Drop it like its hot, baby

There was the bell. It was recess time, and all of the children in the class ran out, eager to play. All except for two little girls; Beth Aziz and Elizabeth Ahn. Beth was a rather chubby, oddly hairy little girl, while Elizabeth was a rather awkward, shy Korean girl who didn't say much outside the classroom.

The two girls looked at each other, unwilling to play together by default. Elizabeth took her book and stood in line to play tetherball, a game where it didn't matter if you had a friend because the next girl always played the winner of the game before. But she always took a book with her, in case the tetherball game didn't last long. She could usually be found sitting on a bench, reading a book. Beth went into the soccer field, wandering and exploring on her own.

When her mother picked her up, she asked her usual question, "How was your day at school, Elizabeth?"

The answer was always the same, "Today was a terrible day. Nobody wanted to play with me and I was so lonely at recess."

"Did you test your vocabulary test back?"

"Yes, I got 100%."

"Of course," her mother said, and paused. Elizabeth couldn't tell, but her heart hurt for her little girl. "Next time you should ask someone to play with you at recess."

"Ok," Elizabeth responded, knowing that she never would, and that they would have the same conversation tomorrow after school.

*     *     *     *     *     *

I don't think that those kids were mean; rather, I think that I was too shy and awkward to try and make any friends. And I was too proud to ask anyone if I could join in and play. I figured that if they didn't want to play with me, I didn't want to play with them. Quite frankly, who could blame them for not wanting to play with me? I was a rather homely, shy, and I was the school nerd who always did her homework who always had the right answer, and never spoke out of turn in class.

Today was the first day of our Mommy and Me preschool. Evan approached the class with a little trepidation, as he is generally a cautious child, and a bit shy by nature. I was a bit nervous as well, as perfectly coiffed women entered the room, one after another, with their equally perfect children. Little Evan and his bald mother were definitely the anomalies, and I felt awkward as I watched the other women greet each other with kisses on the cheek and peals of laughter. I sat there, playing with Evan, hating that I felt like I was 8 years old and back in elementary school. The classroom door opened once more, and a rather obese, dark-haired woman walked in with her son. She picked a spot next to me, the only spot still open. Great. I have now reunited with Beth Aziz.

One of these is not like the others...

Today was the first day that I felt so conspicuous. I could tell that a few were probably whispering amongst themselves. Definitely, she is sick. Maybe she is even contagious?

Everywhere I have gone up until now, people have known me as Liz, the attorney, the mom, and the confident, assertive woman. Here, for the first time, I had no previous identity to shield me from the stigma of cancer. I was the cancer patient, the skinny bald girl with a kid. This may come as a shock to many of you who know me now, but I was shy all the way from elementary school, and through high school and college. I didn't have a lot of friends, and it was only after law school and becoming an attorney that I found my voice. And that voice became stronger and even more my own after I met Joe. He loved that I had such a unique voice and personality, and how persuasive it was. He encouraged it, and his love and confidence gave me the foundation to be the woman I am today.

It's funny how fears that stem from our earliest memories, from our smallest selves can re-emerge no matter how much you've achieved, and how much you've overcome. But as adults, we're better equipped to choose whether we want to go back to those places, or re-affirm our present identities as women or men. I am proud of my voice, and the only person in that room who could truly suppress it was me.

So I got up, shook off my insecurities, and started talking to several of the women as the kids were playing. Some were less than responsive, but others seemed interested, and engaged me with warmth and friendliness. And cautious little Evan opened up as he realized that the strange new place was a safe one for him and mommy. He played and laughed and clearly loved being part of the class.

I guess in some ways, I'll never outgrow that little eight year old girl who didn't know how to fit in. And Joe, ever supportive, has told me that I don't need to put myself back in that situation if I don't have to. But I can't wear my cancer on me like the mark of Cain. Living with cancer isn't necessarily something to be proud of, but the strength that it takes to do so is definitely something to be proud of.

Cancer has already taken enough away from me. It's taken enough from our little boy. I refuse to let it take anything more from our family. My hair will grow back, and the faith and love Joe gives me everyday gives me the strength and confidence to overcome every situation. I never retreat- I attack! And I bet I will make some really good friends in the long run. So...here goes, I gonna drop it like its hot, baby. Mommy and Me -- here we come!