Oh Gee I dunno.

Hello? Hello...Hello...hello...hello... (it's an echo...something ducks don't have.)

So. My mom doesn't have Lymphoma. One would think this was a cause for celebration. If this one wasn't me mum. Her response was quite simply, "well now I'm back to square one. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me." Which is quite a lie really, because we know several things that are wrong with her. All of which she will tell anyone willing to listen. BUT! But, she doesn't have cancer. I felt compelled to remind her of this several times during our conversation. She didn't get it.

I understand her frustration. We've been driving back and forth to Mayo clinic a lot over the past couple of months, and you would think we would have some sort of answer as to why she has elevated white cell counts, or why she has "masses" forming in her legs and one behind her lungs. What we do know is the masses are not Lymphocytes. I think they're little pockets of unrecognized emotions. But that's just how I think. Mom very rarely comes to terms with emotions, or realities. Actually most of us in the family "deal" with life in this manner. We just bury it. Deep. It seems perfectly logical in my view of "the big picture" that these repressed feelings would form 'tumors' in the physical. But I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on t.v.

Mom wants cancer. Well, maybe not cancer, really. But sometimes I think she wants an out. A Bright light exit, if you will. I get that. At times it strikes me that unless I am hit by a bus, swallow some Aqua Dots, or am killed by some space junk entering the atmosphere and landing on me head.. I will be living for many many more years. And some days this fills me with joy, "Oooooh so many sun rises to see...so many happy times" (cue the sarcasm machine) but then other days...days for which Prozac was invented, I think, "Oh. My. God. I can't do this. " You know? And my Mom has heavier chains than I. The ones we carry you know? Or not. Maybe you don't carry a load...and if not I probably secretly (or not so) hate you. Ok not hate, exactly, cuz I don't be hatin'.

Well, shucks. I need to get to bed. It was a long day at work. I need to finish this 40 of Miller Lite and get to sleep. What? It's the warm milk of white trash.