Ice Breaker

I giggled to myself two nights ago in bed, and I giggled with Mamma Jones last night in my bed. The exciting life I lead. I was giggling because after my day out on Tuesday, I realised something. I realised what transplant related story, I was happy to share with people as a form of banter, to get out of the inevitable questions I am going to get when I return to my beat. At the moment, one thing is true, I cannot talk about my transplant and illness without feeling emotional. I know for a fact that I would not want this emotion to happen in public, so, there has to be an accepted topic that I can get animated about, and use to portray, that cancer is not a big deal at all. It’s dead easy in fact. The accepted conversation is going to go something like this:

Caring Individual: [they may or may not be inclined to tilt their head to the side] How are you? How are you feeling?
Me: Fine thanks [pause and hope that will be the end of the conversation]
CI: So, are you feeling okay?
Me: [smiles] I’m just bloody relieved those burps have stopped. They don’t tell you about that one. I just burped all the time. Sip of water, burp. I was burping all over the place. And the strange thing about these burps, the sound of my burps changed…. I’m a big girl. I can do some big burps, but with the transplant, I did baby burps. Teeny tiny, cute little burps…. It’s all linked in with tummy problems I had following the chemo. It was just bloody embarrassing. Imagine, you and I could be having a cup of tea, and uncontrollably, I would have to burp in your face. All the elegance would go out the window. Gosh, [fake laughs], that wouldn’t have happened in my former life until at least six pints of Kronenberg. [Still laughing]
CI: [content] wow, that is so strange…

Me: Yeah, so like I said, I am feeling much better.*

I suppose, I could take somebody’s wise and dogged advice, but it does not work. I have tried it for 362 days. Obviously, there are some people to whom I would share more information, but there is a time and a place for these things, and it is my experience that the probe comes at the least suitable time, without a curtain, in full view of strangers and/or people whose view of me should be ‘bad ass’. I need a plan. I need back up. And this is it. Just do not tell anybody.

I would also be willing to share with people the fact that I have lost all my bum hair, but that sort of thing should be saved for the close friends I think. Society tells me so.


* subject to some improvisation if required. May include a demonstration.