{Originally published on Foment, Bee Lavender’s Journal}

For the most part I ignore my own dreary medical drama. There isn’t enough time in life to accommodate all the good stuff: adventure, travel, friends, love, lunacy.

This does not mean that I am exempt from fear and grief. I just save it up until the crisis has passed.

Riding the bus back to the city centre after my appointment, I could feel my heart racing, see my hands shaking.

Since I didn’t have my bicycle I could not literally ride away on a wave of anxiety, so I did the next best thing – talked to a friend who mocked me into a reasonably calm state.

Then I went searching for gifts for new babies, sweet boys, sick relatives.

At the toy store I queued up clutching a Playmobil figure without paying too much attention to my surroundings.

Apparently I had accidentally dropped in on a fashion conversation because the woman at the counter gestured and said Now this lady is chic.

I stared about in amazement since you would never normally see such a creature in this town but she was pointing at me.

Huh? What? I’m no lady (fill in your own vaudeville joke here) and my tattered sartorial state does not equate with ‘chic’ even on a good day.

I was not having a good day.

Though I have a special leftover childhood reserve of anxiety over what to wear to visit the doctor, this has in the last few years mainly translated to concepts like wear clean clothes that cover the tattoo.

And that was the extent of my effort to prepare for the cursed cancer tests. Head to toe description: tangled unkempt hair, dark sunglasses, black wool scarf, demented and very wrong green plaid blazer over black jumper, black skirt, threadbare and slightly torn black tights, ugly black orthopedic shoes. Covering a body ravaged by disease with a figure not even remotely popular in this century or my lifetime.

The only possible explanation for why this reads as stylish is the way I hold myself, and I will admit that I am bold and dismissive. I don’t know or care what anyone thinks of the way I look even if they shout it in my face – whether a criticism or compliment, I am immune. The only reason I noticed this particular exchange? I was in a toy store in Cambridge England.

These things do not happen here.

Editor’s Pick by Deb of Deb on the Rocks: I’ve respected the thoughtful and disarming writing of Bee Lavender for years after finding her through the Hip Mama community of young, smart mothers. She has kept a fascinating on-line journal since 2002 chronicaling both her dispassionate and passionate thoughts about her life, writing, travels, brutal medical history and and often unconventional pre-occupations. In all, Bee Lavender is an important contemporary writer, publisher, and activist. After living in the Pacific Northwest for thirty-three years she moved to England. Her books include the anthologies Breeder and Mamaphonic and a memoir about danger titled Lessons in Taxidermy that I absolutely insist you should read. Additionally, Bee is a noted cultural visionary and has been an important inspiration for countless creative women and young parents as the publisher of the online edition of Hip Mama and the creator and publisher of Girl-Mom, an advocacy website for teen parents. Her journal is archived monthly at her website, where you can learn more about her work and life.