Remember the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare? Well, that’s what I’m feeling, when Thursday, I was back in the race haunting the old familiar chemo halls to get my antibody infusion, which will go on until late September. No more chemo boards, ringing bells, and Dancing Queen this time, I’m afraid.

The nurses recognized me, but without the drugs that left me near dead, I could swear I’d never seen any of them before. This must make me a veteran chemo patient.

One of the nurses asked how I was doing, and I said, “Think of me as a 5-year old in a 95-year-old body.” She seemed intrigued.

And when another nurse who I didn’t recognize asked me the same question (I always have to change it up for fear that I don’t remember who I’ve said what to), I said, “I’m a turtle taking this one step at a time.” She liked that so much I heard her repeating it as she walked down the hall.

Without Alex and my chemo boards and feeling more like that 5-year old, re-entry into the real world makes me feel lost, scared, and ever-so-worried. I’m too young to be out in the world all alone, running a race, even if it’s against an invisible hare.

But I had such incredible comforts: a friend sent me flowers, another breast cancer survivor, and her husband sent me a glass kiss; I got lots of comments on my last blog, several texts, cards, and phone calls. Here’s a classic that just came in: “I’m standing in line at Dunkin, and they’re playing Dancing Queen.”

It’s as if each of you knew how much I needed the pick-me-ups and exactly when to give them to me.

You truly saved a turtle, like me.

And once saved, I had the chance to do what five-year-olds do best–have fun and not take things so seriously. (I had almost forgotten).

So I wrote a funny poem, call it a nursery rhyme if you will, to make myself laugh again. To appreciate it, you’ll have to imagine a 95-year-old woman singing it to my 5-year-old self.

(This is not exceptionally unrealistic given my current state). If you don’t believe me, check out my Facebook friend requests–worldwide eligible widowers now want to be my spam friend. The word is out.

So without further ado, here’s my poem.

No Worries

I worry
 About little old me
I worry
 What my future will be.

I worry
 If I'll survive the night
I worry
 I've lost my eyesight.

But now I fear that I might worry too much.

I worry
 About aches and pains
 Let's start with varicose veins.

Not to mention hernias, ulcers, arthritis…
Never mind, none of that rhymes anyway.

I worry
 What more can happen to me now
 When will my heart give out and how?

I worry
 Did I mention my memory?
 Wait, what was the point of the story?

I worry
 I'm almost done with this song
 Imagine what else could go wrong.

But now I see that I don't worry enough.

My life seems so inconsequential
I see what's really essential
My worries are nothing without yours.
I'll make sure our worries run their course.

I'm sorry
 I can't kiss your problems away
 That's my job 'til He takes me away.

I worry now times two, for me and you
 It's no task for little old me to worry about you
 That's the biggest job I've ever got to do.

Remember, I'm always up for a worry or two.

Ba Da Bum.

Come to think of it; we saved another turtle from our pool in 2017. That time it was really Alex. Okay!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and save the turtles.