Brain cancer is...

...making me look at myself in the mirror.  Yuck.

Today in the waiting room I was doodling away on this card...

... when another patient rolled up near my spot.  I looked up, his face captured my full attention, and our eyes locked.  His face was sunshine.  Have you had that experience, of looking someone into the eyes and seeing the metaphor ("sunshine") not the simile ("like sunshine")?  That was this. 

When I asked how he was, his wife answered. "We are fine."  I went back to my doodling.  "Don't scratch."  She told him.  Then again, "Stop scratching."  Once more.  "You're not supposed to scratch!"

My stomach fell.  Ugh.  That's me.  Crud.  I sound just like that. I know she loves him.  She was by his side, taking care.  Keeping him on track.  But she sounded impatient.  Just like me.  I've got this baby, balanced on my hip.  It's got diaper rash, a sunburn and it's teething.  It hides my keys.  "Who wouldn't be impatient?" I ask you?  Except for this:  My husband's face is sunshine too.  I dialed the patience meter up to full and reset it.  When Darrell came out, I smiled.

This glimpse into the mirror came just in time because after radiation Darrell took me on a surprise date for breakfast at our favorite courtyard location:

I enjoyed Darrell's company and my half of the breakfast burrito guilt free.  When I told Darrell this story, I reflected on how easy it has been to learn the lesson, "Be nice to people you don't know," and that it's surprisingly harder to be consistently nice to the ones I love the most.  Weird.