Grateful.

Brian Krakow FTMFW!!!!

So, for those of you who followed the Bollocks over the summer, it may have been noticed that I stopped updating a week or so into chemo.  Apologies for the drop off, but the short story here is that all is pretty much fine these days.  Jordan Catalano didn't stay too long (and didn't we all know that Angela was going to have to end up with Brian Krakow?  Seriously).

It's the day before Thanksgiving now, and I'm hiding out in a coffee shop with my laptop while a crew of industrious men replace the windows on my house.  Life goes on, largely as it did before -- though everything looks just a little different...ain't that the way with new windows?

When I was prepping the house last night for the workers, I found the two packages of thank you notes that I've been meaning to write to so, so many who were so, so kind during my midsummer misadventure.  I have no defense for this, everybody's busy all the time, and yet no one was too busy to take time out to help when I was sick. (I am the worst).  In the long, slow process of coming back to life, writing thank-yous has been constantly on my to-do list.  (Did I mention that I am the worst?).  

Thanking people face to face has been easy enough - but the part about sitting down and putting words to paper has been hard, which I think comes to this:  In early September, my sweet friend Owen organized a bunch of us to go to the Blackcat, a dingy concert hall on 14th Street where, in a former life, I spent many nights dancing till my t-shirt was cemented to my body in sweat.  But, on the night we all went back, it was for a story slam.  Sort of like a live action This American Life, a bunch of people basically gave 5-10 minute monologues or stories.  (In our 20's, we danced.  In our 30's we tell, and listen to, stories about how we used to dance - is this really the progression?).

Anyway, the stories weren't great.  But there was one guy who told a tale about being a Peace Corps volunteer in Somalia, who somehow wound up on a boat that was overtaken by pirates in the 90's (who among us hasn't been there?).  He rambled a bit, but when he got to the end, speaking of his rescuers, he said back in the moment, he'd gotten stuck. 

"I thanked them of course.  But, 'thank you' is what you say to the guy at McDonalds that hands you your coffee.  What do you say to the guys that save your life?"

In the darkened room amid a sea of people, I was standing in the corner surrounded by my boys, as I have been lucky to be all year, and quietly leaned my head on my friend Michael's shoulder.  

* * * 
Sing it Stevie...

There's not really a how-to manual for having cancer in your mid-30's (and for good reason - it's rare and, ironically, not for sissies).  It's been a hard year, but also in many ways a really, really good one. I've been hugged more times than I can count.  More people have touched and seen my balls than this humble Midwestern boy had ever dreamed possible.  And the lightning bolt that shook everything up on those long scary days in May, broke me out of my shell a bit. Bullshit, and all of it's details matter less.  Friends and family seem closer.  This is better.

So, for the time being, for what it's worth: happy, happy Thanksgiving.  :-)

M.

(seriously, personalized thank you notes are coming soon, I promise...it's just that I'm the worst).