Euchre . . . and Cancer

I was talking to my friend Kate the other day who had just finished a game of Spades. Now in my mind, Spades is most importantly a stepping stone on the way to learning euchre. Euchre is perhaps my favorite game, and maybe even more so because I can tell you why: I'm a competitive person and really dislike losing, but I hate losing even more when it reflects poorly on my own personal abilities. Euchre contains elements both of skill and of chance, and it's simple enough (uses few enough cards) that you can trace those elements and know when you messed up and when you just got screwed. One of my favorite euchre games was at a euchre tournament here in Tucson. I played more or less perfectly, my partners rotated in and out, and I lost game after game after game after game after game. I lost profoundly, and I loved it. I loved being able to deal with losing because I knew that it wasn't my fault.

As I was relating all of this to Kate it started to feel familiar. This, I thought, is how I feel about this cancer right now. A month ago, I was in the healthiest state I could imagine myself. I ate well and healthfully by anyone's standards. I exercised as a way of life, both in my job and in biking everywhere I went. I slept enough, drank plenty of water, didn't smoke, or drink in excess, everything. True, cancer strikes anyone at anytime, it's not caused by a poor decision, but I did everything I could to minimize my risk. Healthwise, I played a perfect game: there is absolutely nothing that I did to cause Grazelda to grow. It is so entirely not my fault.

And that attitude worked for my surgery: there was morphine and these funny self-inflating leg-warmers to keep me comfortable enough. I could deal with the crappy cards for a time, secure and maybe a little smug in the knowledge that I just got royally screwed. But here's where the metaphor breaks down. Remember that euchre tournament? Well, the loser's table I was stuck at all night was in the comfiest room in the house. There was a cozy fire, and good friends all around, rotating in and out of my games. But this Grazelda card could easily mean months of being totally wiped out, nauseated, isolated, and bald. Yuck. So yes, my positive attitude could crumble swiftly.

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On the upside (there won't always be an upside, but today there is an upside), some friends here put together a lovely tea party this afternoon, complete with handwork, and presented me with a Bag O' Happiness - full of small, wrapped items that I should open, one after each chemo session. My friends know me well: presents + prolonged anticipation = happiness for Margaret.

I'm feeling good today. I went to church this morning, I ate well, and, for the first time in almost two weeks, I put on shorts instead of a dress. I suppose this means I'm well enough to start chemo tomorrow.