Suppose

Suppose For a Second

Suppose you're in my shoes. I've been diagnosed with cancer. Your best friend is sitting next to you right now, engulfed in a sappy romance movie, and you still haven't told her about your diagnosis. What would you do? Probably not what I did.

I looked at her and whispered "I have cancer." Her eyes became wide as she looked at me, turning her head like a concerned owl.

"Piper, what are you talking about?"

My best friend, Delia, was always one to see the glass half full. Always. However, right now, I couldn't see her finding even the slightest positive note in my depressing tune.

I'm not okay with having cancer, and to say I am positive with my diagnosis would be like saying I'm okay with the chorus of, "I'm so sorry it happened to you." Which is always encouraging as much as it sends me down the depressing road to self hatred. Oh, please, hold your eye rolls and sarcastic overtones.

Delia grabbed ahold of my sweater, which was long, black, fuzzy and hugging my backside.

"Piper, how does this even happen. This can't happen to you, you're such an amazing person."

Now that made me laugh. Yes, I'm sure Cancer cells check out who's life they're going to ruin before they hop on into your body. There's no preliminary for cancer cells, there's nothing, nothing at all, not even a postcard to say they're stopping by.