Love this quote. Love GB Shaw, too. Apparently he didn’t like the “George” and refused to use it, personally or professionally. That’s why I call him GB Shaw.

He’d be a dapper looking fellow if he’d have done something about that mess of facial hair. I’ve never been a fan of the facial hair, on men or women. Just not my thing.

He certainly was accomplished, though. Born into a lower-middle-class family in Dublin in 1856, he certainly could have fallen by the wayside or become a failed corn merchant but successful drunk, like his daddy. It’s said that his daddy had a raging drinking problem and a serious squint (although not related, perhaps). Here’s a useless but interesting bit of trivia: Oscar Wilde’s father, a famous surgeon, tried to fix Mr Shaw’s squint, but failed. Either he wasn’t that great of a surgeon, or it was a truly serious squint. If only my Drs S could have gotten their hands on him. No telling how fine-looking he would have become after they worked their magic.

GB Shaw is noted as a playwright, and an accomplished one at that. He also dabbled in politics and reform for the masses. His Fabian Society tried to bring socialism to Great Britain but failed. The Society did eventually become the famed London School of Economics and led to the birth of the Labour Party. Neat, huh?

More importantly, he’s also a font of inspirational quotes, like the one above. After having several comments on my recent post about how ya just gotta “keep on keeping on” when going about this “cancer journey,” it got me thinking about how easy it would be to lie in a heap and say poor me. And I guess a lot of people do that. GB Shaw would be very disappointed.

Look, nobody wants a cancer diagnosis, whether it’s in the breast or the lung, the colon or the skin. I could write for days on the myriad ways having cancer wrecks your life, whether physically, emotionally, financially, or more likely all of the above. But once that pathologist confirms the malignancy and the doctor delivers the diagnosis, rolling over isn’t an option. Giving up and giving in doesn’t get the job done.

I haven’t been tempted to give up this week, but the thought did cross my mind as I found myself mired in nausea all week long. Sometimes this happens — I’m going along just fine, taking my antibiotics twice a day every day (for 254 days, but who’s counting) like a good girl, and wham! out of nowhere is the all-day morning sickness. I’m not doing anything differently, haven’t added any weird vegetables or roots to my meat-avoiding diet. Don’t lecture me about the beets; those are a mainstay and I like it that way. Don’t care if it grosses you out to see them on my plate–look away (Macy).

By no fault of my own, I’m suddenly hit with the kind of stomach upset that makes me think long and hard about the wisdom of carrying a barf bag in my purse. My sweet infectious disease doc is immune to my perennial question of how long will this drug therapy go on, and I don’t even ask him any more. Love ya, Dr Grimes. His nurse, Rhonda, gave me a glimmer of hope on the phone when she said he might knock the abx down to once a day, but alas no deal. Instead, he gave me a prescription for Zofran and said take that and eat some crackers.

So what’s a traveler on the “cancer journey” to do? Slog away, day after day. Put one foot in front of the other. Just keep swimming (Dory). Keep on keepin’ on. Just Do It. And any other clichéd truism you can think of. You do what you gotta do to get through the day, then get up and do it again. Some people also meditate. Some people pray. Some people fret. Some probably do a combination of the three. But you gotta do something. Inertia has no place along the “cancer journey.”