chucky's rap

did chucky get a bad rap?

i'm talking about the 'evil' doll.

how bad could he have really been?

he was only a kid.

i mean doll.

i've wondered about this over the years.

i've walked into many conversations about how bad

chucky was. is.

and then the bride of chucky too of course.

and if they had children, god they'd be super evil too.

so the story would go.

and so on.

yawn.

once i asked my buddhist friend about this.

i thought he had a really non judgmental buddhist type answer.

i said do you think chucky was really as bad as everyone made him out to be?

 he said no, i think chucky just got a bad rap.

and then he said, i think we could have been friends, if only he'd taken the time to get to know me.

this is among the reasons i love him, largely for where he lets his mind go.

i've spent my fair share of time in chucky jail.

even to the point that a distant 'relative' asked me recently -

do you think the cancer is a punishment?

i said for what?

this relative began to backpedal, and said oh.

i don't think that.

but you know how 'some people' do.

i said i don't 'relate' to that kind of thinking.

i don't believe that.

dna does not always = family.

so i've come to understand.

i'll bet there are popes who's sisters or cousins have had breast cancer.

i'll bet there are murderers who do not.

xx katy

queens without a country

one of my old friends had a mother who was diagnosed with cancer one week.

and three weeks later she was dead.

this happens almost never now.

but it happens.

i drove up for the funeral, and after dark we were out on the driveway of her family's home, affectionately known as 'the estate.'

her father came outside by himself, looked around, and then up at the night sky.

it was obvious what he was looking for.

my friend, who everyone said was just like bette midler, called out, pop? you ok?

he said yeah.  then went back inside, his head low down in the dark.

that was the last time i saw him, he was dead of cancer 6 months later too.

'bette' went through a really crazy time after that.

her parents were immigrants, first generation italians.

bette's mom didn't go to school past the 6th grade, and had worked in a christmas ball factory until she married her dad, who was a sign painter.

 he was really quite talented.

they lived their own colorized version of the american dream.

but for some reason, they never went to the doctor.

none of them, as far as i recall.

this is probably why the cancer took them out so 'fast.'

there was so much love in that house.

lots of loud talking, and loud laughter.

 no one ever read in that house, which was fine, though my friend did.

and though she read the words, and understood them in context, she'd never heard certain ones spoken out loud.

we'd hang out and talk about things that seemed like bullshit to us.  our big thing at the time was how we couldn't stand poseurs.

bette would say 'i don't know why so and so acts like that.  it's just such a facade.'

but she would pronounce it fah-kaide.

i'd say what?

she'd say fah-kaide?

i'd say facade.  she'd say oh.

we thought we had a real grip on things, as you tend to do when you're in college, and you think you're a genius.

we'd hang out on the school steps and act like we had things all figured out.

somehow we'd adopted weird accents, during those long winded discussions about the ways of the world.

we thought we sounded super royal.

 so we decided we were queens.

but my friend, who thought i knew 'everything' said, wait.  where are these accents from?

i said who cares?  we don't need a country.

we can still be queens.

we're just queens without a country is all!

 we kept it up for a couple of years.

we would so fall into the accent whenever we talked, in person, or on the phone.

i'm sure the accent was really nothing more than a broken down version of a combo of zsa zsa gabor and cyndi lauder.

but as i think of it now, i'd probably have to say it had a dash of snookie thrown in.

after college, we lived in the same city for a while. 

we hung out on the steps of a conservatory, which was beautiful.

i'd started reading stories out loud by then, so she could hear how the words were pronounced.

she was a very good listener.

sometimes other people walking by would stop and listen too.

these things happen in 'city life.'

