The Fires of Mordor

Some people may be wondering why the hell I'm writing this blog. Contrary to what some of you may be thinking, I'm not an attention whore. However, Steven might be. The jury is still out. The whole "shaving the head" thing is a little suspicious.

Oh, shit. He probably just read that, huh?
<activate damage control> 
Love you, Schmoopy! No, YOU'RE Schmoopy! <3
 Phew! I think I'm safe.

I recognize and respect that some people approach the situation very differently. Every one has their own journey. Some people gain strength from turning inward and going to the stillest part of their soul. Silence and meditation.

Other people like...<eh hem> say.... me, need to channel all their personal resources into a big ball of fiery energy/rage/power and shout "RAWWWR!" from the rooftops. 

For me, it's like if I don't actively talk about and acknowledge this horrible thing that is happening to me...sorry... US...it still exists somewhere....I don't want to think about the deep, dark recesses of my mind that would glom onto those thoughts and how it would fester and bloom.

[Must. resist. making. Harry. Potter. references....]

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of having a long talk with a friend...a friend who is very private and wouldn't want for me "out" her, probably. So, I'll use a pseudonym. Let's call her, "Shmoozanne".  (See how slick I am? ) I met "Shmoozanne" at work when we had adjacent classrooms. Many, many afternoons, after school was dismissed, we would wander into each other's rooms and talk for about an hour (or more), successfully avoiding actually working. We would talk about family and friends and movies and ...well, LIFE. That's when I first realized how precious a friend she was.

I've said many times that getting to know her changed the way I thought about life. Whoa! But I mean it. For real.

(Steven, you're my witness! Unless you stopped reading after the whole "attention whore" comment. I swear, it was a JOKE! Did I mention that I've brain cancer? FREE PASS!)

You see, "Shmoozanne" is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor...Nay, that's not enough. I would go so far as to say that she is a Mother Fuckin' Breast Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior. She's about 100 pounds soaking wet - a wee little thing - but she's a mighty warrior. She's been to the fires of Mordor and back again. She's seen some shit.

(Hey, look at me go! I made another LOTR reference instead of Harry Potter! Go, Me!)

Long before I found out about my brain cancer dealio, "Shmoozanne" had a way of cutting through the bullshit and making me see the Big Picture. We lead similar lives: about the same age, with kids close to the same age, dogs, teaching and such.

One thing I had hoped that we wouldn't ever have to share was the whole cancer thing. But you know what? Yesterday, there were things that I was able to say to her that no one else could understand.
 [And I don't want to detract from what anyone else who supporting me.  I am so grateful for ALL OF YOUR LOVE and SUPPORT!!]

 But there are things that I'm sure only Frodo and Sam can talk about because they lived the shitty trip to Mordor. Here it comes...another movie reference. But I promise this will worth it...
 

Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.
Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.

Booo- yah! Give it up for Sam and Frodo!

So, let me break it down for you:  in this analogy, Shmoozanne is kind of Sam. Only she is (slightly) taller than a hobbit. <giggle> (Sorry. Cheap short joke.) And I'm Frodo - except my feet are (slightly) less hairy. (Even cheaper hairy foot joke.)
Come on! You get the point!

Both of us know that IT'S WORTH FIGHTING FOR. And more importantly, what "it" is.

I've come full-circle - back to the whole "why I'm writing this blog" question. I know that it might sound nonsensical for a Ninja to be so loud and have a potty mouth. After all, aren't ninjas supposed to be super quiet and stealthy? But that's my Super Secret plan: I'm going to lull the enemy into thinking that I couldn't possibly a Ninja Warrior, distract him with some squirrels and hedgehogs and other ridiculously cute animals, throw out a bunch of film references, and when he least expects it ... I'm gonna open up a can of whoop ass on him!

Booo-fuckin'-yah!

The Outlier

I've mentioned before that I have not -  nor will I EVER - google the type of cancer I have and read about the survival rates. Much as I love google, I know all that I need to know already, thank you very much.

Statistics mean nothing to a Mother Fucking Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior like me. (My father, who has a PhD in statistical measurement is probably developing his own seizure disorder after reading that. And not because of the cursing. He has a bit of potty mouth, too, when he gets really riled up about something. You know what they say: "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!")

But seriously, the outcome that we're hoping for is what we call an "outlier" in statistics. An outlier is data that is outside the statistical norm. In the world of testing, if they see data that is way outside the average, they suspect you of cheating. In the world of the lottery, if you get an outcome that is way outside the statistical average, they call you a lucky bastard. And if you get struck by lightning, it means the opposite - you are one unlucky bastard.

Okay, I just googled that shit...

[Side note: Don't you love google? Steven and I were just talking about that on our walk yesterday. You see, kiddies, in the world before google, when you were curious about something, you couldn't look it up right away! And sometimes, you could never find the answer! Imagine that world...all those of you that were born after 1998, when google was started. (yes, I just googled that. DUH!) The rest of us don't have to imagine it, because we LIVED it. While we were walking uphill to school, both ways. Oh, the horror! the horror!]

Anyway, I looked up the statistics on getting struck by lightning and it's actually a little bit deceiving. Your chances of getting hit by lightning in any given year are 1:1,900,000. But in your lifetime, it's 1: 12,000. Improbable, but not as unlikely as we might think.  They don't specify if these guys are walking around a golf course with a gigantic umbrella while wearing chain mail.
(strangely enough, there are no legit image results when I googled "chain mail and golfing". Bummer. I was thinking that a good visual inserted right here would be just the thing. Google, you disappoint me.)

But  then I found THIS:

Which is actually better. I take back everything I said about you, Google. <smooches!>

But let's just say, without using actual statistics, that my odds are not as good as avoiding lightning. It doesn't matter!

Because, you see, I'm looking to be the OUTLIER. The statistical anomaly that makes statisticians twitch.

In fact, I'm thinking of getting my name legally changed to June Ellen "Outlier" Fremer Mirassou.

Well, that's just ridiculous, isn't it?

So, let's get rid of the Ellen, shall we? I'm not sure where the Ellen came from anyway (Sorry, Mom!), but it's far too vanilla for me.

Okay, so my new name is: June "Outlier" Fremer Mirassou. Oh, and let's not forget my suffix: Mother Fucking Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior. But I'll just use the initials, because that gets rather unwieldy.

Done.

June "Outlier" Fremer Mirassou, MFBCFNW, at your service!