I haven’t been able to write anything for a while because I’ve been feeling very UNfunny lately.  And then I started feeling even worse for flaking out on YOU.  Along the way, I also realized that I like writing this blog and I really like having you out there reading it.  So, I hope you’ve been missing me because, I sure have missed you.  

I’ve been in a crappy mood lately and thought any blogging would sound whiny and snippy.  So, I’ve been putting it off.  I just recently realized that I am normally whiney and snippy, so if I wait until that goes away, I’ll be blogging from my grave.  Besides, I like to think of this medium as a learning experience for all of us, so, learn this: Not having cancer can be just as draining as having cancer.

Yeah, I hate myself for even telling you that.  It’s like fessing up to your kid that there is no Santa Claus. However harsh, it has to be done at some point if you want your child to grow up with his head on the outside of his ass.  (I told you I was feeling snippy!)

The last few months have been a whirlwind of nothing.  Steven doesn’t have any cancer showing up in any tests, yet the after effects of the chemo and radiation have left him with some physical disabilities which are annoying.  In trying to get those issues ironed out, he’s been to more specialists, had more tests and we’ve done a ton of waiting and worrying, just to find out that, “It is what it is.”  And, what IT is…is a pain in the ass.

Through it all, we’ve discovered that after the cancer treatment is over and tests come back clear, you need a new designated driver.  Suddenly, your oncologist becomes the specialist you see for quarterly, semi annual or yearly check ups.  He’s no longer the main man overseeing your life.  It’s not that he doesn’t care any longer, it more about him having really sick people who need his attention.

We were so glad to be off the oncologist’s main roster, that we neglected to definitively choose a new designated driver.  The sensible option is our primary care doctor.  However, here’s something to remember: if you don’t let him know he’s won the election, he doesn’t take office. Then it becomes a free-for-all of multiple specialists ordering multiple tests on the same body parts…which all rack up co-pays, needle sticks and gallons of PET juice that make your pee look awesome in black light.  Surprisingly, no matter how stoic you think you are, ANY test A.C. (after cancer) is like the SATs.  It’s all about the score even though you can’t cram for the exam.  So you worry…just a little…silently, pretending you’re fine when you’re really freaking out. 

And then one day you wake up and realize that you’ve just lost 2 months being worked up about stuff that just “is what it is.”  So I’m sorry that I’ve been away.  I think I’m back in check and ready to start spreading mirth and merriment in the cancer arena.   So to all the baldies, and boobless, pukers and poopers, sickies and sickos and to the people who love them and care for them,  “I’m BAA-AACK!  And I’m in you’re corner.