So tomorrow, I have completed my planning session, got a cool purple mould, and made it through the rehearsal. Now radiation treatments start. Chemo was bad. Surgery not any better. Radiation should be a walk in the park. Yeah, if you like to walk at night, in the rain, and taunt the gods of lightening.

Everyone is so unfailingly polite at this place. They weald it like a weapon. I wish someone would crack an off color joke or fart. It makes me feel like a fractious child that needs to be put to bed but is not cooperating. I feel socially clueless in the face of all the sincerity. Should I be making small talk? Should I ask about their weekends? Do I look like a goat caught chewing the door frame? What do they say when I walk out the door? Will they greet me like an old friend when I come back for checkups months from now?

I need my friend Vicki who slaps you upside the head. She tells it like it is but makes you belly laugh until your sides hurt. Many a lunch, we have been “those people”. The ones you wish would either clue you in on the joke or shut up.

I came out into the waiting room and the estrogen level was high. There was a support crew of woman, waiting for their friend. Drinking cups of tea. Skirts and frills and bright colors, head’s together earnestly twittering away.

I must admit, I was a bit jealous. Then, I wasn’t. I have my village, too. Loud laughers. Poke you in the eye jokers. Big bottomed rocker girls… Drinkers of tea, we ain’t. But bigger hearts I dare you to find anywhere else.

So bring it on…