Jane Minimalist.  Or worse, all the things that make me “me” – my many neuroses, my belief that I was a showtune singing Broadway star in a former life, my rule about never leaving the house without lipstick on – will vanish and I will become someone different.  I realize that it’s a ridiculous fear, but there is just something about messing around with my brain that freaks me out.  It feels like I am about to enter an old episode of The Twilight Zone.  Stay Tuned.






Ovarian Cancer – Not!

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.