The picture pretty much tells the joke. I feel as though I don't actually have to talk about the size of your mom's twat.
Everybody has a birthday, they say.
Everybody's birthday is special, they say.
Quit licking cupcakes at the supermarket, they say.
I hate to sound like the dopey downer that bitterly exclaims "Big Deal, it's always somebody's birthday" while scratching my crotch and hating on the joy of office parties. (I'm looking at you, Jared.) While I do see the merit in congratulating humans on their obvious journey through the birth canal and emerging victorious and without tails, I am more apt to believe the day that we are born is not always the same as the day we were birthed.
Confucious say "You sound like an asshole."
Every October I avoid Facebook for a few days to save myself from the hand-cramping chore of typing THANKS! on all the posted greetings. I stubbornly refuse to hop onto my mother's wall and spew out a
♥♥ Hppy Bday 2 tha BEST mom evr!!!! ♥♥
in lieu of a phone call one on that day in May. Social media has again ruined everything. I have become so desensitized from the onslaught of fake-ass well wishes that the heartfelt ones feel meaningless and empty. Birthdays are just another reason for me to avoid people. Don't get me wrong, I fully engage in activities to make my daughter feel wonderful every October 23, for reasons beyond my control. My heart, it seems, insists on telling the world that IT IS A BETTER PLACE BECAUSE MY CHILD WAS BORN. AND WE SHOULD HAVE CAKE. But despite it being the day right before hers, I haven't celebrated my own birth since I was knee-high to a Grasshopper.
You're a real smartass, Joleen Doreen.
There was a JoJo who was always on the GoGo and didn't hold with feelings and such. Then along came a spider, who sat down beside her, and it was cancer.
You were expecting a better fucking nursery rhyme?
Humpty Dumpty sat on a cervical wall.
Humpty Dumpty needed to fall.
Humpty was scraped, with little haste, because he was a cancer-filled cyst.
Old Mother Hubbard
had drugs in her cupboard
that medicare wouldn't cover.
She became very poor
and couldn't afford more
and then she died.
Mmm. Tastes like a forgotten generation!
I digress. We all do, we're human.
And we were ALL born. What an amazing and magical thing that has happened a million billion times since the beginning of man! We should celebrate! EVERY year!
My birthday came and went without nary a sound. A few more months flew by and it was Christmas. Long-time readers will know my love of the holiday stems from a complete appreciation for the confusion, chaos, and panic of others during the stress-filled season. I worked triple-shifts this year and felt absolutely great. I'm back to doing my favorite job and I'm getting increasingly better at it. I make fun of grown-men a decade younger for not having biceps as big as mine. I run 5 miles three times a week.
I fucking RUN 5 MILES three times a week.
A little over year ago the scars of surgery were so fresh I was afraid I would never walk again. When the doctors told me that things were starting to look good, I did not believe them. When scans and exams were continually positive I remained prepared for the worst. Week after week I was convinced that every sneeze meant a growing cyst. Each time I farted I called the doctor to request a pelvic.
Pessimism is the family way.
I'm surprised we haven't burned down the tree.
This is what was happening. Just wanted to make it boring for you guys too. I went so long without anything happening I started to miss my doctor. His laugh, his paper table, his prescription pad. When we were reunited we laughed and hugged.* After catching up a little we realized it had been a year since we hung out last! Imagine that! A year! How time flies when cancer isn't slowing it down. And a year without cancer is like two years of awesomeness.
When the crying and squealing finally stopped (GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF, DOC) I lept from the exam table. With paper cover stuck to my ass I knelt before the Good Doctor and his Nursely Assistant as he swung his chart from one side of my tear-filled face to the other. And when I raised my eyes to meet his his solemnly declared "Kneel, Joleen, cancer-patient. Rise, Joleen, Cancer-Survivor."
Well, the tears are all true.
It took the patience and perseverance of an amazing team of people to get me here and I can NOT thank them enough. From doctors to nurses to outpatient staff to nurses rehab specialists to nurses to support groups to nurses to awareness groups to nurses to the entire cancer-treatment community. And nurses. I highly encourage you to find a facility in your area and volunteer time or money or whatever you can do. Send a nurse flowers.
The care team and doctors that I encountered are above and beyond the real heros of my story. My family, friends, and surrounding support helped me survive. A stronger bond can not be found.
Closer than chips on a cookie.
The doctor reminded me of something on that one-year checkup day. He reminded me that sometimes life begins in the middle. And nearly everybody know that the middle is the best part. It's where they put the fudge, for christsake. Or the peanut butter. Sometimes them motherfuckers put another fucking cooking RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A COOKIE. There is nothing in life that could be better than the middle if that's where you find another cookie in the cookie.
I'm getting hungry for cookies, so let's wrap this up.
I walked out of the doctor that day and I know that I had been born for that moment. I know that calling a day in October my "birthday" for all these years has only been preparation for feeling this alive.
I will celebrate EVERY DAY as my birthday.
You can find me more often doing this loudly and with just as much class and decorum at Joleen Doreen Dot Com and of course I will always keep feeding the Killer Cooter from time to time. I'd love to thank you all for reading and hope that you follow me for the next part of life's journey, wherever it may lead.
Kisses for you.