When I Tell You "I'm Fine," I'm Totally Lying

Since my diagnosis, I have tried to be the optimistic, look on the bright side, glass half-full Pollyanna that I usually am. I did a fabulous job faking it when I had to call my parents and tell them. I should have given an acceptance speech when it was over, my acting was so Oscar-worthy. Texting is a wonderful invention at a time like this. I was able to text my boss with the news, and she sent the word out to everyone I worked with, sparing me having to say it over and over and over again. 

So, in keeping with my look-for-the-silver-lining attitude, I decided to have a Ta Ta to the Ta-ta's party. My friend Melinda jumped all over it and offered to plan it for me - yay! I requested a titty cake and that no one makes me cry. I know I'm at least getting the cake....

Now, because I blabbed on Facebook about the biopsy, many of my friends knew something was up. I didn't announce the diagnosis on Facebook until I had a surgery date. But what about those friends and acquaintances that I am NOT friends with on Facebook, or whom I don't see on a regular basis? What do you do when you run into someone in passing at Target or at the mall and they casually ask that  loaded question, "How are you?" The only answer they're looking for is "fine."

It reminds me of that Facebook status that middle schoolers are so fond of, called "Like My Status for Truth Is..."  For every "like," a post is then made proclaiming some profound truth about that person on their own wall.   Such as, "Truth is... you're an awesome cheerleader! We should hang out some time!" I've always wanted to make it my Facebook status, only be brutally honest with my truths. I'm thinking, "Truth is...  you're a sneaky little shit who never gets caught by teachers" or "Truth is... you're entirely too fat to wear the stuff you do." (Probably best that I never give in to temptation and play that game.)  

So, instead of telling people how I REALLY am, I lie. Nobody wants the truth when they play Truth Is, nor do they when they ask how you are. Now, if my mean streak were a hell of a lot meaner, I could, just once, say, "Well, I was just diagnosed with breast cancer, I'm going in for a double mastectomy next week, and I'm scared that it's going to be worse than the doctor had originally thought. And, shallow as it may be, I'm afraid of having chemo and losing my hair. And I'm sad that this is now my daughter's legacy, that she will always have to be diligent about  checking herself. And I'm not looking forward to weeks and weeks of recovery from the surgery, of being helpless and completely dependent on others." I could go on, but you get the idea.

I'll just answer "fine."