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"I pulled my tennis panties out of my underwear drawer and hid them in the back of my pajama drawer last night. I don&amp;#039;t want someone to think they&amp;#039;re my regular undies and bring them to me in the hospital -- although, the ball pockets would come in handy. But then, I&amp;#039;m no longer in charge here. The cancer is. A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with non Hodgkin&amp;#039;s lymphoma fittingly, on D-day). Not exactly what I expected to hear at the age of 40. Not exactly what I wanted to tell my husband of 15 years, or our sons, ages 8 1/2 and 10. It was so much easier when we thought the softball-sized mass in my lung was pneumonia. Cancer doesn&amp;#039;t go away with rest and antibiotics. Rather, I&amp;#039;ve got months of chemotherapy ahead of me, plus one very bald head. And to think, I never even smoked. So, I&amp;#039;ve been learning to let go of being in charge of everything - the house, the kids, my hair and even my underwear drawer. Someone will put sunscreen on my kids when they&amp;#039;re at the lake. Someone will figure out how to turn on the clothes dryer. Someone will find me some clean underpants. So far it&amp;#039;s taken a team of people to replace me, and that makes me feel pretty important. Relatives and friends are taking care of the kids, doing my laundry and cleaning my house. Some 20 families have signed up to cook for us. There&amp;#039;s even a team of enthusiastic folks coming over to clean everything out of our cabinets before the contractor starts demolition on my kitchen. I couldn&amp;#039;t have picked a better time to gut it, could I?  That&amp;#039;s smart cancer planning right there. When I was in the hospital last month for my first five-day round of chemotherapy, a blood clot forced me to stay longer than I had planned, and I ran out of clean underpants. My friend, Jenna, picked some up for me, calling me from the Gap to ask my size. Certainly, once you buy a friend underpants, that makes you some sort of blood sisters - or in our case, Low Rise Stretch Cotton Hipster Sisters. We&amp;#039;re bonded for life. All I know is that the woman can buy a decent pair of underpants. Also, that I&amp;#039;m not in charge anymore, and for now, that&amp;#039;s okay. But please: Stay away from my tennis panties, although those pockets really would come in handy. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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