Breakfast at Denny’s

Tomorrow morning I expect to slide myself backwards into a burnt orange-colored vinyl waiting-room-quality chair to begin engaging with oncology and hematology experts looking for the equivalent of a westward passage for this cancer trek I am saddled up for.

This meeting will probably be limited to picking the particular poison that may do something, or do nothing, on my behalf but I have learned that just doing something seems to be more important than surviving. Folks feel better about themselves if they at least tried and friends and relations really want something proactive which includes pictures of the cancer patient giving a big thumbs-up in the face of reality and making declarations of war against this vile disease.

Cancer seems to exist at the intersection between human hubris and reality, in some ways.

As for me? I really don’t care how this comes out.

This feels more like three friends sitting in the corner round booth at any Denny’s restaurant- and yes, on burnt orange colored vinyl- trying to decide whether to order the Grand Slam breakfast or a box of Frosted Flakes and milk. Either decision leads you down the road to bad things healthwise, so who cares? Embrace it.

Cancer treatment is like having a headache. You take something for the headache and it either works or it doesn’t.

But, in the end you get a nice breakfast at Denny’s.