Kids and Cancer

Y'all, I am embarrassed to say, that my kids don't see the down side to cancer.  E'ry night they're like:
"Where we eating out tonight!?!" 
"Cool!  Who made that cake?!?" 
"What's in that card!?!"

Big kid was like,"Whoa!  Your friends really like you, mom!  Do they ever just give you money???  And I assure him, cancer is not like your birthday ...dummy!

Mr B actually brought lil brother to see me after surgery while I was high on drugs and desperation.  And of course the kid proceeds to open cabinets, touch and successfully operate medical equipment, turn on the TV and find Sponge Bob (which will make you want to die right then and there), bounce on my bed which he put at a weird angle, and roam the halls loudly spying and reporting on the weird, sick person in the next room (who wants to die because Sponge Bob is laughing his pants off)-even though Mr B is hollering, snarling grim death threats, and giving him the crazy eye for all his carrying on.  I couldn't get outta there fast enough.  Having your family perform their usual antics in a "serious" place is well, just...awkward.

Mr B went with me to my radiology appt yesterday.  Mainly because I prefer to be carried places- driving is for commoners, in my book-but mostly because he says I am irresponsible about cancer and can't be trusted.  And he's pretty much right...  I am a slacker in the cancer department. And I have been known to tell a lie... or two... 

So the sweet lil nurse is going through my health history and is quite delighted about how generally healthy I am when Mr B pipes up, "Don't be too impressed, she cusses like a sailor."  Sweet lil nurse is naturally horrified and in disbelief that someone as charming as myself (I brilliantly translate as angelic when folks first me...) could have such a rotten, foul mouth.  At which I inform her that, "I am married to a liar-and she can put that in my chart."  And I smile in such a sickeningly sweet manner as to convince even the wall paper that indeed Mr B is quite correct...

Next I meet with the doctor-who is a distinguished Chinese gentleman.  And for the next 30 minutes, he will only look at Mr B while talking about my boob.  Poor thing, he couldn't look my homegrown southern boobs in the eye.  But I love him anyway, especially when he clasped both my hands in his while bowing and assuring me that he would take care of me.  I just adore Chinese knights in shining armor!  Even if big boobs creep them out...

Which is another odd perk to cancer.  It just makes you love everybody....seriously!