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Posts Tagged ‘cancer and comedy’

Prologue Clutching the mike is what new comics do.  It gives the illusion of control.  Not a bad thing to want, standing on a stage and performing stand-up comedy for the first time.  After the opening joke explained away my bald head – “Never piss off your hair stylist” – the audience was in.  I [...]

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The Kindness of Strangers Betsy’s first words to me: “How’s the constipation?” I instantly knew she understood. Chemo, hair loss, fatigue, nausea – these were the usual things people talked about with those of us who had cancer.  Not shit. Not lack of it.  Not the immobilizing, bloated, out of control, backed up, doubled-over painful, [...]

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Lord of the Rings Eight-year-old Tim stares up at me, blue eyes bugging out of his head.  What are you doing here, my nephew is thinking.  It is the middle of the school day, a teacher has pulled him out of recess, and I am standing in the hallway.  I am also hairless, which is [...]

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Beyond Basic When we bought our oversized, many pillowed couch – the couch I now spend my recovery days on – the furniture saleswoman described it as “aubergine,” a fancy name for eggplant and an even fancier name for purple. A visitor has yet to enter our home and comment, “What a lovely aubergine couch [...]

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A New Clinical Diagnosis There really are no hairs on my head.  Every hour the bathroom mirror confirms this.  My scalp is shiny smooth.  Vanity brutally surrendered. When I graduated from college, a fellow student gave me a new hairdryer.  “You must have worn the other one out by now.”  My hair obsession was a [...]

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Preparation Wigs are a nonstarter.  Acute surgical menopause hit almost the moment my ovaries departed and the thought of a wig on my scalp, perspiration from a raging hot flash pooling underneath, turns my insides queasy while my fingernails reach up to scratch phantom itches.  It’s been six days since the first chemo treatment and [...]

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Inside Job Ten days after the surgery, six days after returning home from the hospital, and one day after the zipper of staples spanning my abdomen from the pelvis to above and around the belly button is removed, the incision bursts open. Rolling off my bed, one hand protecting my tender, zipper-free abdomen, I notice [...]

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Afternoon Shift When I wake up again, Ramona has gone to the gym and Mom is reading in the hospital armchair next to my head.  The afternoon shift.  A florist bouquet of gerber daisies has appeared on the bedside table. “Hi, Mom,” I smile.  “Thanks for the flowers.” My mom’s face, which had softened at [...]

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Abby Ramona arrives in my hospital room just as Dad is leaving.  She gives him a kiss.  He says, “Goodbye Hon” to me and is gone. She brings me a large, iced mocha with whipped cream.  Now that the surgery is over, I can resume my caffeine intake and I choose to do so in [...]

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Morning Shift When I wake up the morning after surgery, I see Dad, settled and dozing in the armchair next to my head.  His tanned bald head is tilted forward, chin meeting chest.   I understand two things without asking. One, that he and Mom, as if they were still married and not in the [...]

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