Irony Thy Name is Ironical

In the greatest stroke of irony since Alanis Morissette wrote a whole song about irony which included absolutely zero instances of said irony, Karen got her new driver's license today.

Yesterday, our radiation oncologist told her she had to abstain from driving for at least the next six weeks. O. Henry high-fived us from the grave.

Backtracking a bit, Karen's license had not been renewed by the DMV since she had medical issues which could hinder her ability to drive. Without a valid license, Karen had to stop driving and this limitation on her independence drove her nuts and you really couldn't blame her. A steady march of losses both large and small is one of the defining qualities of the cancer experience and this latest in a string of indignities especially stung.

However, a few weeks ago, I took her to a delightful 8AM interview where we reassured the DMV that she currently had nothing going on that would impair her driving ability. Confident that the driving populace faced no immediate threat from her 5 minute trips to Starbucks, Safeway, or church, she was granted a temporary license.

But then: brain lesions. Karen's radiation treatment went well enough these past three days aside from some headachiness. We were a little startled to discover that the Tumor Board had upped her brain mass total from "one, maybe two" to a definitive "three growths." Still, everything was pretty small and there is no reason to believe that she won't respond as well to this round of brain treatment as she did the last time.

But with yesterday's final brain-zapping, Karen was told that the lesions as well as the treatment left her at a disadvantage when it came to driving. She could have a tiny seizure or stroke or something that would not even really register as such and could be experienced as little more than a sliver of lost time not unlike having your attention drift. Not exactly the sort of thing you need have happen when you're driving that big ugly minivan of hers.

24 hours later...the brand new license that represented sustaining an especially prized degree of freedom and agency arrived literally one day late.

Ideally, this is just a short setback. They have accelerated the schedule for Karen's next MRI to six weeks from now instead of two months. If the results are good, she'll be back on the road then. If not, well, Miranda and I will need to invest in chauffeur caps.