DJ Mic Check 1, 2

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It’s been 8 days since my first chemo treatment. Everyday I’ve been waiting for the side effects to kick in. And guess what? They flat haven’t. It’s like I KNOW I’m at some kind of I-shouldn’t-be-here rave, eaten the suspicious brownies and still the DJ won’t let the beat… mm, dropppp? (that was a Beastie Boys reference, Boomers). 

It’s a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, how grateful am I?!? Leading up to all this, I was CONVINCED I’d be spending the entirety of my days debilitated on a couch, hugging a porcelain God, or just fish-flopping all over floor (okay maybe I have an active imagination). But no! Or at least not yet.

On the other hand, I know SOMEthing not-fun is lurking just around the corner. I’m on borrowed time. There’s a boogie man in a black eye-cutout mask making I see you and I’m gone get you gestures just outside my bedroom window. (Not sure why he has a southern bent, but it's my nightmare, not yours)

Each day I feel like I’m pinching myself that I’m still here and YAY high-functioning! But I'm watching my back like any step may set off the bomb. So… I’ve been singing and dancing.

[an audible WHAT?!? escapes from reader’s mouth] 

Here’s the mic check. It occurred to me inside this conundrum of mine that I’m empowered with the gift we humans have called intellect, which in turn enables a thing called CHOICE. Well, I choose happy. Listening to one of my favorite tracks, dancing away, and it hit me. I'M the DJ. 

I love music. In the car, in the shower, dance-walking down the aisles of my local grocer like a full-blown is-she-drunk mom. Basically anywhere and everywhere. For me it just adds a layer to life that the other senses simply can't match. And my days are richer because of it. So, I’ve been turning it up to 11 (easier to catch that time, Boomers? 😜) And just like that fork in the road, it’s making all the difference. 

I. Am. The. DJ. Say it with me. Read it again. 

Think about it. I COULD be listening to some sad-sap playlist like Everybody Hurts, Nothing Compares to You, and With or Without You - ALL songs I adore. ALL songs that make me weep, or at least struggle to speak without sounding like Kermit The Frog choking back tears. And you probably wouldn’t even blame me. 

But why would I DO that to myself?!? So cruel! Yaaaah, NOPE. Instead, I vote for fist-bump inducing house music and sickeningly sweet pop (yeah, that’s right, I’m jammin’ on Barbie Girl and you can’t stop me!!!). Anywhere and everywhere, I might add. Because why the hell not?  I’m celebrating! Scary boogie man hasn’t found me yet! Maybe my disguise as a crazy woman is working! Like he’s looking up and down at some boogie man file of facts on me talking into his ear bud like I don’t know guys, THIS says she’s a former corporate leader, mother of two, cancer patient but all I see is some bat$hit that looks like she just missed her bus to Coachella, WHAT GIVES?!? [Bad guy returns to busted hooptie wondering how he’s gonna ‘splain this one to the boss man.]

Whatever I am doing here is working, guys. Maybe just for now or maybe more. I do NOT care. And probably because I’m just having way too much fun to stop. 

[insert dance break] 




 

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