Before I dive into this, I need to clear the air. A confession: I’m guilty of blog bashing. I’ve been known to call blogging a stoopid waste of time, a self-indulgent navel-gazing activity. I’ve openly wondered why people—especially freelance writers—toil at their computers for gratis when they could be off doing something more pleasurable, like chewing glass. But cancer has shown me the light, and I’m sure it won’t be the first time.
Soon after my diagnosis (exactly two weeks ago today), I realized I couldn’t not write about it. Each morning I’d awaken to find a tidal wave of images and words had flooded my brain while I’d slept. Sloshing around in rubber boots, I’d gaze at the debris wondering where it came from. Last night’s sky didn’t look like rain. But then I’d shrug and get to work sweeping the detritus into a tidy pile of strung-together sentences. Soon, I’d awaken with a fully written essay knocking around in my frontal lobe.
Of course, I have a lovely journal for such occasions, but then there is the desire of friends and family to keep abreast (so to speak) of my breast without being intrusive. (Thank you.) Couple that with my tendency to get tongue-tied the minute the phone rings, and you can see why I’m here. So, to quote Mr. Dreamy (Obama), I’m offering an apology to bloggers everywhere—I’m sorry. I screwed up. I made a mistake. Mea culpa.