Anyway, a few weeks back, Rusty and I had a houseguest for the weekend. His name is Mike, and he's from New York, NY. We originally met Mike and his friend, Pat, several years ago through one of the hippie bands we listen to (the String Cheese Incident). We continue to stay in touch with Mike and Pat and we see them all over the country as we travel to see the band. Most recently we saw each other in Denver, Colorado, for the band's last concert at Red Rocks. (From Left->Right it's Rusty, Me, Pat, and Mike).
So, a few weeks back we were planning to have Mike over our house for the weekend to see a couple of concerts that were closer to our home. The plan was to meet him in Northampton, MA for a show and then take him back to our house and see another show in New Haven, CT later that weekend. This pre-arranged weekend happened to be only a few short days after we'd learned about my diagnosis. Rusty and I didn't want to tell him ahead of time because we knew he wouldn't come (and that wasn't the point). Mike is a good friend and we wanted to spend the weekend with him and enjoy ourselves.
We planned to meet at a brewpub in Northampton (I love beer). Pretty much as soon as he sat down I blurted it out.
"What's new with you guys?" he asked.
"Well, actually, a few days ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer". There was really no other way to say it, ya know?
We talked about it for a few minutes, he was obviously a good friend about it and we tried to explain that we really wanted him to come to our house for the weekend, so we didn't tell him ahead of time, blah blah blah. One thing he said kind of sticks with me because it was something I'd thought about myself, but he put it into good words...
"I don't know if you guys are religious at all, but I truly believe that God doesn't give us anything we can't handle, and I know the two of you will get through this."
And that would be the jumping off point for the main idea of this post. I do believe that I can handle this (if you had asked me 24 hours ago, I may not have had the same opinion). Rusty and I talked about what Mike said and I imagined a Yankee Swap. For those of you who may not be familiar with the concept of a Yankee Swap, it's a horrid Christmas party tradition where everyone brings a gift (usually something ugly, useless, or just plain hideous) and everyone draws for a number. Number 1 opens a gift. Number 2 opens a gift and decides whether they want to keep theirs, or swap with one that has already been opened (in the case of Number 2, there's only 1 other opened gift). This goes on until the last person opens a gift (Number N) and then they get to choose from all of the other gifts that have been opened thus far. But wait! Number 1 gets to go again. Number 1 is the only person that didn't have the option of trading, so they get the final trade. There are variations of this game, but that's the basic idea.
So anyway, I had this image of getting cancer at a Yankee Swap. I could have let the woman with 7 children have it, I could have let it go to the woman who was all alone and didn't have a husband to take care of her, or I could have let the person who was unhealthy or who had a mean boss have the breast cancer. But instead I got it. (Hey, I could have gotten stuck with a brain tumor).
But yesterday I was looking for the gift receipt so I could return it. I don't want it anymore. It kind of sucks worse than I had thought. I wish I had swapped for something like a hangnail.
