Tuesday, October 12, 2010

I wish

... my life was a soap opera.  It would make my life so much more entertaining and intriguing.  Plus, it would make this whole breast cancer thing a breeze.


On September 22, I was informed that I had breast cancer by a kindly old surgeon, who I have lovingly nicknamed Dr. Methusala.  I have several options, none of them speedy or pain free.  I can have major surgery or face months of chemotherapy AND radiation.  I am looking at possibly one year of treatment and five years of hormone therapy.

Soap Opera

A handsome young doctor named Ryan Horton tells me that I have breast cancer.  He offers me his sexy muscular shoulder to cry on and tells me everything will be okay.  I battle breast cancer both bravely and valiantly while wearing a designer scarf.  My medical team consists of ridiculously handsome and gorgeous doctors and nurses, all of whom have slept with one another (that is - those they are not related to!).  

To everyone's delight, my breast cancer lasts only three weeks.  By the end of the three weeks, my hair has grown back and looks vibrant and full of life.  Just like me!  My loved ones and I look back at my dramatic battle with breast cancer as a valuable life lesson.


My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer at 35 years old and died from the disease at the age of 40.  She left behind a husband and three young children.

Soap Opera:

My mother went on a week-long trip to Brazil with her fifth husband, Murphy Ellington.  The trip was supposed to be her and Murphy's honeymoon after celebrating their remarriage and commitment to one another.  Alas!  My mother and Murphy were ambushed by guerrillas and the last communication we heard from them was a cryptic note: "Bananas."  Flash-forward five years, a woman who says she is my mother but doesn't look like my mother knocks on my door. 

"Lara?" she says.

"Who are you?" I ask and eye her suspiciously.

"It's me.  It's your mother."

Turns out, that during her five years in captivity, my mother killed the head guerrilla and to escape the men trying to kill her, had massive plastic surgery to try and elude these dangerous men.  When DNA confirms that this woman is indeed my mother, we hug and cry.  "I knew you weren't dead!" I sob into her shoulder, clad in designer clothes by Michael Kors.  


My sweetie and I are rushing like crazy to get the first floor renovation in our new home ready before I start cancer treatment and/or surgery.  It's sucking up a lot of our money and time - time that I could be spending on researching my cancer schmancer more thoroughly.  I am happy with how things are turning out but wish I could devote more time on what is about to happen to me.

Soap Opera:

Duh, I live in a mansion.  I have a wise-cracking servant in my employment.  Behind my mansion, is a gigantic swimming pool where Rodrigo, the gardener/pool boy, waits for me so we can carry on our secret tryst.  Rodrigo is Dr. Horton's half-brother but they don't know that yet, nor do they know I slept with them both.  Boo ya. 


I am concerned with the costs associated with having breast cancer and taking time off here and there for treatments or surgeries.  My savings is going to be seriously depleted.

Soap Opera:

I'm rich, bitch!