'bette' never really got over the shocking and sudden ways that cancer took her parents away from her.

her heartbreak took her to some pretty dark places.

it got very heavy.

it just seemed so brutally preventable.

that's because it actually was.

i have no doubt things would have turned out differently, had early detection been a factor.

for now, that's anyone's best defense.

yours and mine.

i miss her.  cancer takes lives in many different ways fyi.

i believe in our lifetime this will change.

i hope i'm right.

xx katy  

teachin'

i realize as mothers, our job is to teach our children.

but i have found i have always enjoyed what our children have taught me.

when our oldest daughter first started to walk, i expected her to walk toward me.

i knelt at the end of the hallway, extended my arms, and said come here!  you can do it!

instead, she turned her chubby little baby legs around and walked in the other direction.

i was crawling on the floor beside her, all hey!  where do you think you're going little girl?

that was an interesting lesson.  she taught me she had to make her own way.

and that my job was to be there beside her as she did.

or tried to.

fastforward.

she's 23 now, in grad school, living in a place of her own.

but.

when she comes home, she is big girl, though little girl all over again.

what are we having for supper?

is it cold out?  will i need a coat?

do you mind washing my clothes?

can you make sure i'm up by seven?

etc.

this is all fine.

but this year, when campus closed for her holiday break,

it was about a week after the final diagnosis came.

i was trying to make sense of it, the whole cancer deal.

the space i was in seemed to have no definition.

i told marcia it was like being in a room without corners.

like the inside of an igloo, covered with cotton.

there was no definition, in this new cancer space.

so.

what's a control freak to do when things feel out of control?

find something to control of course!

so.

my grown up graduate school attending daughter who's been living in her own spaces for four years of college, and now year five with grad school was home for the holidays.

but she was leaving her keys out.

and her purse.

and her laptop.

and her charger for her laptop.

and her shoes.

and her phone.

there were little hannah nests everywhere.

i'd say hannah.

can you put your stuff away?

she'd say but i'm working on something.

i'd say still.

your keys?

but i'm going out later.

your shoes?

i'm going to wear them later.

and so on.

finally i said look!

just do it!

i can't have all this shit scattered around!

let me just control something at least!

is it that big of a deal?

 after some back and forth with this, she said that's it. i'm leaving.

i'm going back to my place.

you're nuts.

i said fine!

god.

i didn't walk her out to the porch either, or wave until i couldn't see her car anymore.

the next day she came home again.

i said hannah.  i'm sorry. i've thought about it though.

i think maybe it's a good idea we had that 'fight.'  

bc it taught me i really needed to have something to 'control' in the midst of all this other shit that i can't.

i said i realized i just didn't know how to be katy with cancer.

and she said well.

you still don't need to know how to be katy with cancer.

because you're still just katy.

i said you're so smart.

no wonder you're in grad school!

then i put my hands over those two squishy puddin' cheeks that i've kissed for 23 years.

and i said give me a kiss big girl.

she did.

but i think she might have rolled her eyes too.

xx katy

mike tv

on thursday we meet with the radiation oncologist.  

who is different from the surgical oncologist.

who is different from the nurse navigator.

who is different from the mammo tech.

who differs still from the diagnostic mammo tech.

who we were sent to via our obgyn

which resulted in a 'sit down' with a radiologist.

who ultimately led to a real sit down with a tumor board.

whew.

anyway.

thursday is the day.

i'm feeling a bit like mike tv in willy wonka's factory.

regarding radiation, i have the feeling that it will be a really sci fi kind of strange new world.

it's not like i imagine flying cars, or talking robots,

but how do i know?

radiation is weird science to me.

how can a beam, radiating a target (my right breast) kill cancer cells?

who knows?

but i'll find out!

what i do know, is that the radiation kills the cancer cells, not bc of any particular intelligence,  bc it's not like it's 'human.'

duh.  we know this.

radiation kills all the cells.

the healthy ones.  and the cancer cells too.

as i understand it, it works like this -

everyday for 33 days (minus weekends), you get to be mike tv in willy wonka's factory, you lay on a sci fi table, and a sic fi machine is aimed at your breast. 

 the beams fire.

boom. the cells die.

but!

the healthy cells rejuvenate!

the cancer cells do not.

f*ck you cancer cells.

take that.

