Cancer Has Superpowers…

Turns out, cancer gives you superpowers. Who knew? De riguer for all patients is a PET Scan. As I have become a believer in too much knowledge is disastrous, I don’t fully research everything anymore. My imagination brings all the dragons and dungeons to life. I’d rather live in my own fairytale. They know me here and don’t think I’m nuts.

phoenix-marvel-by-artgerm
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So I do minimal research on the PET Scan. I know it measures and gauges where cancer is in the body—like a mammogram in a tube with shit downloaded into your veins. That’s all a girl needs to know right? I’ve been in and out of so many tubes, what’s one more?

A sweet girl, who does this for a living, finds my last good vein to download the chemical concoction. She says to relax for an hour while the cocktail circulates. I write a little and fall asleep. Chris With the Loud Voice, which has been disturbing my slumber, escorts me to the tube room.

Easy peasy. Lay down on the board—it’s a board, no padding and thank God I’ve lost twenty pounds as my normal body mass would billow over each side. Nowhere to rest the arms. Chris With the Loud Voice straps me in. Thank Sweet Baby Jesus one of my dolls advised Ativan. Without it, I’d be running down the hall screeching, “Let me out.” Find me a nice, quiet home with no spiders running through my veins while strapped to a table meant for a five-year-old.

Alas, I survive. Thank you drugs. I owe you. Chris With the Loud Voice instructs on the day’s remainder. He says steer clear of children, babies, elderly and the sick, as I am radioactive. Whaaa? Quizzical face. He says it’s only for the day. Not to worry. Drink lots of water.

Oldest Chicken is in the waiting room. We laugh hard, really hard, as it is opening weekend of The Avengers. We wonder, which superhero should I be, given my body full of radiation. I say Black Widow? He says, totally serious, “Mom she’s got no powers. You don’t want to be her.” I can hear his “Pfft” without it leaving his lips.

This morning finds me researching. Not in the know? Superheroes get their powers from bouts with radioactivity. There’s The Hulk, Captain America, Spiderman, The Fantastic Four, Invisible Girl and Daredevil. There’s more, but an interesting girl catches my eye. She’s known as Phoenix. Turns out Jean Grey, her real name, was ten-years-old when her telepathic powers kicked. Same story as everyone—she is discovered by Charles Xavier and has the hots for Wolverine. Who doesn’t?

She spends time as Dark Phoenix and White Phoenix with her energy in Jean’s body. I will manifest her. That way I can be good. I can be bitchy. I can rule the damn planet. I can have a fling with Wolverine. But what is it I’ll do once my powers take hold?

First, kick cancer’s ass. That’s a given. Next up: Make my Pinterest closet come to life, eliminate stretch marks, have an endless supply of wine and Grey Goose and give a basket of kittens to everyone.

Merci Beaucoup Radioactivity!

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