Readers have spoken! Thank you!

Per one reader request, I am still trying to figure out a way to talk about my job hunt while keeping this blog somewhat anonymous (that may not last), thereby preserving whatever shred of employability I may still possess. So many places potentially need me, but they just don’t know it! I try to maintain that attitude when firing off my resume or CV to email aliases that never reply (or auto-reply to tell me to hang on and then never get back to me, or else immediately tell me I’m rejected outright, as though my application were a Viagra ad).

My invitation for an interview this week came directly from a known quantity (aka a friend). That already seems infinitely more auspicious than responding to an ad. I won’t say any more at this point, other than that I am perpetually worried about the lettuce-in-teeth scenario after lunch. But ordering something like a burger leads to burger-hands, and what’s worse?

Another reader asked me to discuss the transition from patient to civilian. This, too, is ongoing, and its manifestations are pervasive. E.g.: I have the oncologist’s office number in my “favorites” list on my phone, where the only other numbers are J’s and my parents’. Perhaps removing Dr P’s number from speed dial would be a decisive step forward. (Or… would it attract the attention of the evil eye?) I’m getting a new phone tomorrow, so I guess that presents an opportunity for administrative changes.

I’m a total hypochondriac these days, too. As you probably would be too, if a sore spot on your back turned out not to be irritation from your bra clasp, but melanoma instead. But the things I worry about are weird and random. Both kids are on antibiotics for strep so you’d think, having been marooned at home most of last week with one of them, who coughed in my face countless times, I’d have succumbed too. Nothing so far (knock wood, spit three times, avoid all sidewalk cracks).

The steroids are almost certainly the cause of a number of minor ills I’m dealing with, even though I’m not taking them anymore. To wit: I have weird vision problems, my eyes take longer to adjust when I go from outdoors to indoors, there are random flashes of light. I have an appointment with an ophthalmologist, but since I fell out with my last one, I am seeing a new one, but couldn’t get an appointment until late March. I hope by then I can still see!

And food continues to be a problem. I keep planning to turn over a new leaf (of kale). I do, but then I undo my progress with something overly indulgent. Perhaps getting a job will discipline me, because I won’t have any time to eat?

The fact is, I need to play the long game against cancer. It will be five years before I’m off the hook and don’t need constant scans, follow-ups, etc. What if another body part decides to get weak and let some tumors take over? My lungs are Paris – I can’t let the rest of Europe fall!

I’m sorry, current events, for using you in such a lame metaphor. But five years?! I can barely remember that far back – Young A wasn’t even around yet (outside my womb, anyway), and now I’m yelling at him every day, when we aren’t hugging and being “friends again.”

I need to go do some interview prep, starting with a census of which pants still fit me. I am sweating the small stuff because it’s what I do best. Perhaps this can be my new rallying cry, and it can become a “Lean In”-style movement.

SWEAT SMALL.