“But there’s no data on that,” her hands flap.

“There’s no data on that,” she spins her chair.

“There’s no data on that.

There’s no data on that.”

She might’ve said it one more time, but you get the drift.

Doctors get triggered and overwhelmed too.

We all can get stuck in our script.

My script is that I want a way out of my script, the cancer/chemo script.

I want three clear scans in a row so I have better leverage

to negotiate a drug holiday from chemo.

(Yes, my hippie friends, I get the double entendre of a drug holiday.

Hmmm, where would I go? Who would I go with? What would I take?

Would it be more than a couple sips of Jack Daniels

and a couple tokes on the mild weed my sister brought?

Would I go for ceremonial shamanic psychedelics?

a behind the curtain glimpse at who’s pulling the cosmic strings?

I’m open to it if it would help.

I don’t think I’d want to just go blotto.)

But this is not the drug holiday my oncologist and I are referring to.

Her script is she wants to do the impossible:

thread the needle between me dying of cancer

and me dying of chemo.

Taking a drug holiday from chemo doesn’t fit her script because

“There’s no data on that.

There’s no data on that.

There’s no data on that.

There’s no data on that.”

But this time I’m prepared for her short-circuiting.

I am not silenced or feeling overwhelmed.

I am not flapping my hands or spinning my chair.

I am grounded and calm when I say,

“Doctor, I am not a piece of data.

I’m sitting right here across from you.”