I’ve always liked silver linings. Not for my own gripes, mind you, but for other people’s issues. It can be annoying, I’m sure. You say your vacuum cleaner is broken? I say, woohoo, time to shop! Oh, they are expensive? Wouldn’t it be cool to get one of those carpet sweepers and be all retro? Turns out, those are called a Hoky, and they are more expensive than one might think for something that doesn’t even plug in. But I digress. The reality is none of this Pollyanna stuff is helpful to the person who wants the cat hair off the carpet before 20 guests arrive tomorrow.
Don’t get me wrong, I can rage in frustration with the best of ‘em; I can take you down a dark and dismal path of grousing and grumbling to land you in the fairytale land of Absurd Annoyances. From book banning to birth control to buckets of chicken, do not get me started. I mean, really, what is UP with resurrecting Colonel Sanders? Doesn’t KFC know that we know he died? It’s creepy.
Earlier, in a conversation with a coworker, a cancer silver lining came up. I know, I know; one doesn’t usually jump to the silver lining of a cancer diagnosis. Case in point: when I had Thyroid Cancer, people (doctors!!) would say, well, if you have to cancer, this is the one to get. Um… no. Still, I’ve got to admit, there are moments when weird little silver lining things pop up. I was reading a book, I’d Rather Do Chemo Than Clean Out the Garage: Choosing Laughter Over Tears, and the author talks a lot about “using the C-card.” While she joked about gifts of chocolate, her point was more to take care of yourself and asking for what you need. Please be assured, while the C-card has been used, I like to believe it was used for good, not evil.
In an effort to focus on the positives that have come about as a result of this cancer episode, I’d like to point out some silver linings in my experience so far:

• The hair (head). It takes so much less time to shower and/or get ready to go out anywhere. Also, 100 degree days? No hair does have advantages – in the shade or with sunscreen, of course. Also: money savings for haircuts every 5 weeks! Point of Information: Most of my hair fell out, but not 100% of it (yet). I preferred bald to patchy, so we shaved it. Sometimes it gets stubble areas, so there have been re-shaves.
• The hair (eyebrows). I am learning to draw them in. I’m not great, but I’m learning. New skill!!! Again, money savings on waxing.
• The hair (legs). Officially, I haven’t had to shave my legs since March. Unofficially, sometimes small patches show up, so they get touched up. Again, shower time… cut in half! Think of the water savings!
• Hotel Room at ALA Annual. I did it. I played the Cancer Card. When our “assigned room” wasn’t ready and the front desk agent was looking to see what else was available, I asked if there were any upgrade rooms available. Then I went on to talk about how excited I was to be there and how I almost couldn’t go (it’s true!). She told me how her father was in remission and her step-mother recently diagnosed. As a result, we got upgraded to a corner King Room that had real arm chairs to sit in – two of them! It was super wonderful because it did provide a place for me to rest between events that wasn’t the bed or a desk chair. So, yeah, I played it – with only a little guilt.
• Beverages at public events. Back during softball season, Kathy and I went to a game. You’re not supposed to take in outside beverages. I had a bottle of water with orange slices in it because water at that time tasted metallic and gross. The security dude was telling us we couldn’t take in our own drinks or cups, when the ticket agent (who we see at every softball and basketball game) noticed my bald head under my cap. She asks all wink-wink, “is it for medical purposes?” I explain it is and that sodas and plain water don’t work for me right now. And, in we go with our bottles of orange-infused water. Silver lining! And, knowledge for the future (mwahahaha).
• Cancer attacks quickly-reproducing cells. That includes the entire digestive system. This means sometimes an upset tummy, a disdain for all foods, potential mouth sores (I’ve been very lucky w/out these so far), occasional acid reflux, and things sometimes just taste wrong. The silver lining? When you have cancer, you get to eat anything you want. When the nutritionist at the clinic doesn’t want you to lose weight, you get to pick from anything. Anything! The only exceptions being when your immune system is on a break, you have to be more careful about how something is prepared and how well it was washed. So, you have a craving for pizza on a Tuesday night, you get it. When the only thing that sounds good is that crappy ramen noodle cup you used to eat when you were poor and in college? That’s what you eat. Buffalo wings? Go for it. Steak? Oh, yes I will! Bonus points if the food you are willing to eat includes protein. But that’s the key: “willing to eat.” It’s rarely about a craving; it’s what you’re willing to eat because a lot of the time, you just don’t feel like it. Nothing sounds good. You eat out of duty; the fun is gone. Yet, even with this eat-at-will silver lining, you still get…
• Weight Loss. This is almost heretical. Seriously. The doctor, nurses, and nutritionist are clear. They all say the same thing, “We do not want you to lose weight.” Aghast, I would plea, “but… but.. my butt! This could be the silver lining of all silver linings. I could shrink my ass!” The point they are making is that they do not want you, the patient, to lose muscle mass. That is very, very important. I had talks with the nutritionist when I dropped about 12 pounds in the first month. I am all, “Score!!” The nutritionist is less excited. But, we’ve come to an agreement. I feel good. I’m eating. The first 10 pounds was pretty much the result of a complete turnaround in snacking—I’m just not into it most of the time. The next 10 was a period of time with an unfortunate digestive disorder. The rest has been a system of loss and gain depending on where we are in a cycle. Week 1 I lose about 3-5 pounds when food and drink are loathsome to me. Week 2 I stay the same as I start eating better and moving more. Then, Week 3 my appetite returns, and I get a few pounds back and feel more normal. I’m actually at 28 pounds below my Chemo start weight as of this morning. I’m not complaining, and the nutritionist is with me on this now.
• Who doesn’t love mail? Not bills or advertisements, but real, honest-to-goodness cards and letters? I get reminders in my mailbox regularly from friends and family just cheering me on. Old fashioned letters are vastly underrated. There’s a thrill every time I see something with my name on it that is NOT a bill or junk mail. This is really the end result of….
• Oh my gosh, Kathy and I are surrounded by the best people. Before cancer, we knew this. We knew that the people we choose as our family (friends and family) were completely awesome people. We knew we loved them and would support them in their own life challenges. But, to see it happen FOR us? It’s overwhelming. It’s the best silver lining ever. You can know you have the love and support of others, but to see it demonstrated by words and deeds is…humbling.

And there are hugs. I’m a hugger, but not everyone is a hugger. When I find myself getting hugs from people I never pegged for the huggy type… wow! I know there’s something special happening, and I know things are right with the world. See? There’s Pollyanna again! But here’s the thing. A week ago I found myself getting hugs, words of support, and even testimony to the good things I bring to a discussion (I’m not all sass, you know!) from people who I didn’t think even knew I existed. There’s that – that people are motivated to come out of the woodwork and make those connections. And, there’s the fist bump. One neighbor told he was worried about hugging me when he’s not sure if I’m low immune system or not, and he doesn’t want to get me sick, so he is just going to fist bump all the time, just in case. It is all of this, but especially these newly strengthened bonds with the people we know and love and respect that reminds me that the journey does, indeed, have a silver lining.