Cheeky Chat More Effective Than Tears

Cheeky Chat More Effective Than Tears
A Lump in the Road column “I think that’s everything.” Gary shoved our suitcase into the car and slammed the door shut. It was time for our long drive north from Palo Alto to our rural community 200 miles north. That morning I felt great. I was buzzing from the steroids they pumped into my system the day before along with chemo meds. Climbing into the passenger seat, I checked my wig in the vanity mirror. It had a tendency to slant, so I gave it a tug. Perfect. It was itchy, but I loved how it covered my bald head. Even in the car the wig made me feel more whole. “Let’s go.” Chemo treatments offered Gary and me time together. It was a rare treat because we lived far away from family who could care for our little one when we wanted a date night. Every two weeks though, when we made our pilgrimage for cancer treatment, my sister stayed with Lauren. Chemo is not on anyone’s top ten list for a date, but we enjoyed the uninterrupted hours of being a couple. “I’m desperate for a new pair of jeans,” I told Gary. Our town’s population of 900 didn’t include many retailers, certainly none that sold jeans. My only pair was splattered with stains acquired over the last decade. “Maybe we can stop at the mall while we’re among the civilized.” I looked out my window and saw the blur of shops. “Let’s see how you feel in an hour,” Gary replied. Sometimes chemo took its toll during our drives. Leaving Palo Alto, I’d be a jittering ball of energy — all hype
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