Guilty - One Year in Jail

Odd and funny things seem to come in threes.

Interestingly enough, today was my day.

I was sitting in my office working on financials and data entry—two activities I rank somewhere between cleaning toilets and getting cancer—when I looked down and noticed hair on my desk.

Not my normal colored, styled and firmly attached hair.

Loose hair.

Lots of it.

One hair.

Two hairs.

Three hairs.

A dollar.

Everyone who wants Elizabeth to go bald, stand up and holler.

I did not stand up.

I sat down.

And Yani shaved my head.

We knew this day was coming. My oncologist told me I had a 110 percent chance of losing my hair. Apparently, cancer gives an extra 10 percent just to make sure you understand who is in charge.

Still, knowing something is going to happen and watching it happen are two entirely different things.

It was sad.

It was strange.

And it was oddly empowering.

If my hair was going to leave me, I was at least going to be the one to evict it.

So, GUILTY.

One year in jail for my head.

Hopefully, I’ll get a private cell.

Civic Duty Calls

I’ll cut to the chase—see what I did there?—and move on to the second thing.

In the mail, I received a summons for jury duty.

Obviously, with cancer, chemotherapy and an immune system currently operating with the reliability of a 1972 Ford Pinto, I can’t do it.

But I have to admit, I was disappointed.

I love crime shows.

I love the movie Jury Duty.

I love watching people try to convince other people that something is true—or at least could possibly be true if you ignore several important facts.

And I love to debate.

Some people call it arguing, but those people are incorrect.

Frankly, I have been preparing for jury duty my entire life.

So, you can see my dilemma.

• Do I try to go?
• Do I wear a mask, sit twelve feet away from everyone and ask the bailiff to sanitize each piece of evidence?
• Or do I ask for a deferment?

I chose the latter and passed on my civic duty.

My only hope is that there isn’t a really great case being tried.

Something with suspicious alibis.

Hidden evidence.

A surprise witness.

And at least one person dramatically pointing across the courtroom.

I don’t get to deliberate.

I don’t get to announce the verdict.

And worst of all, I don’t get to say:

“Guilty—one year in jail.”

Which feels unfair, considering I had already sentenced my hair earlier today.

No Energy, No Immune System for You!

Lastly—but certainly notable—my oncologist told me chemotherapy has left my immune system extremely compromised.

Apparently, my immune system packed a small suitcase, turned off the lights and left town without providing a forwarding address.

This puts me in a position many of us remember from COVID:

• Wear a mask.
• Stay six feet away from everyone.
• Avoid crowds.
• Congregate only with family and close friends.
• Basically, stop your life until your immune system decides to clock back in.

Welcome back to 2020.

Population: me.

I am allowed to get close to Yani, of course. He has spousal immunity.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I like being alone.

If I’m being truthful, I am an introvert, although I play an extrovert on TV.

And by “TV,” I mean work.

• I like staying home.
• I like being alone with my thoughts.
• I like making my own choices.
• I like canceled plans—especially when I didn’t want to go in the first place.

Yes, it can get lonely. But mostly, I’m just waiting for my husband to come home.

Then, after he has been home for a while, I occasionally remember why I like being alone.

So, there you have it.

In one day, I lost my hair, was excused from jury duty and placed under house arrest by my immune system.

Apparently, cancer has its own justice system.

• No trial.
• No jury.
• Straight to sentencing.
• Guilty as charged.

One year of house arrest—with no possibility of parole until my white blood cells can make bail.

My Blessing Cake?

Still trying to find one, but I will. Stay tuned!

In the Spirit of Health & Wellness,

-Elizabeth