It’s Friday, which means I can finally admit this has been a hell of a week. Last week at this time, I was salivating over the thought of a whole fried fish and maybe some fried plantains for dinner. Later on that same night, I was cradling my feverish baby in my arms in a rocking chair in the dark.
Two different friends of mine both let me know this week that they were being biopsied for cancer. It was all terrible and scary. I can’t tell what was more depressing: that my friends have possible diagnoses, or that I’ve come to expect these phonecalls and emails with a certain regularity as I get older.
Every time I get this kind of news, I’m never quite sure what to say. My brain goes right to the endgame. I can’t help it. I’m wired for tragedy or something. I have to remind myself that my husband and child are still alive and well and maybe we should not waste the weekend doing laundry and go out and see a mountain or something. News like this will re-order your priorities. Wouldn’t it be great if we could be constantly mindful of the order of these priorities withOUT the shitty cancer scare? Like, why do I need that cancer karate-chop to the back of the knees every few years? Why can’t I say FUCK IT to the laundry and the to-do list on the regular without it?