I've been responding "I’ve got cancer!" to even the most innocent "how are you?" inquiries. It’s never not weird.
I really think the worst is over as far as mental turmoil goes. It escalated from not worried to probably not cancer, to probably cancer, to definitely cancer, to imminent death -- and then we dialed that back to cautious optimism for survival. This has happened over the course of the last four weeks. Over those weeks, there have been varying “fuck cancer” indiscretions. I haven’t eaten gluten, cane sugar, dairy, corn, soy, caffeine, and a lot of other things since the end of April. Until the “fuck cancer” pizza and milkshake weekend. (It wasn’t as satisfying as I hoped it would be.) My favorite store sent out a New Arrivals email, which made me realize I needed “fuck cancer” purple boots. I drove over to St. Paul straight away, and while I was there, they just happened to have a “fuck cancer” dress, two “fuck cancer” necklaces, and a “fuck cancer” pair of earrings. Weird. I might have purchased a new “fuck cancer” bag this weekend. My healthcare will not cost me anything, but cancer is still very, very expensive.
My dad has his iPad connected to all the grandkids’ iPhones, so he can know where everybody is. Since Bob and I are often driving back and forth to the cabin, a few weeks ago Dad asked if he could connect to my iPhone, then he could just look and see where I am and not need to call. Know I got where I was going safely, et cetera. Sure! This became problematic in the hazy days before we told people what was going on with my health, and I was tipped off when my dad commented on my journey to St. Paul: “Looks like you went on an adventure today.” He’s on the case. A pilgrimage to my favorite store was an acceptable reason, and I didn’t mention the irresponsible amount of money I spent and why. But this brought up a different problem: I was having a biopsy at Methodist Hospital later that week; how was I going to explain that?
A few weeks ago, I had an argument with a sibling, and the next day, I was telling my dad that I’d thought about it, and I didn’t think I was the asshole. Dad said, “You mean like Am I the Asshole on Reddit?” My 81-year-old father can’t copy and paste text, but can electronically track his family members and knows about Reddit. It’s baffling. I shut off “find my iPhone” when I went in for the biopsy, and my absence was never noted.