I get that question a lot. And it’s kind of amazing – the emphasis is universal.

“But, how are you doing?”

I totally understand this impulse. And, for the record, I don’t want you to stop asking me. But this question, for me, is really hard to answer.

Because the answer is nearly always, “Totally shitty, how are you?” and, let’s face it, that’s so crazy rude, and I’m a polite southern lady who still says “ma’am” entirely too much, so there is no way I would say that to you.

So I usually go with something like, “We’re hanging in there,” or “We’re doing OK.” But I know that’s not what you really want to hear.

Everyone has been great about making sure that I’m not left out on a ledge with all this. I have a ready supply of baby sitters and food and massage and brunch dates and even went to a hockey game this weekend, but really, that whole cancer thing is always there. It comes up in conversation, as it should. When I’m at a massage or even at a movie, it’s still back there nagging.

Sometimes the loop in my head is just, “Cancer. Sucks. Tired. Lots to do. Don’t forget to buy more protein powder,” and sometimes it’s darker. And, even when I’m having a good time, there’s still a fair amount of guilt there – guilt that I’m out having a good time while P is sick at home, or C is out having fun with his grandparents when I should be “making memories.” It’s always there. Nagging. Irritating really. My brain is not great at shutting off. (a side note, I tried meditating for a while – IT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA – I SHOULD NEVER BE ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS)

The reason people ask that question is because they know that being a caregiver is really hard. I mean, have you ever tried to complain about something stupid to a cancer patient? (it feels crappy.) So you forge ahead and keep a good face, and try really hard to stay level.

The only thing that’s more universal than the italicized “you” is the look I get when I tell people that I tap dance.

A couple of years ago, I decided that, because this is America and you can pay anyone to do anything, I would find somewhere to learn how to tap dance. So on Monday nights, I hike it up to the North Carolina Dance Institute (doesn’t it sound so, I don’t know, official?) and I spend an hour with a room full of bouncy and thin 16-year olds and I, Sarah Mann Willcox, tap dance.

When I tell folks this I usually get a, “wait, you tap dance? That is so cool! I wish I could tap dance!” and I am here to tell you that for $160 per quarter and a pretty solid hit to your ego, you too could be watching “Singing in the Rain” and thinking to yourself, “I CAN DO THREE OF THOSE STEPS!” (They are maxi ford, irishes, and step shuffle hop cross – there are some others, too, but they are so fast I can’t identify them.)

I am not good at tap dancing. But I love it. I have to record everything on my phone and go home and practice. This is where I gain a strategic advantage. I may not be as springy or pick things up as quickly as the youths, but I am willing and able to practice. Every so often, I shuffle into my laundry room (how I long to tap around our hard wood floors, but it it is strictly forbidden), strap on my shoes, and tap dance, because, well I can.

And tapping is the only hour in any given week that I’m not thinking about cancer.

And it’s because my brain is SO FULL trying to keep up and not fall on my face that I literally have no brain cells left to worry. To say that it is freeing is something of an understatement.

Everyone, Preston, my in laws, parents, sister, everyone bends over backwards so I don’t miss tap class. When I get all, “Maybe I should stay here…” P practically throws me out the door.

Our homework this week is to watch “Singing in the Rain” – lots of the girls in class haven’t seen it. I have, but I think I’ll watch it anyways.

Because, really, life is just better when there is dancing.