Playing the Cancer Card

The greatest thing about having cancer is, of course, playing the card.

"Hey Laurel," I say laying on the sofa, "will you hand the remote to the guy with cancer?"

Our precious 16 year old stops dead in her tracks looking at me.

"It's the least you can do before I die because you tested positive for Covid-19 exposing me to all sorts of life threatening dangers."

She hands me the remote.

Through 14 days being quarantined together, Laurel hands me the remote a lot until she finally gets sick of it, choosing to permanently remain in her room as Che and Sarah run her everything she may need.

You can overplay the cancer card.

I apologize to her.

"No need for that," she smiles. "I play the card all the time!"

"Oh yeah?

"I told my friend you can't clean fish 'cause you've got cancer so she cleans the ones I brought home."

It's true.

There's clean fish in the freezer Laurel recently brought me.

"What else?" I ask her.

"My entire school schedule's built around you," she explains. "Any class I didn't want, or class time that sucked, I told the teacher I can't do it because you have stage 4 pancreatic cancer and I have to help take care of you."

"Stop them dead in their tracks?" I ask.

"Every time," she beams. "They give me whatever I want."

"What about you?" I ask Cassidy, our 13 year old.

"Yeah, I tell my Dad I can't do something because Mom needs me to take care of you."

"I wondered why you're here all the time," we laugh.

It is pretty funny.

We've all learned if you say I have "stage 4 pancreatic cancer" people don't know what to say but'll pretty much give you whatever you want.

"Good for you," I tell the girls.

The thing about the cancer card is it's great so long as you're playing but the moment you stop ... you're dead.

I'm the first to admit I don't care for the hand I've been dealt but it is fun figuring out how to play the trash cards while holding on to the valuable ones.

Sarah's my most precious card.

Che, the girls, the kids and grand kids are all keepers.

So are good friends, every single shared meal, talks with Mom, unexpected surprises, kind gifts from people I care about and every single trip to the Beach!

These are the cards I hold onto, trying to play correctly.

The rest of them ... cancer, scars, fatigue, uncertainty, fear and circumstances ... I try to figure out fun ways to play in the course of every single day ... for however many days still gifted to me.

The gravity of living with death looms as an unscheduled possibility in front of us. The fact that I still have cancer after such a radical surgery means even the sunniest days seem gloomy. I can live a long time or could be out of here in no-time-at-all. The doctors have no idea. So we live every day in search of love, fun and escape from exhaustion and fear.

What are you gonna do?

May as well play is what I say.

After all what are the options?

"Do it or die," sings the Atlanta Rhythm Section.

 I couldn't agree more.