There is always a bully who tries to inflict as much pain as possible, whether it’s by exposing your one true weakness or pinning you to the ground and giving you a purple nurple. A titty twister. A rainbow of purple, blue and red that fades to a sickening yellow. This past Tuesday, my bully gave me one hell of a purple nurple. At least I was out cold when it happened. By the time I came to, my surgeon had put my breast cancer bully in its place and sent it off to pathology to be sliced and diced. The lump is gone, but now we just wait and see if it left behind its gang of greasy miscreants ready for a street fight.
Since Tuesday, I’ve been singing “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons. “Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I’m radioactive, radioactive.” The surgeon injected me with a radioactive isotope. It’s a little unnerving to hear a Geiger counter crackle like crazy. I’ve watched enough disaster movies to know that you’re supposed to run like hell when you hear that sound. I was purposefully radioactive so the surgeon could find my sentinel lymph node to make sure the cancer hadn’t spread. Fingers crossed. The one nice thing about being radioactive is that my urine was a beautiful, calming blue for several days. It reminded me of the Blue Pool on the McKenzie River. Breathtaking.
I was hoping I would gain some super powers from being radioactive. It’s only fair. After all, Spider-Man, Daredevil, and Dr. Manhattan didn’t have to deal with breast cancer. No purple nurples for them. One way or another, super hero powers or not, my supervillain will be destroyed by the love and support my heroes have surrounded me with. I have incredible family and friends who have been so supportive, loving, and generous. They are my Fantastic Four, my Avengers, and my Justice League.