D Minus Three: I Move into Chemo Canyon

I leave behind the crazy, whirlwind world of script editing, Hollywood, sorority and charity functions to begin my stay in Santa Monica. First, I head to the airport to drop off my rental car and meet CC—who just dropped off her husband for his extended business trip in Italy.

Right. He goes to Italy. We go to Chemo.

Anyhoo, my brain apparently thought I still lived in Jacksonville, Florida, where the beach is to the East,  rather than having lived the last several weeks on the west coast, where the beach to the West. And it’s the eve of rush hour. On I-10. In Los Angeles.

CC being the ever so logical, forward thinking woman, says, “Can’t you just drop the car in Santa Monica at Wilshire and 16th? I’ll meet you there; otherwise we’ll both get stuck in traffic.”

Great—just paint DUH on my forehead now. I mean, who’s getting ready to take of whom??

In the parking lot at Enterprise, Leslie looks as beautiful and healthy as ever. Not at all like someone who recently had two operations for breast cancer and starts chemo in a few days. Yet the reality remains, so when we stop at Whole Foods for dinner stuffs, our intent is to indulge in anything and everything CC can’t/won’t want to eat once chemo begins—raw sushi, pizza, wine.

Once home in the canyon, as is our custom, we change into comfy PJ’s—the fuzzy, fleecy, flannel ones our husbands loathe—crank up the dual-controlled heated mattress pad—because our husbands think we’re weird to need all those covers especially when we’re just going to have night sweats and kick them off—gather our food and wine and settle into CC’s King bed for a night of TV—shows our husbands would never watch—and girl talk.

Somewhere between an episode of Say Yes To The Dress and the opening credits of a Hallmark movie, CC and I, in the exact same moment and manner, throw the blankets off our legs. “You know,” I say as we grin at each other, “Young girls live together and their periods sync. I guess at our age our hot flashes sync.”

We’ve not yet been together an entire day, let alone lived together, but as we’ll soon acknowledge, we are two peas in a pod. A Chemo Canyon Pod mind you, but in it together nonetheless.

And right now? That’s what matters the most.



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