Mad Hatter

"You don't look like a patient." Said a woman, perhaps my grandmother's age, looking me up and down in the cancer center elevator one day.
"Well, I wish I wasn't," I replied.
"Me, too." She smiled and looked away.

I was already partially prepared for her inquiry as I left the restricted 'patient-only' parking lot, and passed in front of her son's car. I get a lot of looks from a lot of people around there. Some do the same thing, staring to figure out, 'Is that a wig?' or 'What's she doing here?' as if I conned my way into an exclusive club. I even passed up the free fruit for patients in the main lobby one day when I forgot lunch, because I didn't want to deal with the stares or have to explain myself. I walk too fast and smile too much to avoid suspicions of fruit abuse.

In the waiting room they look at me with an, 'Oh, that's too bad,' expression I don't find very helpful, and I'm duped into fairly often. I'll feel someone staring at me, so I'll make eye contact and a friendly nod, then bam!... the pity-hatchet comes down.

In the dairy aisle, a complete stranger emoted a somber 'God bless you,' as I reached past him. At the pet shop window and the radiology department, women said they will pray for me. In some ways I'm touched to experience this side of humanity, or at least I can appreciate it in that way now. At the time I felt it intrusive and unwelcome, a reminder of my illness when I'm just trying to get some yoghurt.

At the restaurant, I think people don't even know I have cancer, but just a bad taste in hats. If they and frightened children stare at me, I don't mind as much... I just continue eating. Little do they know the joy and responsibility of pulling off a costume on an extended daily basis. And if they're afraid, I'm glad. It's the greatest amount of power and benefit that's been afforded me besides the free fruit, and much easier to collect on.

For those of you disappointed in me because you remember my earlier promise not to be a creepy, groaning zombie of a cancer patient (see Living Dead), I'm sorry. I didn't say anything about enjoying the monstrous influence of velour knit. Now, I just have to see if I can scare me up some fruit and a better parking space. They don't call them "skull" caps for nothing.


I should get this one: http://www.artikal.com/w10.htm , or is it a little too Darth Vader. And remember, you cannot "grieve with" someone who is not grieving, though I'm not going to make it into a t-shirt or anything.