Wednesday nights are pizza nights for the us. Tonight, we went to a local pizza place and as we chowed down, a woman and her husband came in. She had a Race for the Cure hat on and sported the all-too familiar cancer 'do. As we got ready to leave, I stopped by their table and said "I like your hairdo!" She said, "Oh, you have cancer, too?" and began to ask how far into treatment I was. She told me that she had had breast cancer and beat it but has lung cancer now. She found out recently that her daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer but she didn't have the heart to tell her about her own cancer. "I needed to be there for her!", she said. She went on to say, "I didn't even want to tell my own mother!" Oh boy... I could SO relate. She's 80 years old and I hope she kicks this cancer's ass, too.
As we chatted, a woman at a nearby table stopped over and said, "I couldn't help but overhear... I'm a three-time survivor myself!" She had ovarian/uterine, breast cancer and melanoma. We talked chemo and mastectomies and whatnot. Here we were, total and complete strangers, yet sharing our cancer stories like old war vets. We wished each other well and all hugged before we left. I don't know their names. I just know that we're all part of the same shit-ass club that no one wants to be a member of.
Cancer is a fucking douche nozzle and I hate that it affects so many people. These women, though, made my night...
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