Laughing in cancer’s face

Yeah, so, I laughed a lot during my fight with breast cancer. A lot.

I have always been the type of person who thinks nothing is above a joke. Everything is fair game. I usually try to find the humor in any situation. Also, I am very prone to inappropriate laughter. I think I inherited some sort of inappropriate humor gene from my father. He is all kinds of wrong. It’s just always been the way I deal with stressful, bad or sad situations. It’s my way. That’s how I roll.

Cancer didn’t change that.

In fact, knowing that’s how I cope, my friends and family didn’t really hold back on the inappropriate comments.

David wasn’t too comfortable with it at first. It is not his way. But a few days after the diagnosis, I knew he was getting used to it when we walked past the Hooters on Fisherman’s Wharf:

Me: “Will you go in there and get me a T-shirt.”
David: “Sure, I will get you one that just says ‘Hooter.’”

He also cracked me up with the idea that I could pose for “Jug” magazine. I have no doubt this is the guy I’m supposed to marry.

David and I made each other laugh all the time throughout this entire ordeal. My doctors were always walking into an exam room filled with laughter. They always felt like they were interrupting. The day Michelle went with us to meet the plastic surgeon, a nurse commented that it sounded like a party was going in the exam room.

Good buddy Tiff and I had an IM exchange that made me laugh so hard in my cube one day that it was clear to everyone that I was not working. We got into a discussion about the political differences between the right breast and the left breast. My right breast spreads lies about my sickly left breast, saying it needs to go before a death panel. The left breast smokes pot and has a Vote Nader sticker on it. We went on and on about it.

Tiffany: We can take this show on the road, Mansfield. We’re cancer comediennes. It’s unmarked comic territory!
Me: We’re like Carrot Top but our prop is cancer.

The DH seemed to enjoy making other people uncomfortable with my cancer, which always made me laugh.

• “I need to leave early today to see my cancer friend.”
• “Your problem is terrible, but at least you don’t have cancer like my friend Sonia.”
• “Don’t put Splenda in your coffee, Sonia. That’s why you got cancer.”
• “Where’s our waitress? Doesn’t she know my friend has cancer?”

When I told her about the impending mastectomy, Janice had an excellent outlook.

“We are all damaged goods. Some of us know the damage, others have emotional baggage to the tune of a freight truck. Needy? Passive Aggressive? Co-dependent? CRAZY? Lazy? No job? No money? No ambition? Want to be rescued? Have the smell (i.e. want husband to get rescued and have kids)? You are a catch! So one boob will be firmer than the other – who cares – as long as the vag works …”

Nicely put, Janice. Something about the word “vag” kills me every time.

My sister Michelle had a funny initial reaction when I told her I had breast cancer.

Michelle: “It’s so unfair. It’s not fair! You don’t even smoke.”
Me: “Ummm, Michelle, that’s not how people get breast cancer.”
Michelle: “Oh, right. Please don’t tell people I said that.”
Me: “How do you think people get colon cancer, Michelle?”
Michelle: “I just mean that you are a healthy person. That’s all. … I’m embarrassed right now.”

Not long after I was diagnosed, Michelle called and made an appointment for a mammogram.

Michelle: “Now when the doctor asks me if I have a family history of breast cancer, I have to say yes. Thanks a lot, Sonia. Thanks for the family history of breast cancer.”
Me: “You’re welcome. I just wanted to make a difference in this family.”

My long-time good buddy Smith called me after he heard about the knocker sickness.

Smith: “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? You are going to turn into one of those obnoxious, superior cancer survivors.”
Me: “Obnoxious, always. Superior, never”