An invitation gracelessly declined

Sorting through yesterday's junk mail, I came across an envelope marked "special invitation."

Ah, I know what this must be, I thought to myself -- a special invitation to donate money.

The envelope was from a local hospital, one where I (and my Long Suffering Spouse) have spent far too much time over the past couple of years.

I don't donate to charities nearly as much as I did when I was saving money each month -- a time now so distant, it seems B.C. (As indeed it is, if "B.C." is meant as an abbreviation for "Before College.") Nowadays a good month is one where my credit card balances don't go up.

But I opened this envelope anyway.

I was surprised to see that this was not a solicitation for funds, at least not a direct one. It was an actual invitation to a reception, at the hospital.

For cancer survivors.

I tossed the invite into the recycling bin as if it were burning my fingers.

I suppose I qualify in a technical sense as a cancer 'survivor.' I was diagnosed with cancer. It was removed. I'm still here.

I went through a major operation. I had a substantial amount of plumbing removed. It took me months to regain my strength... and I am still adapting to the changes caused by the surgery.

Along with the several feet of tubing removed was a teeny, tiny spot of cancer. I had no chemo. I had no radiation. It just seems to me that, under these circumstances, regardless of the technicalities, it is somehow inappropriate to consider me a 'cancer survivor.'

It could have been much worse.

But it wasn't.

And I'm not going.