Live weakly (the sequel)

So I'm schlumping through the grocery store this morning after a marathon doctor appointment hoping to fill some prescriptions and buy some macaroni and cheese, and I find that the pharmacy is backed up an hour or more so I won't get my scripts, and the mac and cheese is not in the spiffy organic section, nor is it in the conventional section... the Annie's now lives on aisle one, which just happens to be on the opposite side of the store. I limp back over, rueing this massive conspiracy designed to thwart and annoy me -- me, me, me! And don't even get me started on the high-priced organic coffee filters I saw: The brand name was "If You Care" (emblazoned on classily understated packaging in a lovely, Earth-friendly type treatment), and they were woven from the flaxen hair of vegan maidens or something. My thought was: No, I don't care. I DON'T care about your stupid, high-virtue coffee filters. I have cancer; piss off.

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All this ranting is by way of introducing a resonant post from Emilie, who starts talking about cancer and strength from the launching point of a book she's meaning to read, Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person. Although this is an ongoing concern of mine -- see this post reacting to another person's smart thoughts about "living weakly" -- I can't really expand on what Emilie has to say right now, so follow the link over to her place. One little thought, though: Part of the reason I am trying lately to talk about hard things like diapers is that I believe that there is a kind of strength-in-weakness; that is, strength in letting yourself see and feel fully as many dimensions of this experience as possible, as hard and as painful as that may be.