Zero F*cks Given

Zero f*cks given.

Zero.

Sternum pain, tests, negative for cancer results, disagreement, more negative for cancer test results, radio silence.

Dr. Batman Earrings doesn’t think it’s a “slam dunk.” Which means nothing because he was wearing batman earrings and he tried to shake my hand. It’s not a business deal dude. I’m wearing a blue gown. I never wear blue gowns to shake hands.

It’s not a slam dunk, because cancer in the bones doesn’t always show up on bone scans. And so we are back. Running in circles. Dr. Batman Earrings saying he’s going to do this and that. Whatever. We need to make sure it’s not cancer, he said.

I’m sure. I know. It’s my body. You caused this with your obtuse treatment. You made my sternum ache with your chemo and your numerous surgeries and your hormone therapy.

I know your chemo and your surgeries are what got me cancer free. I know your hormone therapy is keeping me alive.

But still. Why can’t you fix the pain you caused? Why can’t you come up with something better? Why can’t you talk to each other? Why does everybody disagree?

So more tests, ordered by a doctor wearing batman earrings. He’s no superhero.

Ohmygod, she said. Oh no, he said. Terrible news, they said. Worst, she murmured.

It’s not ohmygod. It’s not terrible. It’s not worst.

I’m not a tragedy. Promise.

It just is. There’s pain in my sternum. Want me to rattle off what else there is? I won’t bore you. Besides, I hate your stupid eyes filled up with puppy dog sympathy. A newly diagnosed cancer friend recently told me she didn’t want pity, but she would take presents. She’s onto something.

I mean really. It’s like whatever. I’m fine, this test is excessive, pass the advil.

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