TheBanyanTree: Cancer Lessons 2

[Monique Colver]

So I'm sitting at my desk this afternoon, which I do most afternoons, when
Stew chimes in on my gmail messenger. "Okay," he asked, or, to be more
precise, typed, "so how's this. New super hero: Cottage Cheese Man. And his
catch phrase is "Get out of my whey!"

Of course I love it. We collaborate a bit. The subject of sidekicks comes
up, as it usually will in a superhero conversation, and I suggested that
Cottage Cheese Man might have side dishes instead of sidekicks. Stew
mentions he used to like ketchup on his cottage cheese. I find this totally
unfathomable, but I can work with it. So Cottage Cheese Man (Get out of my
whey!) is accompanied by Ketchup Boy, who's rather the shape of a ketchup
bottle, naturally. Ketchup Boy is a bit prickly about his position as side
dish, and he's also sensitive about his name. Seems some people can't help
but call him Catsup Guy, and he really hates that. When he hears the word
"catsup" his cheeks turn red and puff out, so much so that his head rather
resembles a tomato. Most people find this really cute and don't realize that
Ketchup Boy is stewing in his own juices.

The life of a side dish is not an easy one. When gigs are few and far
between Ketchup Boy hangs out at the movie studios downtown, hoping for a
walk-on part as blood. He's been in several blockbuster movies, but he's
never been the primary victim's blood. Instead, he's usually relegated to
the role of the blood of the unnamed passerby who's in the wrong place at
the wrong time and is shot as a matter of course, and then quickly
forgotten. This irks Ketchup Boy, and certainly doesn't rate him a mention
in the credits, but over the years he's become resigned to being a bit
player.

Personally, I like pineapple with my cottage cheese. Stew, however, thinks
of pineapple as a villain. Long ago Pineapple Head had ambitions of riding
side by side with Cottage Cheese Man, not so much as a side dish even, but
as more of an equal, a crime fighting duo the likes of which the world has
never seen before. Cottage Cheese man scoffed at this idea, roared, "Get out
of my whey!" and Pineapple Head stepped back two feet and fell over. He had
been standing in Cottage Cheese Man's whey, as a matter of fact, and he made
quite a mess getting out of it. After that, Pineapple Head swore allegiance
to the dark side (ruled by the evil Pomegranate King) and watched the
exploits of Cottage Cheese Man and Ketchup Boy with a mixture of awe and
revulsion. He's bitter, is Pineapple Head, like fruit that's been picked too
early, and he spends his days lounging around the Salad Bar Bar and Grill, a
fruity concoction of berries in his hand, which he sips at delicately while
dreams of revenge haunt him.

Every day Cottage Cheese Man and Ketchup Boy swagger into the Salad Bar,
ready to tell tall tales of their victories over evil, which mostly consist
of standing in the local Safeway and making sure the 10 and under line is
not abused by those with, say, 11 items. While they brag, Pineapple Head
sulks in the back corner, nursing his drink and his self-pity. Occasionally
Peach Fuzz will try to cheer him up. She's an annoyingly perky barmaid, and
her greatest asset is her ability to make the most boring drink taste
peachy. Pineapple Head usually just glares at her, but she doesn't care. She
doesn't understand any words over two syllables, and many under that limit
also escape her. She considers her cheerful personality her best asset and
isn't bright enough to notice that she's the only one who thinks so.

I, apparently, am in charge of the drawings. I find this quite disconcerting
as I have zero or less talent in this field. Can I use stick figures for,
say, everyone? That might work.

Earlier today I talked to Stew on the phone, and we talked about our
respective states of health. "I'm not coughing so much," I proudly
exclaimed, "I don't sound like I'm dying anymore!"

And then I thought, "Wow, that was a stupid thing to say." I'm known for
saying stupid things. Aren't most of us? We just say things the way we've
always said them, and then we realize how it might sound depending on who
we're talking to, and we smack our foreheads in frustration at our
ineptness. So I told him I felt stupid saying that, and he said it doesn't
matter, it's okay. He's always been a reasonable person. He said a couple of
weeks ago, if someone had looked at him and then at me, they might have
thought I was on my deathbed, while he looked a bit better. (I was not doing
very well. Not at all.) Not to say he's on his deathbed, not by any means.
He has good days, and he has some not so good days. Some days he does well
with the holding down of the food and, one or two days last week he even
went into his office for a short bit to do some work. Some days he's too
tired to do anything at all, and can't hold anything down. Then he usually
ends up back at the cancer center for hydration.

What he wants most from people, he's told me, is for people to just be
honest and say what they want to him. It's not like he doesn't know he has
cancer, he's quite aware of it. He doesn't want people to be afraid of
saying the wrong things, because what good is that? He doesn't need anyone
tiptoeing around whispering behind their hands because they think that will
make him feel better. That's how I'd feel about it, I think. I'd hope.
There's too many people walking around afraid to say anything at all, afraid
they'll say the wrong thing.

The wrong thing is saying nothing at all.

Monique