From the Bed of Big Daddy Graham

The tumor is gone...and I'm tired of talking about cancer


To Whom It May Concern,

That’s it!

Yep, that’s it. THAT’S IT!!! The tumor is gone. It’s been a month since my last radiation and chemo treatment. A full month. I’ve been back on the air and doing my comedy shows and Quizzo nights and whatnot almost the same amount of time. I’m back to the real world.

However, because the majority of people on this planet are kind and polite ( with the amazing amount of generosity that was heaped on me, I believe that more than ever), there’s no escaping for me. Every time I bump into someone who has not seen me since this ordeal began, they naturally wants to talk to me about it. I can’t complain about this. If someone I knew had battled cancer and I saw them at a party, I ABSOLUTELY would want to find out how they’re doing. [SIGNUP]

However, I have to put an end to it, because what’s happening is that EVERY conversation I have is ME ME ME. No matter how hard I try to deflect the conversation to a different direction, it always comes back to the cancer.

Last week I went to a graduation party for one of my daughter’s best friends. The folks at this party are the type of people that all know me from other parties of this ilk. Most of our kids played sports together. But they’re also the type of friends that I rarely see anymore. So what happened was I took a seat at the party at the bar (not that I’m drinking yet, but old habits die hard), and a twenty-odd-person line formed to talk to me. It was like I was on the end of a receiving line at a wedding. Again, this is not something I can
complain about. It’s just nice folks expressing concern over my well-being. They are not only thinking about me, they are concerned for my
daughters. So I am polite in return.

However, I end up telling the same story over and over and over again, and there’s no one to blame. It’s like I’m wearing a sandwich board that proclaims I HAVE CANCER. If I had to do it all over again, I would have done my damndest not to tell anyone I even had it.

Remember that scene in Jaws where the sleazy mayor (wearing that fantastic blue blazer with the anchors on it) says, “You say barracuda,
everyone says huh? Eh? You say shark and you got a panic on the Fourth of July.”

Well, you say pneumonia or even something more serious like MS, everyone feels truly bad for you, but you say cancer? You become a Hallmark movie. And AGAIN, it’s just people being caring. So I hope this blog isn’t coming off whiny, I appreciate every ounce of prayer that was sent my way.

BUT THAT’S IT. One thing I do have control over is this column. I’m done writing about being sick. It’s time for me to move on. Starting next week this post will be freewheeling, like my radio show. Rants and raves about what’s going on in our world. Pop culture observations. More pathetic plugs. Stay with me. I promise you will be entertained. And THANK YOU, sincerely, for every email, text, prayer, gift, Facebook comment, phone call, and good old fashioned hand-written cards and letters that you sent me.

Yours in Vicks Vapo Rub,
Big D