I was sad to see the lice lady go today. She's come twice now and spent many hours with our family. She combs through our hair, plays movies for the kids and makes them laugh. She finds the grown ups a comfortable seat and explains all we need to do and reminds me of what I almost forgot... "Did you put all of your sweaters in the dryer? Adeline's headbands in the freezer?"
Today was the follow-up to make sure that we were all lice free. Yippee. We're free! Lori (the Lice Lady) lovingly picked up Adeline to put her on the yellow stool that says, "Sandy" on its square seat. Adeline accepted the arrangement quickly and smiled quietly (interesting, I noted). She bravely and happily let Lori comb out her hair and place in different colored clips (NOT PINK). Adeline cried when Lori told me that she was finished. Adeline determined that this meant 1.) a nap and 2.) the end of her Lightning McQueen viewing and began to wail.
After the nap was underway and Mom was done, Lori checked me. Mom had told her last time that I was in cancer treatment, and it turns out she's had her own cancer. Lucky her (that's sarcasm if you don't know it). Really.... despite this blog where I write a heck of a lot about my cancer... I don't talk about it much. I don't have to anyway. As a friend who is traveling down her own cancer street said yesterday, "I don't want to have my entire identity be that of a cancer patient." It's not that I won't talk about it. I'm "happy" to do so. But I also have other things to say. My mind is as ready and willing to experience and translate as it ever was. I want to continue my growth as an individual and artist in spite of, in harmony with, my current health predicament.
Lori asked me if it hurt. The cancer. No. Specifics hurt. Generalities don't. I consider the cancer a generality. Take that, cancer.
She then told me I was "clean," and that I should lie down and take a nap.
"Why?" I asked, forgetting the whole cancer thing. She smiled.
"Oh," I said remembering and registering. "No I don't think I will."
She was packing up her big black box of combs and potions on wheels. I watched 4 episodes of some inane sitcom on my first day off chemo before I realized I hated it. What a waste. I should have laid down and taken a nap then.
She rolled the box to the door and lingered. I think she'll miss us, I thought. Maybe not for long but I'll miss her, too. Yes, yes, we joked about not wanting to see her again. I said in all seriousness, "I would like to see you just not under these circumstances." And she was gone, out the door, her little box trailing her like a little dog.
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