Pièce de Résistance

"Every one of us is called upon, probably many times, to start a new life. A frightening diagnosis, a marriage, a move, loss of job... And onward full tilt we go, pitched and wrecked and absurdly resolute, driven in spite of everything to make good on a new shore. To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another -- that is surely the basic instinct...Crying out: High tide! Time to move out into the glorious debris. Time to take this life for what it is."

Barbara Kingsolver from High Tide in Tucson

I had my tête-à-tête with Dr. LePew, the gynecological oncologist yesterday. After the physical exam, ("Remember if you're ever given a gynecological exam without a rectal, you're being cheated"), he sat back on his office chair and pronounced with a smile "A plus!" I took this "A+" pronouncement to mean as far as the doctor could feel, the cancer has not returned. Plus I look fabulously healthy. I have that certain je ne sais quoi that doctors find appealing. I'm breathing.

Remember this is my doctor who, on the Planet Weirdo would like me to speak French with him? C'est la vie. Throughout my appointment with him, our repartee is spot on though. He speaks to me sometimes in French, making assorted remarks about the fashion I've brought into the room. My fingernails, my hair -- exclaiming that I looked "extraordinarily blonde!" (though most of my hair is no longer blonde). Even though visits with him make me feel as if I need to bathe afterward, I feel like I may be finally warming up to him after almost two years, probably transference due to the ongoing success with surviving cancer. *knock on wood.* He had a hand (or two, a speculum, and surgical instruments) in the process.

Dr. LePew changed offices since I last saw him in December. He now shares his office with a female obstetrician. He said the esprit de corps was much better between he and this new staff; his move from the other office, a fait accompli. Now surrounded by baby pictures, magazines, toys, a soirée of kids, scared husbands, pregnant women, and wall advertisements directed toward young mothers, his new office doesn't feel like a place, (or maybe it is?) for wrinkling women who've been diagnosed with cancer; uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes removed due to dis-ease. We are ancient by comparison to these new mothers yet I remember my own days of mothering as if I were burping babies just this past week. I am too young to be passé. Though cancer certainly has a way of making a person feel used up. Then again, a person's outlook has so much to do with how they feel and present themselves to the world, and in turn, how they're perceived by the world. And once every three months for about 15 minutes, I present as a bon vivant; a young(ish), cancer-free, wanna-be French speaking, though still-mute-in-front-of-this-doctor, hipster. C'est magnifique !