(do you think i'll need to wear goggles?)

come on healthy cells.

get back up.  

you have a job to do!

so they do.

again.

and again.

for 33 days.

if i were a healthy cell in my breast, i'd be tired too.

this is the nature of the radiation beast.

this is where the 'radiation fatigue' comes from.

the body gets tired after a while, doing all that rebuilding.

i would, wouldn't you?

and yet, i live in my body.

god.  that's obvious.

so.  there it is again. the bitter and sweet.

take that cancer cells.

come on healthy cells.  you can do it.

put your back into it.

that's the plan anyway.

since i'm going to the 'factory', i'm hoping there will be chocolate involved.

hint to the godfather....(someone please tell him i'm not fond of godiva.)

xx katy

brian's song

depending on your age, and mine is 50, like i said, you may or may not remember the movie 'brian's song.'

it was the true story of the unique and solid friendship between brian piccolo, and gayle sayers, football players for the chicago bears.

brian got cancer, and gayle stuck by him til the bitter end.

at that point in my ten year old life, it was the saddest damn movie i'd ever seen.

but somehow, and call me crazy here, (it's okay, it's something i hear on occasion,) i have the very distinct memory of making a pact with myself during that movie.

i said to my ten year old self, 'if i ever get cancer, i'm going to be very brave, just like brian.'

who does that?

me.

who knows why?

i always remembered it, even mentioned it to the godfather over the years, he remembered the movie too, since we're only a few months apart in age.

i'd say to him, out of the blue, just so you know, if i ever get cancer, i'm going to be just like brian piccolo. 

he'd say katy.  why do you think of these things?

and i'd say i'm just telling you, if it ever happens, i'm going to be just like him.  

he'd say whatever.

fastfoward.

the years went by.

the godfather never thought i'd actually get cancer, who knows why. it can happen to anyone, anytime, as we know.  truly though,  i never thought i'd get it either, so who can say why that channeling brian thing stuck with me.

but it did.

~ if the hands of time, were hands that i could hold.....~

(that was the theme song, trust me, i should know)

during all the testing, the godfather was pretty steadfast in his belief that all tests would return with benign findings.  he never really imagined there would ever be a cancer outcome.

i'd say you know that's what they're looking for.

he'd say yeah.  but it's not cancer.

he was very rock steady re that.

despite this, i knew it was only a matter of time before i'd turn into brian.

i just knew it, i still had my ten year old self inside.

so when the day came, the confirmation, i was out in the truck. i'd just dropped one of our daughter's off at a bud's house in the neighborhood, and the doctor called.

i said to myself, here it is.

so i pulled over to the side of the road.

i'm not saying i was ho hum about it, but there was a way i already knew.

and i was right. just like i was ten again.

he was hemming and hawing.  this was the doctor before dr. bear.

he didn't think he'd find cancer either.

but i knew he would.

and he did.

but he was having trouble telling me, i think maybe bc he thought it'd be something else.

i said so is it cancer?

he said yes.  

yes it is.  and we'll have to go in again bc there's more.

i said ok.

but he didn't, cuz we hoofed it to massey after that.

anyway, i knew the godfather was on his way home.  it was late friday afternoon.  it was good to know, and not have to go through another weekend of wondering.

i called him and asked, where are you?  

he said i'm on my way home.

i said ok.  i'll talk to you soon.

but he knew.

he said no.  tell me now.

i said i'll talk to you when you get home.

he said no.  tell me now.

so i had to. 

he said is it cancer? 

i said yeah.

*wtf*

i told our 2nd oldest daughter, down in her bedroom, i didn't hear the godfather come in the house, but he came and found us, as i was hugging gracie.

i looked at him to show him, it'll be okay.

i was already being brian about it.

but see, he was gayle remember.  his face crumpled then in a way i'd never seen.

this makes me sad, even remembering it here.

***

i needed a minute right there.

for a while, i was going along, la la la.  

cooking, laundry, etc.

he said no katy.  you're sick.

i said i'm not sick.  i feel fine.

he said you have cancer.  you're sick.

but the thing is, you feel the same.

(before treatment at least)

but there is a way that some people look at you differently.

that's no fun.

i realized hey.

i might be a rookie, but the godfather is the one who needs to update his cancer playbook.

i realized his playbook was dated circa 1972-ish.

once i realized he was treating me like a china doll, i told him that.  

i said this isn't brian's song you know.

i'm not really brian, i'm not going to die, and you're not gayle.

ok?

he said whatever.

but eventually, once we went to the bear, he got it.

he got a whole new, new millennium playbook.

so what we are now, is a modern day brian and gayle.

he is becoming so accustomed to the modern day outcomes re treatment, that i'm back to carrying my own laundry basket up and down the stairs.

which makes me smile.

but sssshhhh.  don't tell him.

bc help with the laundry can never hurt a girl, right?

xx katy