Under the Influence

Sometimes when you have cancer, kind people from the hospital will call and match you with a “cancer angel.” Cancer angels are like minded in their suffering, breast to breast, pancreas to pancreas, throat to throat, if you catch my drift. It is a mentor who has been there, done that, to walk you through all the difficult decisions and tell you that things will work out just fine. I signed up for my cancer angel hoping to find someone who had faced my decision of mastectomy versus lumpectomy and lived to tell about it. I wanted someone who could give me a little information to sway me towards the decision that I needed to make. As it turns out, I had to think about my decision rather quickly and without any help at all from my cancer angel, I decided to go for the lumpectomy and pray that the outcome was good.


I think that I have mentioned this before, but while anesthesia and I are good friends and well acquainted, when we go out, I’m not left standing at the end. After arriving home from the procedure, still heavily sedated, I dozed in my room, essentially unaware of the comings and goings of my friends and family, my phone rang. I couldn’t tell you why I answered it, but I did, perking out a gravelly hello, that would have done a chain smoking truck driver proud. It was my cancer angel calling to chat with me and answer any questions I might have about my upcoming treatments. With a tongue that felt a mile long and twice as thick, I proceeded to explain to her that I had just returned from surgery not two hours before. She seemed taken aback and sweetly stated that she would call me back at a more convenient time. I kindly told her that it was a fine time for to talk, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere and using careful words and speaking slowly I began to share my story. I imagine that on her end, she felt the similar amusement a police officer experiences when pulling over a drunk driver while listening to proclamations of innocence, slurred speech, the painstaking use of signals, and driving 5 mph in the fast lane. I told her all about my diagnoses, my tests, my vacation, my surgery, any anything else I deemed appropriate for at the time. She listened, making commiserating noises at all the right times and when I couldn’t hold my eyes open or the phone any longer, she told me to feel better soon and said goodbye. I am now very embarrassed by all my ramblings and while I haven’t heard again from my angel, I suppose that times like those are what angels are here for. Laters.