Oh, To Be OutGroup Again

When those of us who haven't won Pulitzer prizes consider those who have, we're likely to think of them as a whole -- a lump sum o' writers... members of an exclusive club. But when Pulitzer prize winners talk amongst themselves I'm sure they make all manner of distinctions. Even among the winners in one category they probably say: oh, but so-and-so won in a good year for fiction, and that other lady won in a bad year.

Folks who don't have stage IV cancer probably paint those of us who have it with the same brush, but I can attest that in group we split hairs.

B.C. ladies quibble over details. Some pronounce themselves "better off" than others. Others lay claim to having worse prognostic indicators, although with everyone sharing an ultimate prognosis of death it's hard to understand how or why this is done.

The Her2 + ladies are sad that they have a more aggressive cancer, and the Her2 - ladies are sad that they have less aggressive treatments. The women with ER+ cancer lord it over the ladies with ER- cancer. They wear their longevity like a badge of honor, but are just as as upset when their treatment fails after 5 years as the ER - ladies are when they fail at 5 weeks.

Some ladies bemoan their fate as "Triple Negatives". They are ER, PR and HER2 negative, and they are jealous of everyone who has at least one "positive" factor.

I avoid most of it. I try to be kind when the ladies say that they wish they'd come up with that cure SOON, because they're holding on until it comes, by gosh! When they describe themselves as "survivors" I think, "we're all survivors until we DIE, you fool", but I don't say it.

I drink hot chocolate. I apologize to Eric for being grouchy. I hold his hand and we smile and it's so sweet sometimes that I think that I can be happy no matter what.

I need the cancer ladies. I love them, and I need them. I have an uneasy relationship with this club, though. I think they're crazy. But I know that this disease is crazy-making, too.