You guys know me. Pretty much everything I do is done in mostly
melodramatic fashion. Inopportune moments and scene-making snippets.
So it almost wasn't even a surprise
last Saturday morning when I was stretching my sore hamstrings after
racing (which might be an overstatement) for a cure for cancer, and,
reaching down to pull my nose closer to my knee, felt a lump on the back
of my leg.
Argh.
Of all the 5Ks in all the world.
I
swallowed down the panic, along with the urge to don something pink and
re-run the last 50 yards in the special coned-off lane for survivors.*
Obviously,
I was going to beat this. It would be a struggle, but it was born, or
at least discovered, here amongst these strong, capable fighting women
who were fighting the good fight. My fight.
I looked over at my
friends, still happy, laughing and smiling and cheering, innocent of how
my life change was about to change their lives. Every race they ran
after this point would have new meaning. They'd probably shave their
heads because God above knows I am not walking around like that by
myself. I wasn't ready to rock their worlds quite yet. I wanted them to
enjoy these last few moments of blissful peace, happily unaware of how
close trauma was about to strike. As my eyes swelled and my vision
blurred, I leaned down to stretch again, using my pant leg as a Kleenex.
Hmm.
Hold up.
On
second touch, that didn't feel like what I would expect a gigantic,
citrus fruit-sized tumor to feel like. It was... sort of soft. One might
even say mushy.
And it smelled... fresh.
Okay, back up. Take it back. Not a tumor. Actually a wadded up dryer sheet stuck to the inside of my pants.
Phew. Dodged that bullet.
Two actually; at first second touch, I thought it was underwear.
*I always want to think of myself as a
real, live grown-up funny girl. The kind who can make really
inappropriate jokes about the most sensitive of topics, and do so
unapologetically. I'm getting there. But I'm not quite there yet. So I
feel compelled to say that, duh, I don't think cancer is any laughing
matter. And I would never, never, want to belittle the fight. So
to all the exceptional people at Saturday's Race for the Cure, and all
the magnificent women who will benefit, I honor you. I applaud you. I'll
run till there's a cure, and probably keep right on making bad jokes
and telling ridiculous stories long after.
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2 comments:
Love this.. I celebrate all those moments when "it" turns out to be a dryer sheet. And for those that turn out to be something else..... we work through those. Thanks for the post.
Work through them... laugh through them... and look forward to the next dumb, fantastic celebration!!!! Here's to the dryer sheet days, huh Barb ;).
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